Chương 5
“Sometimes,” Emma said, “I wanted to be wanted here.”
Nathan’s expression shifted.
It was not remorse. It was recognition, which could resemble tenderness if viewed from far enough away.
“We can still fix this,” he said.
“You keep saying that.”
“Because we can. The money is tied up. It isn’t gone.”
“Where?”
He hesitated.
“Tell me.”
“I need to know what Brooke gave them.”
“Your first concern is what your mistress knows?”
“My first concern is preventing you from making an irreversible mistake.”
“You already made it.”
He lowered his voice. “The company cannot survive a public fraud investigation. Our contracts have disclosure clauses. Lenders will pull lines. Clients will delay payments. Employees will leave. You are trying to save Reed Meridian by setting it on fire.”
Emma had considered every one of those consequences before filing. She had considered not filing too.
For six hours, she had sat in her office with the failed reconciliation on one screen and the company payroll calendar on the other. Seven hundred and twelve employees. Two weeks until the next payroll. Insurance premiums due. A municipal client waiting on flood barriers before spring thaw. Vendors whose owners knew her cell number.
She had wanted someone to tell her which damage was survivable.
No one had.
“If I had waited,” she said, “could you have returned the money?”
Nathan did not answer.
“That’s what I thought.”
He looked past her toward the library, where investigators were sealing the safe.
“You don’t understand what my father was facing.”
“I understand he was facing consequences.”
“He would have lost everything.”
“Whose money did you use to prevent that?”
Nathan’s mouth tightened.
Emma picked up Lily’s strip of tape and folded it once, sticky sides together.
“You didn’t save your father,” she said. “You made everyone else pay for his fear.”
She left Hawthorne House at twelve forty-three in the morning.
The snowplow had not reached the private road. Her car moved slowly between stone walls topped with white. At the gate, she stopped and looked back.
The mansion glowed through the trees, every window warm, the Christmas lights still perfect. From the road, no one could see the sealed library, the abandoned glasses, or the wet imprint of Lily’s shoes on the foyer floor.
Emma had spent years believing a beautiful exterior could shelter ugly facts until people were strong enough to face them.
Now she understood that sometimes the exterior existed to keep the facts employed.
Maya’s guest room smelled faintly of laundry detergent and the peppermint lotion Lily liked. Emma found her daughter asleep sideways across the bed, still wearing the gray hat. The silver house ornament rested in her open palm.
Maya stood in the hallway holding two mugs.
“She wouldn’t let me take it,” she whispered.
Emma removed the hat and smoothed Lily’s hair.
“Did she ask questions?”
“For forty minutes.”
“What did you tell her?”
“That adults made bad decisions, investigators were checking facts, and nobody had permission to use her as a messenger.”
Emma looked up. “Did Nathan call?”
“Six times.”
“Did you answer?”
“No.”
“Thank you.”
“I didn’t do it for you.”
Maya handed her a mug. The tea had gone lukewarm.
They sat on the floor outside the guest room because neither wanted to risk waking Lily. Maya wore reading glasses she only used after midnight and had wrapped a blanket around her shoulders.
“The board meets at nine,” she said.
“On Christmas morning?”
“We have lenders in three time zones and a client asking whether we can certify access to restricted project accounts.”
“Can we?”
“No.”
Emma pressed the mug between her palms.
Maya watched her. “You left out the email.”
“I didn’t think it was relevant.”
“You authorized them to do whatever was necessary.”
“I authorized the property acquisition.”
“You used those words.”
“I was in the emergency room.”
“The board won’t care where you were when opposing counsel reads the sentence.”
“There is no opposing counsel yet.”
“There will be.”
Emma looked through the open door at Lily’s sleeping face.
“I should have told you.”
“Yes.”
“I should have told the board.”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t know Nathan would use it this way.”
Maya’s expression remained tired rather than angry, which was worse.
“You didn’t know because you stopped asking questions whenever the answer threatened your marriage.”
Emma took a drink of cold tea.
“That’s unfair.”
“I voted to put you on leave.”
“I noticed.”
“I did it because I intend to save the company, not because I stopped being your friend.”
“Those two things may become incompatible.”
“They became incompatible three years ago. We’re just late to the meeting.”
Emma looked at the hallway carpet. A loose thread near the baseboard had been pulled into a tiny loop. She bent and tucked it underneath with her fingernail.
Maya sighed. “Please don’t repair my house while avoiding me.”
“I’m not avoiding you.”
“You’re fixing carpet at one in the morning.”
“It was catching.”
“On what?”
Emma sat back.
Maya’s voice softened. “Did you know about Brooke before October?”
“I suspected.”
“How long?”
“June.”
“And Nathan?”
“I suspected things about Nathan for years.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Emma rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I found a restaurant receipt in his jacket. Two tasting menus. A hotel parking charge. He said a client’s wife had joined them.”
“Did you believe him?”
“I believed I could wait until I had more.”
“More what?”
“Proof.”
“Or courage?”
Emma looked toward Lily.
Maya followed her gaze. “You keep confusing delay with protection.”
The board meeting began at nine with thirteen people appearing in boxes on a screen. Some wore suits. One director wore a red sweater and kept glancing off-camera at grandchildren opening presents. The chair, Leonard Ames, had not shaved.
May you like
Emma sat at Maya’s dining table with the court order, the failed reconciliation, and the rescue transaction file spread before her. Lily ate cereal in the kitchen while watching a nature documentary with the volume low.
Leonard began without pleasantries.
