“If we accept these conditions, will Sullivan release the funds?”
“Subject to final committee approval.”
Jason leaned forward.
“And my position?”
I closed the portfolio.
“My marriage to you does not give me the right to appoint or remove you from Caldwell Technologies.”
His eyes narrowed.
“But you’ll pressure them.”
“No.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I expect you to understand something you should have understood years ago. Power doesn’t mean interfering in every decision simply because you can.”
The words landed harder than I intended.
Perhaps because that had been the difference between us all along.
Jason wanted power to be visible.
Titles.
Applause.
The best table.
The largest office.
People waiting when he entered a room.
I had always believed power was responsibility.
The ability to prevent a bad decision.
The discipline not to use influence merely to settle a personal score.
Tonight made that distinction more important than ever.
I could have demanded Jason’s termination.
In that room, after the videos already spreading from the gala, perhaps the board would have listened.
But then he could spend the rest of his life claiming I destroyed him because he cheated.
I didn’t want that.
If his career collapsed, it would collapse under the weight of his own decisions.
Martin looked at the directors.
“We need ten minutes.”
I nodded.
Jason stood when I did.
Outside the conference room, he followed me to the windows.
Below us, Manhattan glittered.
“Don’t do this.”
I looked at him.
“What do you think I’m doing?”
“Taking everything.”
“I am taking back what belongs to me.”
“Same thing.”
“No. It only feels like the same thing because you started believing everything I gave you belonged to you.”
He stared at me.
His voice dropped.
“Do you still love me?”
It was the first honest question he had asked all night.
I wished the answer were simple.
Nine years did not disappear because a report landed on my desk.
I remembered him making pancakes at two in the morning because I had worked through dinner.
I remembered the cheap apartment we lived in before he began earning real money.
I remembered his hand finding mine beneath hospital lights during one of the hardest years of our marriage.
I remembered laughing with him.
Wanting him.
Believing him.
Love does not always die when trust dies.
Sometimes it survives long enough to make leaving hurt.
“I love the man I thought you were,” I said.
Jason swallowed.
“I can be him again.”
“No.”
His face crumpled slightly.
“You don’t know that.”
“I do. Because the man I thought you were would never have needed to become him again.”
Behind us, a door opened.
Madison stood at the end of the corridor.
Jason’s expression immediately changed.
I saw responsibility descend over him like weight.
Whatever else happened, she was carrying his child.
That fact would outlive our marriage.
Madison approached slowly.
“I need to talk to Rebecca.”
Jason stepped between us.
“No.”
I almost laughed at the reflex.
Madison looked at him.
“I’m not going to hit her.”
“Madison—”
“Go.”
He stared at her.
She repeated it.
“Go.”
Jason hesitated, then walked toward the elevators.
Madison waited until the doors closed.
“I shouldn’t have slapped you.”
“No.”
“I thought you were trying to make some kind of scene.”
“I walked onto a stage for a photograph with my husband.”
She winced.
“He said you were separated.”
“I heard.”
“He said you stayed married because of appearances.”
“That was a lie.”
“He said you knew about me.”
“Another lie.”
Her eyes filled, but she refused to cry.
“I thought you hated me.”
“I don’t know you well enough to hate you.”
That hurt her.
Perhaps hatred would have been easier.
She looked toward the elevator.
“I love him.”
I believed her.
That was the saddest part.
“Then I hope you start requiring the truth from him.”
She looked at me.
“What happens to the company?”
“That depends on the board.”
“And Jason?”
“Also the board.”
“No. I mean you and Jason.”
I held her gaze.
“There is no Jason and me anymore.”
Her hand rested against her stomach.
For months, that sentence had probably been what she wanted most.
Now that she had it, she looked terrified.
The conference-room door opened again.
Martin called my name.
The clock on the wall read 10:56.
Four minutes.
I went inside.
Charles pushed the documents toward me.
“The board will accept the revised governance conditions and authorize the independent review.”
Jason wasn’t in the room.
I looked around the table.
“And executive accountability?”
Martin answered carefully.
“Any executive whose conduct is found to have materially violated company policy or controls will face appropriate action. No exceptions.”
That was enough.
I picked up the pen.
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