Chapter 8 - THE PRICE OF HER SILENCE
I pushed the laptop toward her.
“What is that?”
Fiona stared.
“My trust account.”
“Payment for marrying me?”
“No.”
“Then tell me what it is.”
She wiped her face.
“My father promised to release money when the transaction closed.”
“And our wedding made that happen.”
“I didn’t know everything.”
“You knew enough to keep me from asking.”
She looked down.
That was the first honest answer she had given.
Adrian asked her precise questions.
Who prepared the packet?
Where had she received it?
Had George discussed the omitted schedules?
Fiona answered.
I sat beside her and listened to the machinery of my own relationship.
The weekends at her parents’ house.
The invitations to company dinners.
George’s sudden interest in my design work.
He had been giving me a future large enough that I stopped examining the door through which I was entering it.
Fiona looked at me.
“I’ll give back the money.”
“That won’t give back eighteen months.”
“I know.”
Before we could leave, my employer called.
He sounded miserable.
George’s company had put three active contracts on hold.
My boss had received allegations that I had stolen confidential transaction documents.
“I’m placing you on paid leave while we sort it out.”
I stepped outside.
Cold air burned my throat.
Dad called.
“The board moved the meeting.”
“To when?”
“Tonight.”
Of course.
George had realized we were gathering proof.
Now he wanted to close before we could organize it.
Adrian joined me.
“We’ll send an objection to every director and the buyer.”
“Will that stop it?”
“It gives them a reason to stop.”
“A reason isn’t enough.”
“No,” he said.
“That’s why we keep working.”
Fiona emerged from the café.
“I can testify.”
“You can make a statement.”
She nodded.
Behind her, a gray sedan slowed along the curb.
She saw it and froze.
Martin Keene sat behind the wheel.
He raised a phone.
A moment later, Fiona’s rang.
She answered before I could stop her.
I couldn’t hear his words.
I could see their effect.
Her shoulders collapsed.
“What did he say?” I asked.
She ended the call.
“My father’s claiming I created the fake signature.”
Adrian looked at the sedan.
Martin smiled.
Then drove away.
May you like
Fiona turned toward me, shaking.
“He says if I keep helping you, he’ll give the police the version with my name on it.”
