Chương 8
“Did he touch you?”
“No.”
“Threaten you?”
“Not directly.”
“What does indirectly look like?”
“He said people who betray him usually regret it.”
I closed my eyes.
“Did anyone hear that?”
“My assistant was outside the conference room.”
“Did she hear the exact words?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are there cameras?”
“In the hallway, not inside.”
“Okay.”
The word sounded useless.
Rachel inhaled.
“I shouldn’t have lied last night.”
“No.”
“I panicked.”
“I understand that.”
“No, you don’t.”
Her voice turned bitter.
“I have two kids and a mortgage and stock options that are worth almost nothing if Cole Meridian collapses.”
I let her speak.
“I kept telling myself it wasn’t my company.”
Her voice shook again.
“I told myself Jason was the CEO, the board knew more than I did, outside counsel reviewed everything, and I was being paranoid because the structure looked ugly.”
“Did outside counsel review Meridian Strategic?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you ask?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I didn’t want the answer.”
There it was.
Ugly and human.
I sat on the arm of the couch.
“What did Jason ask you to certify?”
“That Cole Meridian had formally abandoned the Northline transaction before Meridian Strategic acquired the assets.”
“Was that true?”
“Technically, the board had not approved a purchase.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“I know.”
“Did you sign it?”
“Yes.”
I said nothing.
Rachel began crying quietly.
Not sobbing.
Just the thin, exhausted sound of somebody whose excuses had finally stopped protecting her.
“What did you think Meridian Strategic was at the time?”
“I thought Jason had outside investors.”
“You saw his name on the operating agreement.”
“I saw his trust listed as the member.”
“What trust?”
“The Cole Family 2022 Trust.”
That name I knew.
Patricia had established it with Jason after his father died.
Jason once described it as boring estate planning.
“Who controls it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you have a copy?”
“Yes.”
“Preserve it.”
“I already forwarded everything to outside counsel.”
“Good.”
“Isabella.”
“What?”
“I need to resign.”
“Maybe.”
She gave a startled laugh through her tears.
“Maybe?”
“You need counsel first.”
“I can’t afford some huge lawyer.”
“You can afford a consultation before you sign anything.”
“That sounds very billionaire of you.”
“It’s very daughter-of-a-woman-who-signed-a-car-loan-without-reading-it of me.”
From the kitchen, Mom shouted, “I heard that.”
Rachel actually laughed.
It lasted two seconds.
Then she said, “Jason knows I talked.”
“How?”
“I told him I was done covering for him.”
I stood again.
“Why would you do that?”
“Because I was angry.”
“Rachel.”
“I know.”
“Don’t go home alone.”
“I’m not scared of him like that.”
“I’m not telling you what to feel.”
Silence.
I softened my voice.
“Can your assistant stay with you until counsel arrives?”
“She’s already here.”
“Good.”
“Are you coming in?”
I looked toward the kitchen.
Mom was standing behind the glass-paneled door with her arms crossed.
She pointed at her bandage.
Then at me.
Then made a sitting motion.
I almost smiled.
“No.”
Rachel sounded surprised.
“No?”
“I’m going to the precinct with my mother.”
“Oh.”
“Then I’m meeting independent counsel and the board.”
Another silence.
“You’re not taking over?”
The question stung because a small, furious part of me wanted to.
“I’m too conflicted.”
“But it’s your family’s money.”
“It’s also my husband’s company.”
“Soon-to-be ex-husband.”
“That makes the conflict worse, not better.”
Rachel exhaled.
“Right.”
“Don’t speak to Jason alone.”
“I won’t.”
“And Rachel?”
“Yes?”
“Tell the truth now, even when it makes you look bad.”
Her voice dropped.
“I’m trying.”
“Keep trying.”
I hung up.
Mom opened the kitchen door.
“You used your father’s voice.”
“I did not.”
“You did.”
“What does that even mean?”
“It means you sounded calm enough to terrify people.”
“I wasn’t trying to terrify her.”
“I know.”
She handed me toast on a plate.
I took it.
My appetite had vanished, but I ate anyway because she was watching.
At eight thirty, Anthony drove us to the precinct.
Mom wore a navy blouse instead of the cardigan from the reception.
She had folded the cardigan into a grocery bag because Detective Alvarez asked her to bring the clothing she had been wearing.
The blood on the collar had dried brown.
Mom kept the bag on her lap.
“I hate this.”
“I know.”
“I don’t want to be treated like some helpless old lady.”
“You’re sixty-three.”
“Exactly.”
“That is not old.”
“Good answer.”
At the precinct, Detective Alvarez met us in a small interview room with beige walls and a table that had clearly survived several decades of angry hands.
She was younger than I expected, maybe early forties, with dark hair clipped back and the expression of someone who had not consumed enough coffee.
A paper cup sat beside her notebook.
She looked at Mom’s bandage.
“How are you feeling?”
“Like I lost an argument with a cabinet.”
Alvarez almost smiled.
“I’ve had mornings like that.”
She explained that she wanted separate statements.
Mom looked at me.
“I’ll be fine.”
“I know.”
“Then stop making that face.”
I left with another officer and waited in a hallway beneath a bulletin board covered with community notices.
One flyer advertised a missing orange cat named Dennis.
I stared at Dennis for ten minutes.
He had the dissatisfied expression of an animal who had left voluntarily.
My phone vibrated.
Jason.
I ignored it.
A minute later, Patricia called.
I ignored that too.
Then a text appeared from Jason.
You need to stop whatever you’re doing with Rachel.
I read it twice.
Another message followed.
She is trying to protect herself by lying about me.
Then another.
You know me.
That one made me sit back.
I did know him.
That was the problem.
Or maybe I knew several versions and had spent years choosing whichever one hurt least.
I forwarded the messages to Leah.
She responded immediately.
Do not reply.
I typed, I wasn’t going to.
Three dots appeared.
Then vanished.
Then came back.
Good.
May you like
I pocketed the phone.
Detective Alvarez interviewed me after Mom.
