Chapter 17: Investigate it

Mason

The amber whiskey swirled in my crystal glass, catching the low, warm amber light of the executive lounge at The Vault.

It was a Thursday evening—my off-duty night. By all accounts, I should have been relaxing, celebrating the closing of the Euro-Zone routing deal. Instead, every sip tasted like ash.

My father’s words from two days ago kept hammering in my head.

He hadn't raised his voice or pounded the desk like my mother. He had simply sat in his leather armchair, looking at me with a heavy, quiet disappointment that cut deeper than any blade.

"In business, Mason, a contract that forces one partner to bear all the risk while the other collects all the dividends isn't a strategy," my father had said, his deep voice echoic and cold. "It's exploitation. And any businessman stupid enough to build a partnership like that deserves to lose it when the other side wakes up."

He had leaned forward then, his gray eyes piercing right through me.

"Look at her, Mason. She isn't the broken girl you brought home six years ago. She's standing straight now. She’s confident. She doesn't need your name, and she certainly doesn't need your money. If you keep playing this pathetic game, you're going to wake up one morning to an empty house—and you won't even have the right to ask her why."

My hand tightened around the glass until my knuckles turned white.

Father was right about one thing. She had changed. Completely.

Over the past few months, Catherine had transformed into someone I barely recognized. The woman who used to shrink into the background, constantly hovering around the kitchen, waiting for my approval, was gone.

Now, she left the house on her off-duty days without a second thought. She accepted dinner invitations from old friends she hadn't spoken to in years. Last weekend, I saw a receipt on the counter for a pottery and oil painting workshop downtown. She spent her free evenings on the patio, buried in modern literature, a quiet, unbothered peace radiating off her.

She didn't ask for my permission anymore. She didn't offer explanations. The only time her eyes met mine was when we were confirming the twins' weekly schedule.

She was becoming lighter. Unshackled.

And the lighter she became, the heavier my chest felt.

"Hey. Earth to Blake."

A heavy hand clapped my shoulder, dragging me back to the noisy bar. Leo, my college roommate and head of Blake Logistics' legal counsel, slid into the leather booth opposite me, dropping two fresh glasses onto the polished mahogany table.

"Where have you been, man?" Leo asked, taking a quick gulp of his drink. "You skipped golf last Saturday, you haven't answered the group chat in three weeks, and now you're sitting here staring into your glass like someone died."

"I was busy," I muttered, swirling my drink.

Leo snorted. "Busy doing what? Word around the firm is you hand-delivered the quarterly audit yourself instead of making your secretary do it, just so you could leave by 5:00 PM."

I didn't answer. I took a long swallow of whiskey, letting the burn coat my throat.

"It's Catherine," I said quietly.

Leo paused, setting his glass down. "What about her?"

"She's getting... crazier. Scarier," I gritted out, rubbing my forehead where a dull ache was beginning to bloom. "Can you believe she now insists we operate on a roster and even charges me for every penny? She even made me look like an absolute monster in front of the entire family."

Leo stared at me for three long seconds before a slow, amused grin spread across his face.

"Sounds to me like she finally figured out how to handle you," Leo said lightly.

"It's not funny," I snapped, setting my glass down with a hard thud. "Six years ago was a mistake. You know why I married her. I couldn't let the media run wild with a scandal right before the IPO. I had to protect the family image. I thought she trapped me back then... I still think she set the whole thing up."

I took a deep, ragged breath, staring blankly at the dark wood of the table.

"But now..." My voice dropped, cracking slightly despite my best efforts. "Now every time she walks out that front door on a Friday night, I feel like... like she’s never coming back. And it frightens the hell out of me."

Leo stopped smiling. He leaned back against the leather cushion, watching me with a look of sudden, sharp realization.

"Holy shit," Leo breathed, shaking his head. "You've actually fallen in love with your own wife."

The words hit the air like a sudden slap.

"Don't be ridiculous," I shot back instantly, my pulse spiking with hot denial. "I haven't fallen for anyone."

"Mason, listen to yourself," Leo urged, leaning over the table, his tone turning serious. "You're sitting here terrified because she's finally living her own life. You're obsessed with her schedule, you're tracking her every move, and you're terrified she's going to leave you. That isn't just corporate anxiety, man. That's a guy who realizes he's losing the best thing that ever happened to him."

"I can't fall for her," I said coldly, glaring across the booth. "She's still a suspect."

Leo blinked. "A suspect? For what?"

"For that night six years ago!" I hissed, leaning in close so the surrounding tables wouldn't hear. "The hotel room, the leaked photos, the press waiting right outside the lobby doors—it was all too clean. She was a broke intern who needed stability, and suddenly she's in my bed with the media on the phone? I couldn't trust her then, and I can't bring myself to trust her now."

Leo looked at me, his expression shifting from serious to utterly baffled.

"Wait," Leo said, raising a hand. "Are you telling me that in six whole years, you never actually investigated what happened that night?"

I froze. "I didn't need to. The evidence was right there."

"Evidence?" Leo scoffed, shaking his head in sheer disbelief. "Mason, you're the CEO of a multi-billion-dollar enterprise! You run background checks on low-level interns before they even step foot into your building! But you've spent six years treating your own wife like a criminal based on an assumption?"

"It wasn't an assumption—"

"It is an assumption until you have facts!" Leo interrupted sharply. "It's not fair to label her a gold-digger and torture both of your lives when you haven't even made a single official finding! If you're so damn smart, why haven't you put your private security team on it?"

I sat there in the heavy, thrumming light of the bar, completely struck dumb.

The alcohol in my system suddenly felt cold and sour.

Six years. Six long, miserable years of building walls, drafting contracts, and keeping accounts—all built on the premise that Catherine had orchestrated my downfall.

What if she hadn't?

"Investigate it," Leo said quietly, pushing his glass toward the center of the table. "Find out the truth, Mason. Because if she really didn't set you up back then... then you've spent six years destroying a woman who did nothing but bear your children."