Chương 8
Marcus stepped between us slightly.
"Careful."
Patricia ignored him.
"Your company began with an investment."
"From a venture fund."
"Yes."
"Not from your family."
She said nothing.
That silence bothered me.
"Patricia."
She looked at me.
"Your first major funding round came from a private investor."
I knew exactly what she meant.
The memory came back immediately.
The meeting.
The contract.
The anonymous investor who provided early capital when three other firms rejected my proposal.
At the time, I thought it was the luckiest moment of my career.
I remembered sitting in my tiny apartment afterward, eating takeout on the floor because I couldn't afford furniture yet.
I remembered crying because someone finally believed in my idea.
Not my family name.
Not my connections.
My idea.
"Who was the investor?" Marcus asked.
Patricia hesitated.
That hesitation told me more than the answer would.
"My husband."
The room went quiet again.
Grant looked stunned.
"You're saying Dad funded Allison's company?"
"No."
Patricia looked at him.
"I'm saying your father believed he owned part of it."
I felt my face tighten.
"Believed?"
"Yes."
"Did he?"
She looked away.
"That depends."
"On what?"
"On what was signed."
Marcus immediately turned toward me.
"Do you have your original investment agreements?"
"Yes."
"Every version?"
I nodded.
"My company lawyers kept everything."
Patricia gave a small, humorless laugh.
"Then perhaps you should look."
I stared at her.
"You spent years accusing me of taking advantage of your family."
"Because I believed you did."
"Based on what?"
"My husband's records."
"Your husband is dead."
Her expression changed.
"He left copies."
"Where?"
She looked at the wall.
Nobody spoke.
Marcus followed her eyes.
"The safe."
Patricia didn't answer.
"Open it."
"No."
"Why?"
"Because once that information comes out, none of us can pretend anymore."
Grant stepped closer.
"Mom, what did Dad do?"
Her face softened.
Just slightly.
"He tried to save everything."
"By lying?"
"By making choices he thought would protect us."
Grant shook his head.
"That's what you always say."
Patricia looked at him.
"What?"
"That people hurt us because they are protecting us."
The sentence stayed in the room.
I looked at Grant differently.
Not with forgiveness.
Not yet.
But with recognition.
For the first time, I saw the person underneath the man who had failed me.
A person who had spent his entire life being taught that love and control were the same thing.
Marcus walked to the wall.
"There is a problem."
Everyone looked at him.
"The safe isn't here."
Patricia went still.
"What?"
"The outline."
He pointed.
"The wall was repaired."
I looked closer.
There was a faint difference in the wood paneling.
Someone had covered the old opening.
Patricia stepped forward quickly.
"Impossible."
"You moved it."
"No."
Her voice was sharp.
Then she stopped.
Because she knew.
Someone had moved it.
"When?"
Marcus asked.
Patricia touched the wall.
Her fingers trembled slightly.
"I don't know."
That answer scared me.
Because Patricia Monroe always knew.
She might lie.
She might manipulate.
But she was never confused.
"Who has access to this room?" Marcus asked.
"My family."
"Anyone else?"
"No."
"Think carefully."
She looked offended.
"I said no."
A phone buzzed.
Everyone looked down.
It was Grant's phone.
Another message from Daniel Cross.
This time, Grant opened it.
His face changed instantly.
"What?"
I stepped closer.
He didn't move.
"Grant."
Slowly, he turned the phone around.
The message contained a photograph.
A manila folder sitting inside a vehicle.
The label was visible.
MONROE FAMILY INVESTIGATION.
Below it was a handwritten note.
YOU WERE LOOKING IN THE WRONG PLACE.
Marcus took a slow breath.
"Who sent this?"
"Daniel."
"Call him."
Grant did.
The phone rang.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then went to voicemail.
"He's not answering."
Marcus looked toward the windows.
"Because he wants us to see something."
"What?"
"That he is no longer the one controlling the information."
The thought bothered me.
Daniel Cross had been hired to investigate me.
But now his evidence was disappearing.
His messages were becoming warnings.
Something had changed.
Someone had changed the game.
Patricia sat down slowly in the chair behind the desk.
For the first time, she looked genuinely afraid.
Not angry.
Not offended.
Afraid.
"I need to know something," I said.
Everyone looked at me.
"Why did you hate me so much?"
Patricia looked surprised.
Maybe because the question was too simple.
Maybe because she expected another argument.
She stared at the floor.
"My husband died believing he failed us."
Her voice became quieter.
"And then you came into Grant's life."
I waited.
"You were everything he wasn't."
The honesty surprised me.
"Meaning?"
"You were fearless."
I almost laughed.
That was not the word I would have chosen.
"I watched you take risks. Build something. Lose things. Start again."
She looked at me.
"My son never learned how to do that."
Grant looked away.
"And I blamed you for showing me what he lacked."
Nobody spoke.
It was the first kind thing Patricia had ever said about me.
And somehow it hurt more than the insults.
Because it came too late.
A sound came from outside.
A car door closing.
Marcus moved toward the window.
A black sedan had stopped at the edge of the driveway.
A man stepped out holding a folder.
Grant looked at him.
"Daniel."
Marcus watched carefully.
"Why is he here?"
I looked at the folder in Daniel Cross's hand.
And I knew whatever was inside had been worth risking everything to recover.
The man stepped out holding a folder.
Grant looked at him.
"Daniel."
Marcus watched carefully.
"Why is he here?"
I looked at the folder in Daniel Cross's hand.
And I knew whatever was inside had been worth risking everything to recover.
Daniel stopped several feet from the entrance.
He looked exhausted.
Not frightened exactly.
More like someone who had spent the last few hours realizing he had been working for the wrong person.
"Can I come in?"
Marcus did not move.
"Depends."
Daniel looked at him.
May you like
"On what?"
"On whether that folder is evidence or another attempt to manipulate my client."
