CHAPTER FIVE

{Ava's POV}

I stared at the message I had just sent and listened to my heart pound.

Mr. Harold Bennett had been my father's closest friend and business partner for nearly two decades — the kind of man who had been a fixture at our dinner table when my mother was still alive, who had always spoken to me directly and without the particular brand of pity that most people defaulted to when they looked at me. I had not heard from him in years. Life had pulled us into separate orbits after my father's spiral deepened and the company began to deteriorate, and I had not had the courage or the reason to reach out.

Until now.

The reply came through a few minutes later: This is such a pleasant surprise, my dear. Let us meet tomorrow morning to talk properly.

He included an address and a time, and I read it twice before setting my phone down on the nightstand.

I looked across the room at my daughter sleeping in her crib.

My mother had built that company. It had been her vision, her effort, her name attached to every early decision that had given it any real foundation. My father had inherited the running of it when she died and had proceeded, steadily and without remorse, to drain it of everything she had worked for. I had known that much. What I had never allowed myself to think about seriously was the fact that she had left me the largest share. Not Daniel. Me.

I had never wanted it. Business had felt like a foreign language when I was younger, and I had been too consumed with surviving daily life to think about things like legacy and leadership and what my mother might have wanted for me.

But things were different now.

I had a daughter to build something for.

*******

Mr. Bennett was already seated when I arrived at the café the next morning, a cup of coffee in front of him and that familiar warmth in his eyes when he stood to greet me. He had aged since I last saw him, but the steadiness about him had not changed at all. He waited until I had settled into the chair across from him and ordered before he spoke.

"I have to be honest with you, Ava," he said, wrapping both hands around his mug. "When I saw your message last night, I sat with it for a long time before I replied. I was not sure if I was reading it correctly." He paused. "But I am very glad you reached out. Very glad."

I signed, and he watched my hands carefully — he had always made the effort to follow along, even if he did not catch every word. “I should have done it sooner. I had no idea how bad things had gotten until recently.”

"Bad is an understatement, I am afraid." He set his mug down and leaned forward slightly. "Ava, the company is going bankrupt. I need you to understand that clearly before we talk about anything else. We are not struggling — we are bleeding out. Daniel has been embezzling from the accounts for years, siphoning funds to finance his own lifestyle while the business falls apart around everyone inside it. The employees have not been paid in months. Several of our key partnerships have quietly walked away. The people still showing up every day are doing so out of loyalty to what your mother built, but even that loyalty has a limit."

I stared at him.

Daniel had stood in front of me — repeatedly, confidently — and told me the company was thriving. He had used that lie as the foundation for every terrible thing he had ever put me through. He had told me it was for the business, for the family, for their survival. And all this time he had been the one destroying it.

I signed slowly. “He told me things were fine. He kept saying the company was doing well because of his efforts.”

Mr. Bennett's expression said everything his words did not. "I know. That is what he has been telling everyone." He was quiet for a moment. "Your mother left you the controlling share of that company, Ava. Not Daniel. You. She knew exactly what she was doing when she wrote that will, and I think some part of her always hoped you would find your way back to it." He looked at me steadily. "So tell me — what are you thinking?"

I took a breath and signed. “I want to come in and take my place. I want to see if I can turn things around. I just need to know where to start and how you can help me.”

"Good." He nodded without hesitation. "Then here is what I think needs to happen. First, you need to address the staff in person. They are demoralized and they are scared, and they need to see the person who actually holds authority in that building walk through the door and speak to them directly. For that you will need a sign language interpreter — a good one, someone you are comfortable with, because that meeting will set the tone for everything that comes after."

I nodded, following closely.

"After that," he continued, "we start working on new investors. The company's reputation is damaged but it is not beyond repair — your mother's name still carries weight in certain circles, and we can use that. But before any of that, I need you to go through the financial records yourself. Every line. I can arrange access, but you need to see the numbers with your own eyes so you understand exactly what you are walking into."

I signed. “I understand. I am ready to do all of that.”

He smiled then — a real one, the kind that settled into the lines of his face like it belonged there. "Your mother would be very proud of you," he said quietly. "She always said you had more in you than you gave yourself credit for."

I looked down at the table for a moment, pressing my lips together.

******

Adrian's car was in the driveway when my taxi pulled up to the house.

I paid the driver, collected my bag, and let myself in through the front door — and found him in the living room, jacket still on, his expression shifting the moment he registered that I was the one coming through the door instead of already being inside.

"Where have you been?" he demanded.

I set my bag down and signed. “I went to meet a friend.”

"A friend." He repeated it the way he repeated most things I said — slowly, with a layer of contempt underneath. "I have been sitting here waiting for hours, Ava. Go to the kitchen and fix breakfast. Quickly."

I turned and looked at him fully.

He had not called once during the four days we spent in the hospital. He had not been there on the morning we were discharged. He had not asked how we managed to get home, had not checked whether his daughter had everything she needed, had not sent a single message to confirm we had arrived safely. 

He had simply reappeared in this house when it suited him and was now standing in the living room pointing toward the kitchen like I was the help.

I signed. “Mrs. Chen can handle it. I am still recovering and I need to rest.”

Adrian went very still.

I watched the surprise move through him — genuine surprise, the kind that told me he had not once considered the possibility that I would say no — and then I watched it harden immediately into something colder.

"Recovering?" His voice dropped. "You were not too tired to go waltzing around town all morning, were you? No doubt sniffing out the next poor man you can sink your claws into since this arrangement is clearly running out of usefulness for you." He pointed toward the kitchen again, his jaw tight. "You will go in there and you will cook. I do not care how you feel about it."

I squared my shoulders.

I looked at him for a long, steady moment — at the cold certainty in his face, at the absolute conviction of a man who had never once been told that he had gone too far — and something inside me settled into a stillness that had nothing to do with surrender.

I raised my hands and signed clearly, making sure every word was deliberate.

Adrian. I want a divorce.