Chapter 17 - Sophia’s Evidence
Sophia’s attorney sent Peter Walsh a hard drive in July.
Three days later, Vincent called me.
“I need to tell you something before it becomes public.”
I sat at my desk.
“About Lawrence?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“He wasn’t just manipulating the board.”
I waited.
“He was paying Sophia.”
“I know about the publicist.”
“More than that.”
Vincent’s voice sounded exhausted.
“Her apartment.”
I went still.
“The apartment with the leaking ceiling?”
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
The night that ended my marriage had been staged around a property Lawrence’s company controlled.
“Did Sophia know?”
“Not at first. She says Lawrence offered her a reduced lease through a friend.”
“And later?”
“She learned.”
“When?”
“Before the hospital night.”
Pain arrived in a form I did not expect.
Not jealousy.
Not rage.
Something colder.
“She knew Lawrence was using her relationship with you.”
“Yes.”
“And she still called you.”
“Yes.”
I stood and walked toward the office window.
Below me, pedestrians moved along Michigan Avenue.
“What exactly did Lawrence want?”
“A pattern.”
“What pattern?”
“Me choosing personal distractions over company responsibilities. Then he wanted the divorce to become public and ugly enough to weaken confidence in me.”
I almost laughed.
“So he succeeded because you actually behaved badly.”
“Yes.”
No defense.
I hated that his honesty made it harder to remain angry in the old way.
“Are charges being filed?”
“Potentially fraud and extortion-related charges. The attorneys are handling it.”
“What about Sophia?”
“She’s cooperating.”
“Will she be charged?”
“I don’t know.”
I turned from the window.
“Why are you telling me?”
“Because reporters may connect the apartment to the night Emma was sick.”
My stomach dropped.
“And her name?”
“Possibly.”
“No.”
“I know.”
“No photographs of Emma. No details about the hospital.”
“I already told Peter.”
“Vincent—”
“I told him before I called you.”
I stopped.
“Okay.”
“I won’t let them use her.”
Something in his voice took me backward.
To Daniel’s porch.
To a giant pink bear.
To a man who once believed wanting to see his daughter was the same as understanding what she needed.
Now he understood privacy before possession.
That afternoon, the story broke.
LAWRENCE HALE ACCUSED OF SECRET CAMPAIGN AGAINST MORETTI CEO.
My phone filled with alerts.
I turned them off.
By evening, a reporter was outside my house.
Not on the porch.
Across the street.
Emma saw him through the window.
“Is that about Dad?”
“Yes.”
“Is it bad?”
“Some adults made bad choices a long time ago, and people are talking about them now.”
“Did Dad make bad choices?”
I looked at her.
“Yes.”
She nodded.
“I know.”
Children rarely need the perfect version.
They need the reliable one.
The doorbell rang.
I expected another reporter.
Instead, Vincent stood on the porch with no security.
I opened the door.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you?”
“Emma called.”
I turned.
She stood halfway down the stairs holding her tablet.
“You called Dad?”
“I asked if he was okay.”
Vincent’s face softened.
“I told her I was.”
Emma came down.
“Are you?”
He crouched.
“I’m embarrassed about some things I did. And I’m angry about some things Lawrence did. But I’m okay.”
“Are you going to jail?”
“No.”
“Is Uncle Daniel?”
Daniel, who had arrived ten minutes earlier with groceries, shouted from the kitchen.
“Why am I going to jail?”
Emma shrugged.
“Just checking everybody.”
Vincent laughed.
The tension broke.
Later, after Emma went upstairs, I walked him to the porch.
The reporter’s car remained across the street.
Vincent looked toward it.
“I can have security remove him.”
“Public street.”
“I know.”
I studied him.
“You really learned rules.”
“Expensive education.”
I smiled despite myself.
Then he became serious.
“Claire, Sophia’s evidence might make people say I was a victim.”
“You were manipulated.”
“I was also responsible.”
“Yes.”
“I need you to know I understand the difference.”
I did.
May you like
That was the strange thing.
The scandal that might have given him the easiest excuse was the moment he finally stopped searching for one.
