Chapter 13 - WHAT DAD KNEW
I drove to Dad’s apartment that night.
James came with me.
Dad opened the door and immediately knew why we were there.
“Sit down.”
“No,” I said. “Talk.”
He nodded.
“Eric came to me three weeks before Christmas.”
“Why?”
“He thought I could convince Lauren to return company money quietly.”
James frowned.
“Why would he do that?”
“He was trying to avoid destroying the company with publicity.”
Dad rubbed his face.
“He showed me evidence.”
“And you paid him?”
“No.”
Dad looked at me.
“I gave him ten thousand dollars to replace part of the missing money.”
I stared.
“You covered for Lauren too.”
“Yes.”
The answer came without excuses.
“I did exactly what I’ve accused your mother of doing.”
“Why?”
“Shame.”
At least he admitted it.
“I thought if I fixed it quietly, Lauren would stop.”
I laughed bitterly.
“She never stops.”
“I know that now.”
“What did he mean when he said she was planning something against me?”
Dad hesitated.
“He had seen an email.”
James stepped forward.
“What email?”
“Lauren had asked someone how difficult it was to challenge a life insurance beneficiary after a death.”
The room went silent.
I felt cold from scalp to fingertips.
James’ expression changed.
“Whose death?”
“The email didn’t say.”
I whispered, “Mine.”
Dad looked sick.
“I didn’t know that.”
“But you knew enough to warn me.”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t.”
His eyes filled.
“I convinced myself it was just Lauren saying crazy things.”
I stepped backward.
“If she had hurt me—”
“I know.”
“If something happened to Emma—”
“I KNOW.”
Dad’s voice broke.
Then he covered his face.
“I know.”
For months, maybe years, I had imagined villains as people who actively hurt you.
But sometimes damage came from decent people who were too cowardly to act.
Dad lowered his hands.
“I’m giving everything to the prosecutor.”
“Good.”
“I’m not asking you to forgive me.”
“Good.”
He nodded.
That hurt him.
It was supposed to.
James and I left.
In the car, I cried until my chest hurt.
Not because Lauren was evil.
That part was simple now.
I cried because nearly everyone who claimed to love me had chosen comfort over truth.
James took my hand.
“You still have one choice.”
“What?”
“What kind of family Emma grows up in.”
I looked at him.
And suddenly I understood.
This story wasn’t really about destroying Lauren.
It was about ending something.
A pattern.
A silence.
A family tradition of protecting the person who caused the most fear.
Then my phone rang.
The prosecutor.
“We have a court date.”
I swallowed.
“When?”
“Monday.”
“And Lauren?”
There was a pause.
“She’s rejecting the plea agreement.”
“Why?”
May you like
“Because she says she wants a trial.”
Lauren was going to make us tell everything in public.
