All Chapters of The Billionaires Greatest Regret: Chapter 141 - Chapter 150

POV: Leo Ashford "Say it again," Leo said. "Slowly this time." Arthur Lindqvist did not look up from the folder on the conference table. He turned a page, then another, and pushed the stack across the polished wood until it stopped against Leo's hand. "Two point three million dollars left the Second Chance account in eleven days. Three transfers. All of them signed off by your mother." "That's not possible." "I wish I could agree with you." Leo picked up the top sheet. The numbers sat there in neat black rows. Beside each one, in blue ink, was a signature he had seen on birthday cards, school forms, and the bottom of every note she had ever tucked into his lunch. Vivienne Ashford. The loop on the V, the sharp little tail on the final e. His mouth had gone dry. He reached for the water glass and found it empty. "Who else has seen this?" "Me. You. The bank's compliance officer, who called me on Friday." Arthur finally lifted his eyes. He was seventy now, silver at the temples, an

POV: Grace "You can't just leave," Grace said. "Not without telling me why." Oliver stood at the bedroom closet with a duffel bag open on the bed, folding shirts into it with a speed she had never seen from him. He was a careful man by nature. He ironed his socks, as far as she could tell. Tonight he threw a sweater in like it had insulted him. "It's a work thing," he said. "A client in Boston. It came up an hour ago." "You're a marine biologist. Whales don't schedule emergencies." "Grace." "I'm serious. I've been married to you for four months and I have never once heard you say the word client." She stood in the doorway with her arms crossed over her pajama top. "Who called you?" "Nobody called." "Your phone rang at nine. You went into the bathroom and ran the tap. You came out looking like you'd seen your own funeral." Oliver stopped folding. He didn't turn around. His shoulders, usually loose and easy, sat high and tight beside his ears. "I'll be back in two days," he sa

POV: Vivienne Ashford "Don't say anything," Katya said. "Please. Let me say it first." She stood in the doorway of her own apartment with a dish towel over one shoulder and flour on her cheek. Vivienne had not called ahead. She had driven straight from the kitchen with the scanned page folded in her purse, and she had rung the bell twice before she trusted her voice. "May I come in?" "Of course." The apartment was small and bright. Photographs lined the hallway, Katya with her husband in the mountains, Katya holding a squalling newborn, Katya at fourteen in a school uniform with a face like a locked door. Vivienne remembered that girl. She had watched her learn, year after year, how to be loved. In the kitchen, a lemon cake sat cooling on a rack. Katya turned off the oven, wiped her hands, and sat down across the table without a word. She didn't ask why Vivienne had come. She already knew. Vivienne unfolded the paper and laid it between them. "Is that your handwriting?" Katya

POV: Roman Ashford "Read it aloud," Vivienne said. "I can't do it myself." They sat in the parked car with the heater ticking and the windows fogging at the edges. Roman held the sheet of cream paper at arm's length, the way he always did when he was afraid of what it said. His reading glasses lay forgotten on the dashboard. Katya had gone home in a cab, and for once there was no one else in the world but the two of them. He unfolded the letter. His mother's handwriting leaned across the page like a tired woman on a long road. "My dear Roman and Vivienne," he read. His voice caught on the second word, and he started over. "If you are holding this, then Arthur has done the thing I asked him to do and then lied to you about it. I am sorry. I should have been braver with all of you, and I never was. "Twenty-two years ago I built a scheme to hold power over people who frightened me. Gerald Pryce paid the price for my crimes. I told myself I would repay him, and I did, in installments

POV: Leo Ashford "The chair recognizes Ms. Voss," said Harlan Boyd, and the whole boardroom shifted in its seats. Leo sat three chairs down from the head of the table with his hands locked under it so no one could see them shake. Priya sat behind him against the wall, a box of files on her lap. Twelve people filled the room, donors and academics and one retired judge, and not one of them was looking at him. They were looking at the woman in the navy suit who had just stood up with Arthur Lindqvist's seat card in front of her. "Thank you, Harlan." Dana Voss was thirty-nine, sleek and unhurried, with a voice that sounded like a hand smoothing a tablecloth. "I'm here as proxy for Mr. Lindqvist, who is unwell and unable to attend. I won't take long. I'm afraid what I have to say is difficult." "Objection," Leo said, and his own voice surprised him by coming out steady. "Mr. Lindqvist is not unwell. I spoke with him an hour ago." Dana turned with polite surprise. "Then you'll know he