MasukEvelyn POVVictoria's press coverage t hit the Tribune at 2:47 in the afternoon.I knew it was coming because Adrian had warned me, and Adrian's warnings had become the most reliable intelligence I had. His text from two days ago still sat at the top of my messages: She won't turn herself in. She's going to fight. Be ready.So I was ready.I was sitting in the conference room at Bennett Holdings with Grace on my left, Jerome on my right, and Vincent across the table with his folders spread out like a war map, when my phone buzzed with the Tribune alert. Grace saw it first. I watched her face change, watched the colour drain from her cheeks and resettle as something harder, and I knew before I read a single word that Margaret had played her last card.I opened the article.EXCLUSIVE: Victoria Bennett Claims Stepdaughter Knew About Financial IrregularitiesThe subheading was worse: Cooperating witness alleges Evelyn Bennett received internal reports detailing discrepancies but chose not
Third Person POV"Tomorrow afternoon. The Tribune has agreed to send a reporter. The facility has approved a supervised media consultation. Wallace Kemp will be present to ensure nothing you say exposes you to additional charges.""And the statement. Is it just this? Just what's on this page?""Just what's on the page. No improvisation. No embellishment. You read what's written with enough emotion to go with it, you answer follow-up questions from reporters whom we have chosen, and with the responses Wallace will prepare for you, and then you go back to your cell and wait for the legal process to do its work."Victoria folded the paper in half and placed it in the pocket of her jumpsuit. She looked up at Margaret, and the war in her expression was over, and what remained was the face of a woman who had chosen survival over everything else, the way she had always chosen survival, the way Margaret had known she would."Okay," Victoria said. "But I have a condition."Margaret's brows arc
Third Person POVVictoria picked up the card. Her fingers were trembling. She turned it over, read the name, read the firm. Margaret watched her do the math: the difference between twelve years and three years. The difference between dying in this place and walking out of it while she was still young enough to start over and another possibility that she might actually walk out here free."What do you want?" Victoria asked again, and this time the question was serious."I want you to give an interview.""An interview.""A formal, on-the-record statement to the Crescent Harbour Tribune. Not a feature piece. Not a profile. A factual account of what happened inside Bennett Holdings during your tenure. Specifically, I want you to address the financial irregularities that have been the subject of recent media coverage."Victoria frowned. "You want me to talk about the embezzlement? My own embezzlement?""I want you to talk about the embezzlement in a very specific way." Margaret leaned forw
Third Person POVMargaret Whitmore had not visited a detention facility in her life.She had driven past them, certainly. Had been aware of them the way one is aware of storm drains and service entrances, infrastructure that existed for necessary purposes but did not require her attention. The Crescent Harbour Women's Detention Centre sat on a block of Millford Avenue that looked like an apology, wedged between a bail bonds office and a shuttered laundromat, its beige walls stained with the kind of grime that accumulates in places no one cares enough to clean.Margaret parked her silver Bentley in the visitor lot at 10:47 a.m., less than four hours after Adrian had walked out of Cedar Heights. She had not cried or called her lawyers. She had finished her tea, dressed in a charcoal suit and her grandmother's pearl brooch, and made a single phone call to a woman named Carstairs, who confirmed that the facility's visiting hours began at ten thirty and that a legal consultation room coul
Adrian POVShe turned away from me and walked to the window. The garden stretched out below, manicured within an inch of its life, every hedge trimmed, every flower placed, every stone path swept. "If you do this," she said, and her voice had changed, quieter now, stripped of its warmth, "you will not be my son anymore. Not in any way that matters. I will cut you off from every resource, every connection, every door that this name opens. You will walk out of this house and into nothing.""I know.""And you're willing to do that. For her.""Not for her." I stepped closer. "For me. Because the man I'm trying to become doesn't stand beside someone who does what you've done, even if that someone is his mother."She didn't turn around. She stood at the window with her back to me, and the morning light caught the grey in her hair, and for one second, just one, she looked old. Not the ageless, formidable Margaret Whitmore who had commanded rooms and ruined rivals for three decades. Just an
Adrian POVI felt it then, the thing I had been fighting for months. The pull. The gravitational force of Margaret Whitmore's composure, which made everything around it orbit rather than collide. She wasn't afraid. She wasn't defensive. She was managing me. She was sitting in her chair in her cashmere robe, sipping Assam from a generational teacup, and she was managing her son the way she managed everything else: by refusing to let his emotions change the temperature of the room.I could have let it work. I had let it work for thirty-two years."I came here to ask you to stop," I said. "Not because Evelyn asked me to. Not because anyone sent me. I came because I looked at what you've done, the full scope of it, and I realised that the woman I've spent my life defending is someone I don't recognise.""You don't recognise me?" Something moved behind her eyes. Not hurt. Something harder. "I am exactly the woman I have always been, Adrian. The difference is that you've finally looked cl
Vincent POVReconnecting with the person I'd just spoken to on the phone has got to be the best news I've heard in a week. He was someone whom I knew nothing about, except that he was a pro at finding people and keeping his word. Not to mention, he always seems to turn up whenever I am in a fix.I
Vincent POVThe conference room at Hayes Acquisition was organised chaos.I sat at the head of the table, reviewing the final details of a merger that had taken months to negotiate. My team was scattered around the space—some standing, some seated, all of them focused on the documents in front of t
Evelyn POV“What’s fuck, Gabriel?” I demanded as he got out of bed. “You’re confusing me.”He dragged a hand through his hair, then muttered something under his breath that sounded like a curse. Then again.“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”He stopped, turned sharply and punched his fist lightly against the wall
Evelyn POVThe first thing I became aware of was pain.A dull, throbbing pain at the back of my head made it difficult to think clearly.My eyelids felt heavy, weighed down by something. I tried to open them but I couldn’t. Eventually, I managed to crack them open, blinking as I tried to make sense






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