Chương 8
“You told me you were staying in the marriage because of the foundation.”
The sentence landed harder than she probably intended.
Because it revealed something about their relationship too.
“You told me Eleanor cared more about the foundation than about you.”
I looked at Grant.
He did not deny it.
That hurt.
Not because I believed Lauren.
Because I could imagine him saying it.
A version of the truth.
A carefully edited version.
The kind where he was always the person trapped by circumstances.
“I never told you she was irrelevant,” Lauren continued.
“No.”
She looked away.
“But you made it sound like she already left.”
Grant rubbed his face.
“Stop.”
“Why?”
Her eyes filled slightly.
“Because you don’t want her to know the truth?”
Nobody moved.
“What truth?” I asked.
Lauren looked at Grant.
Then at me.
“I don’t know.”
The answer surprised me.
She shook her head.
“That’s the problem.”
She laughed quietly.
“I don’t know what was real.”
For the first time, I saw the similarity between us.
Not the betrayal.
The confusion.
She had believed a story too.
A different one.
But still a story.
Marcus returned from the call.
His expression told me before he spoke.
“The bank confirmed the transfer request came through the foundation portal.”
My heart sank.
“And?”
“The login was valid.”
I closed my eyes briefly.
“What does that mean?”
“It means whoever submitted it had access.”
“Not hacked?”
“Not based on what we know.”
The words were careful.
Which meant there was more.
“Marcus.”
He looked at me.
“The request was made from a device that had been previously approved as a trusted device.”
My hands went numb.
“Mine.”
“Yes.”
Nobody spoke.
Then Grant said quietly, “Someone is setting this up.”
I looked at him.
The first instinct I had was anger.
The second was something worse.
Because he might be right.
And I hated that.
I hated that the person who had hurt me might also be telling the truth about the person hurting me now.
Marcus gathered the documents.
“We need to leave immediately.”
“Why?”
“Because if someone is using your credentials and your device history, we need to secure your home before anything else changes.”
My chest tightened.
“My home.”
He nodded.
“Your office.”
The place where my father’s photographs were kept.
The place where my old foundation files sat.
The place where I had spent years believing I was safe.
Grant stepped toward the door.
“I’m coming.”
Marcus looked at him.
“I’m not sure that’s appropriate.”
Grant’s face hardened.
“I have information.”
“Then you can provide it.”
“That’s not enough.”
Marcus studied him.
“Why?”
Grant looked at me.
And for the first time all day, he looked like he was asking for something he knew he did not deserve.
“Because if I’m right,” he said quietly, “the person who did this is still waiting for us to figure it out.”
Nobody answered.
Outside, a car moved slowly through the club parking lot.
A black sedan.
It stopped near the entrance.
Grant saw it.
His face changed.
Not fear.
Recognition.
I noticed.
Marcus noticed.
“Who is that?” I asked.
Grant did not answer.
The driver’s door opened.
A man stepped out holding a folder.
And Grant whispered the name before anyone else could.
“Victor.”
“Victor.”
Grant said the name so quietly that if the parking lot had been louder, I might have missed it.
But I heard it.
And so did Marcus.
The man walking toward us moved with the confidence of someone who believed he belonged wherever he was standing.
He was probably in his early fifties, wearing a gray suit without a tie, carrying a leather folder tucked under one arm.
He did not look surprised to see us.
That was the first thing I noticed.
Not the folder.
Not the car.
Not even the fact that Grant recognized him.
He expected us to be there.
“Who is he?” I asked.
Grant did not answer.
“Grant.”
His eyes stayed on the approaching man.
“Victor Hale.”
The name felt familiar before I understood why.
Then I remembered.
Richard Hale’s son.
The same family name that had been attached to my father’s foundation board for years.
The same family that had attended every tournament.
The same family that had sat at our dinner table.
I looked at Marcus.
His expression had changed.
Only slightly.
But enough.
“You know him,” I said.
Marcus did not look away from Victor.
“I know of him.”
That was not the same answer.
Victor stopped a few feet away from us.
His eyes moved across the group.
Me.
Grant.
Marcus.
Claire.
Lauren.
The order was interesting.
He looked at me last.
“Eleanor.”
His voice was calm.
Almost polite.
“I was hoping we could avoid this happening in front of everyone.”
The sentence made my skin tighten.
Not because it was threatening.
Because it suggested this was not new.
This was something he had expected.
“You know who I am,” I said.
He gave a small nod.
“I’ve known who you are for a long time.”
“Then you know this is my foundation.”
His eyes flicked toward the building.
“I know.”
“And you know what happened inside?”
“I know there was an incident.”
An incident.
That word bothered me.
It was the kind of word people used when they wanted to shrink something.
A crash became an incident.
A betrayal became an incident.
A person’s life being rearranged became an incident.
Marcus stepped forward.
“Mr. Hale.”
Victor acknowledged him.
“Marcus.”
“You should not be here.”
Victor looked almost amused.
“That’s interesting.”
“Why?”
“Because I was about to say the same thing about you.”
Nobody spoke.
The confidence in his answer changed the air around him.
Marcus was not easily challenged.
Most people either respected him or feared him.
Victor did neither.
“What is your involvement in this?” Marcus asked.
Victor looked toward Grant.
“That depends on who you ask.”
Grant’s expression hardened.
“Don’t.”
Victor looked at him.
May you like
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t pretend you came here to help.”
