Part 6
Claire looked at the bandage around her palm.
“Is that why he hit me?”
A pause.
“He lost control.”
“And you stood beside him.”
“I was trying to prevent further scandal.”
“You presented the ring.”
“The ring belongs to the family.”
“So does the violence?”
Beatrice inhaled.
For a moment, Claire thought she might apologize.
Instead, Beatrice said, “If Ashford Dominion fails, thousands of people will remember that you destroyed it because your husband loved someone else.”
Claire ended the call.
That sentence stayed with her.
Not because she believed Beatrice, but because parts of the threat were real.
Ashford Dominion employed more than nine thousand people. Its hotels supported vendors, contractors, and towns where a single resort paid a large share of local taxes. Aggressive enforcement could trigger loan defaults, property sales, layoffs, and pension uncertainty.
Claire could not pretend the company was only a mansion, a ring, and three cruel people in a doorway.
By evening, she had received twelve messages from Ashford employees.
Some thanked her for exposing Julian.
Some asked whether they would lose their jobs.
One came from a housekeeper at an Ashford hotel in Charleston.
My daughter works here too. Please remember we are not the family.
Claire read it three times.
At six, Walter knocked on the apartment door.
He carried a cardboard box.
“I was dismissed,” he said.
Claire stepped aside.
Inside the box lay his dispatch tablet, two folded uniforms, a framed photograph of his wife, and a ceramic mug that said WORLD’S MOST PATIENT DRIVER.
“They let you keep the tablet?” Sofia asked from the dining table.
“No. This is my personal one. I returned theirs after preserving the messages at my attorney’s direction.”
“You have an attorney?”
“My wife insisted.”
“I definitely like her.”
Walter placed the box beside the couch.
“Mr. Ashford says I assisted in the unauthorized use of a company vehicle.”
“He ordered you to remove me,” Claire said.
“I chose not to.”
“I can hire you.”
Walter shook his head. “Not yet.”
“Why?”
“Because it would look as though I changed sides for money.”
“You did change sides.”
“No. I decided I had stayed silent too long.”
Claire waited.
Walter looked toward the balcony.
“Mr. Ashford used the cars for Ms. Rowan for more than a year,” he said. “Not often. Usually when he believed the trips would appear as business.”
“Do you have records?”
“The family office does.”
“Which Julian controls.”
“Backups are retained by the fleet vendor.”
Sofia straightened. “Do you know that because you accessed them?”
“No. Because I negotiated the contract.”
“Good. Give me the vendor’s name. We will send a preservation request.”
Walter did.
Claire watched him write the information on Sofia’s legal pad.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked.
He stopped writing.
“You traveled often,” he said.
“That is not an answer.”
“No.”
“Were you afraid of Julian?”
“Not physically.”
“Of losing your job?”
“Yes.”
Claire folded her arms.
Walter met her eyes.
“Also, I did not know what you knew,” he said. “People in service learn not to assume a marriage works the way it looks from the front seat.”
“You saw him with her.”
“Yes.”
“You drove them.”
“Twice.”
“And you said nothing.”
“Yes.”
The directness irritated her.
“Why are you admitting this now?”
“Because if I make myself sound honorable, you may trust me too quickly.”
Claire looked away.
On the table, her phone continued lighting with messages from strangers, reporters, employees, and people who had ignored her for years but now wanted to say they had always disliked Julian.
“Did Beatrice know?” she asked.
“I cannot say what she knew.”
“What did you see?”
“Mrs. Ashford requested that Ms. Rowan be included on family transportation during the Southampton conference last summer. She also instructed staff to prepare the east guest suite for her at the estate in October.”
Claire had been in Singapore in October.
She remembered calling Julian from the airport. He said Beatrice had influenza and the estate was closed to guests.
“Thank you,” Claire said.
Walter nodded.
He lifted the cardboard box.
“You can leave it,” Claire told him.
“My wife would ask why I brought home another mug.”
“You can work for Northline after the investigation.”
“We can discuss it after.”
He paused at the door.
“Mrs. Ashford, the video made you look very calm.”
“I wasn’t.”
“I know.”
The next morning, Celeste contacted Sofia through an attorney.
She wanted immunity from civil claims in exchange for documents.
Claire refused before Sofia finished explaining.
“Fourteen million dollars,” Claire said. “She took fourteen million.”
“Her company received it.”
“She knew Julian was married.”
“That is morally relevant and legally secondary.”
“She stood there holding his arm.”
“Yes.”
“She smiled when Beatrice told me to return the ring.”
“Yes.”
Claire paced the apartment.
Sofia waited.
“What documents?” Claire asked.
“Emails, invoices, text messages, and access to a cloud account Julian used for private business.”
“She wants to keep the money?”
“She proposes returning three million immediately and placing the remainder in escrow while claims are resolved.”
“So she spent eleven.”
“Possibly.”
“On what?”
“Homes, jewelry, travel, taxes, staff, and a wellness brand that appears to sell scented oil in very small bottles.”
Claire stopped pacing.
“She stole company money to sell expensive oil?”
“Allegedly.”
“No.”
“No what?”
“No deal.”
Sofia closed the folder.
“Then we proceed without her.”
Claire looked at the closed folder.
“What is your advice?”
“To negotiate.”
“You think she is innocent?”
“No.”
“You think she should escape consequences?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
“Because consequences are not a single door labeled punishment. She may provide evidence that recovers more money, establishes Julian’s intent, and protects employees. Or she may be exaggerating what she has because she is frightened.”
Claire sat.
“Did her lawyer say why she changed sides?”
“Julian blamed her during the board interview. He claimed she falsified invoices without his knowledge.”
The answer gave Claire less satisfaction than expected.
“He chose her,” she said.
May you like
“He chose himself.”
Claire stared at the scratch in the dining table left by a hot pan years earlier.
