CHAPTER 61: Still Choosing

POV: Selene Castellano

Diana picked up on the first ring.

That told Selene everything—she’d been waiting, already aware. And that meant the conversation ahead would be worse than she’d braced herself for.

“Talk,” Selene said. It was Avalon’s word. She hadn’t realised she’d started using it until now.

“Whitmore’s legal team filed an emergency motion this morning at seven,” Diana said. “They’re pushing to suppress all evidence gathered through what they’re calling an unauthorised private surveillance operation. They argue that the files forming the basis of the federal case were collected illegally.”

“Were they?”

Silence.

Just two seconds, but long enough. Diana had always spoken in pauses as much as words, and this one carried its own weight before she finally answered.

“Some of them,” she admitted. “Thomas had people tracking Whitmore’s communications for almost a year. The methods weren’t exactly by the book.”

Selene glanced across the kitchen at Avalon.

He hadn’t moved.

“Pierce Holdings,” she said.

“Whitmore’s lawyers are claiming that since Thomas is a major shareholder, the surveillance was conducted to protect corporate interests. That makes the company legally responsible for how the information was obtained.”

Selene sat down without realising she’d stood. Her body gave out.

“Can they win on that?”

“They don’t need to win outright, they just need to make it messy enough to stall the prosecution—exactly what they’re aiming for.” Diana’s voice was calm, but there was fatigue beneath it. “A federal judge hears the motion on Thursday. If he sides with Whitmore, the key evidence gets thrown out and without it, the case collapses.”

“And Whitmore walks free.”

“Possibly.”

After the call ended, Selene stayed at the table.

Avalon sat across from her, silent. He’d caught enough to grasp the outline of what had happened.

“Thomas,” he said.

Not an accusation. 

“He knew his methods were risky,” Selene said. “But he built the case anyway, handed it over, and never mentioned the foundation might not hold.”

“Because he thought he was in control.”

Avalon stared at the table for a long moment. “Everyone involved has kept things quiet that should’ve been said.”

“Yes.”

“Diana, Patricia, Catherine, Thomas.”

“And us,” Selene added softly. “We’ve hidden things too….just different ones.”

He looked at her then.

She wasn’t defending anyone, she was stating what was true.

Thomas arrived less than an hour later.

He looked like himself—posture firm, sharp suit, the kind of man who’d spent fifty years walking into tense rooms without changing his stride, no matter what waited inside.

But today, something was off.

She saw it when he sat. There was a weight in his movements, a visible burden she’d never noticed on him before.

Good, she thought. Then, she immediately questioned why she’d thought about it at all.

“You knew the surveillance could be challenged,” Avalon said without greeting or delay.

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t tell us.”

“I assumed the prosecution would move faster than Whitmore’s team could respond. I misjudged the timing.”

“You withheld something important,” Selene said. “Again.”

Thomas met her eyes. “Yes.”

The living room settled into silence around them.

Outside, San Francisco carried on with its Thursday, indifferent to the fact that a man’s freedom, a company’s legacy, and three decades of buried truth now hinged on a single court date.

“Is there a way to fix this?” Avalon asked.

“Two possibilities,” Thomas said. “First, the prosecution argues the evidence should still be admissible because the crimes involved are serious federal offences, regardless of how the information was obtained. There’s precedent, but it’s not certain.”

“And the second?”

Thomas paused.

“Someone with authority testifies to the legitimacy of the surveillance—someone the court would trust. Someone with a direct connection to the original events.” He looked straight at Avalon. “Someone involved from the beginning.”

Selene understood before Avalon did.

She saw the realisation cross his face a second after it reached hers.

“Catherine,” he said.

“If she testifies not only about what Whitmore did, but also about why the surveillance was necessary—why standard channels wouldn’t work, why the threat was real and urgent, then the court may accept the evidence as justified.”

“She’s in the hospital.”

“She was released this morning.”

Avalon stood and walked to the window.

Selene watched his back and the tightness in his shoulders, the quiet struggle of a man being asked to reach for his mother again, and having to decide whether that request is one he can make.

“She’ll say yes,” Selene said quietly.

Avalon turned. “You can’t know that.”

“I know she made the right choice once, even when it cost her, I strongly believe she’ll do it again.”

He held her gaze for a long moment.

Then reached for his phone.

Catherine answered on the second ring.

Avalon spoke gently. Selene heard the care in his tone, the patience, the absence of anger not forgiveness, but no longer rejection either.

When he hung up, he stood still, phone in hand.

“She said yes,” he said.

Selene nodded.

She hadn’t expected anything else.

Outside, the afternoon light had softened into that rare golden hue San Francisco sometimes offers on days when it feels like hope might still be possible. The flowers on the counter were dead now—truly dead, beyond revival or polite pretence.

She tossed them out.

Rinsed the vase.

Set it back, empty, where it belonged.

Waiting for whatever came next.