Chương 6
Because the idea was impossible to process.
“She’s seven.”
“She’s afraid of losing you.”
“Yes.”
“That’s not healthy.”
Christopher looked toward the hallway.
His daughter had nearly drowned less than a day ago.
A woman in his home had told her not to make him angry.
And now he was standing there listening to an argument about whether his daughter loved him too much.
“Who gave you the right to decide that?”
Juliette’s expression hardened.
“I was trying to protect her.”
“From what?”
A long pause.
“From a life where she only feels safe because one person is there.”
Christopher stared at her.
For a moment, he saw something unexpected.
Not a villain.
A person who believed her own reasoning.
That scared him more.
Because people who knew they were wrong could stop.
People who believed they were right could destroy everything while calling it care.
The phone was still connected.
Andrew spoke softly.
“Mr. Hale.”
Christopher listened.
“I don’t know if Juliette pushed your daughter into that pool.”
Juliette looked at the phone.
“But I know she has a pattern.”
Christopher closed his eyes briefly.
A pattern.
That word stayed with him.
Patterns were what he looked for.
Patterns were how he built companies.
Patterns were how he predicted failures before they happened.
And now he had to face the possibility that he had ignored one because he wanted a family more than he wanted the truth.
“Send me everything you have,” Christopher said.
Juliette looked at him.
“Christopher.”
He did not look away.
“Everything.”
Andrew was silent.
Then he said, “I will.”
The call ended.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then Juliette whispered, “You think I’m dangerous.”
Christopher looked at her.
He wanted to say no.
He wanted to say he was confused.
He wanted to say there was another explanation.
But Emma was upstairs.
And for the first time in years, protecting his daughter meant accepting that someone he cared about might be the person he needed protection from.
“I think I don’t know what you’re capable of.”
Juliette nodded slowly.
The sadness on her face looked real.
That was the hardest part.
“You were the one person I thought would believe me.”
Christopher felt something break quietly inside him.
Not trust.
Something before trust.
The hope that trust had been deserved.
Juliette picked up the wooden box from the desk.
“I should leave.”
Christopher did not stop her.
She walked toward the door.
At the threshold, she paused.
“Christopher.”
He looked up.
“If I wanted to hurt Emma, I would have had a hundred chances.”
The statement was calm.
Almost reasonable.
And that was why it bothered him.
Because it was not proof of innocence.
It was only proof that Juliette had been close.
She left the room without another word.
A few minutes later, Christopher heard the front door close.
He remained standing in the study.
Then his phone buzzed.
A message from an unknown number.
One photograph.
Christopher opened it.
The image showed Juliette standing outside his mansion three months earlier.
She was not alone.
Beside her stood someone Christopher recognized.
Someone who should not have been there.
Someone who changed everything.
Christopher stared at the photograph until the screen dimmed in his hand.
He tapped it again and enlarged the image.
The quality was not perfect, but it was clear enough.
Juliette stood near the front gate of his property.
Her hair was shorter than it was now.
Her expression was different.
Less warm.
Less careful.
Beside her stood a man Christopher had not seen in years.
His older brother, Michael.
For a moment, the confusion was stronger than the fear.
Michael Hale had not spoken to Christopher in eighteen months.
Not after their last argument.
Not after the lawsuit.
Not after Christopher had removed him from the company they built together.
Christopher looked at the date on the photograph.
Three months earlier.
The same week Juliette had started talking about Emma needing more independence.
The same week she had begun asking questions about Christopher's finances.
The same week she had suddenly become interested in the old Mercer property.
His thumb hovered over the screen.
Then he called Michael.
The phone rang four times.
Five.
Six.
Christopher almost ended the call.
Michael answered.
“What?”
No greeting.
No surprise.
Just irritation.
Christopher leaned against the desk.
“You were at my house.”
Silence.
A small one.
But enough.
“When?”
“You know when.”
“I don’t.”
“Three months ago.”
Another pause.
Christopher heard movement on the other end.
A door closing.
“You’re with Juliette?”
Michael exhaled slowly.
“Where did you get that?”
“That’s not an answer.”
“You always did that.”
“Did what?”
“Skip the part where you ask like a brother and go straight to interrogating like a lawyer.”
Christopher looked at the photograph again.
“My daughter almost drowned yesterday.”
The silence changed.
Not defensive.
Not angry.
Concerned.
“What?”
“Emma fell into the pool.”
Michael’s voice lowered.
“Is she okay?”
“She is.”
A pause.
“But I need to know why you were meeting with Juliette.”
Michael did not answer.
Christopher closed his eyes.
That was enough.
“You knew.”
“I knew something.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I didn’t know what she was planning.”
Christopher straightened.
“Planning?”
Michael sighed.
“Chris.”
“No.”
His voice became sharper.
“You don’t get to say my name like that and expect me to calm down.”
“I’m trying to tell you that you need to be careful.”
“I’m already past careful.”
The line stayed quiet.
Christopher walked toward the window.
Outside, the courtyard looked peaceful.
A worker was replacing flowers near the pool.
The red petals were gone.
The water was clear again.
That almost made him angry.
A place could erase evidence faster than people could process pain.
“Tell me everything.”
Michael did not respond immediately.
“I met Juliette because she contacted me.”
“Why?”
“She knew about the company situation.”
Christopher frowned.
“What company situation?”
“The acquisition problems.”
Christopher stopped.
May you like
Nobody outside a small circle knew about that.
Six months earlier, a group of investors had challenged some of his decisions.
