Chapter 5 - The Christmas Dinner Invitation
Vivian’s invitation arrived the next morning in a cream envelope edged with gold.
A family Christmas dinner.
A chance to put misunderstandings behind them.
Emily read it twice, then handed it to Rachel.
“She wants us in a room she controls.”
Rachel nodded.
“You don’t have to go.”
“I know.”
That was new.
The knowledge that refusal could be a complete sentence.
Across the table, Dominic said nothing.
Emily looked at him.
“You have an opinion.”
“Yes.”
“Say it.”
“I think she wants to find out what we know. I also think seeing you there would help her pretend this is a family disagreement.”
“Then we agree.”
He nodded.
No argument. No instruction disguised as concern.
A tiny change.
Emily noticed anyway.
Over the next week, the investigation moved through records, invoices, archived emails, and canceled appointments.
There was nothing glamorous about it.
Most afternoons, Emily sat at her father’s kitchen table with tea going cold beside her while Maya asked questions about dates.
When had she stopped volunteering?
Who had changed her driver?
Had Vivian ever borrowed her phone?
Yes.
At a charity luncheon.
Vivian had claimed her own battery was dead.
Maya wrote it down.
Dominic came when invited.
Sometimes he stayed ten minutes.
Sometimes he helped Frank carry inventory upstairs because an independent assessment had recommended temporary changes to the store’s rear entrance.
Frank didn’t forgive him.
He did hand him the heavier boxes.
One evening, Emily found Dominic crouched beside a shelf, reading the instructions for a window latch.
“You own skyscrapers,” she said.
“This package contains six screws and a surprising amount of hostility.”
She laughed before she could stop herself.
He looked up.
The hope in his face made her smile disappear.
“Don’t,” she said gently.
He lowered his eyes.
“I’m trying not to.”
“Try harder.”
“I will.”
Later, Catherine called with news about the dinner.
Vivian had invited the board members of the family foundation.
And a society columnist.
Emily leaned against the counter.
“So it’s a performance.”
“It appears so.”
“Are you going?”
“Yes,” Catherine said. “But not to smooth anything over.”
Three days before Christmas, Maya received the missing bank records through the lawyers handling the corporate review.
The consulting fees had gone from the foundation to a security vendor.
That vendor had paid Adrian Cole.
Adrian’s legitimate contract already paid him generously.
These payments were separate.
Regular.
Hidden under vague descriptions.
Threat assessment.
Personal risk services.
Special monitoring.
Dominic stared at the report.
Adrian had worked for him for eleven years.
He had been at their wedding.
He had driven Emily to the hospital when Catherine broke her wrist.
Trust, Dominic was discovering, could become a habit long after it stopped being deserved.
“Don’t confront him,” Maya said.
Dominic looked up.
“We need the records intact. We also need to know whether he acted alone.”
He nodded.
Emily saw how much effort that cost him.
That night, an unfamiliar email arrived in her inbox.
No subject.
One attachment.
She almost deleted it.
Then she saw the name.
Martin Vale.
The file was a scanned draft of a document she had never seen.
A proposed separation agreement.
It included a paragraph describing her as emotionally volatile and recommending that all communication concerning any future children pass through a designated family representative.
Vivian Caruso.
Emily read the paragraph until the words blurred.
Underneath was a handwritten note.
Use only if necessary. D.C. has not approved.
Her phone rang.
Martin.
She answered with Rachel on the other line.
“I need to explain,” he said.
“Then explain why your draft gives my husband’s aunt a role in decisions about my children.”
Martin breathed unevenly.
“It was never finalized.”
“Why was it written?”
“Vivian asked me to anticipate complications.”
Emily looked across the kitchen at Dominic.
He had gone so still he seemed carved from stone.
“What complications?” Emily asked.
Martin said nothing.
She waited.
Finally, he whispered, “She knew you were pregnant.”
Emily’s free hand closed over her stomach.
Catherine was the first person she had told.
Or so she had believed.
“How?”
May you like
Martin’s answer came slowly.
“She said someone at your clinic owed her a favor.”
