Chapter 7 - The Cost of Choosing
Monday’s board meeting began without Damian.
Arthur had moved the time forward by an hour.
A courtesy email informed him after the meeting started.
By the time Damian entered the conference room, a proposed suspension lay at every seat.
Arthur looked up.
“You’re late.”
Damian placed a folder on the table.
“You changed the time.”
“We couldn’t delay company business because of your domestic difficulties.”
Around the table, people studied their papers.
Several had toasted Damian at the wedding.
One had called Evelyn a fortunate girl.
Damian remained standing.
“Independent counsel will receive records relating to the Westbridge fire, concealed payments, and the suppression of internal warnings.”
Arthur did not blink.
“You should be careful with allegations.”
“I am.”
Naomi sat beside him.
She had advised him against bringing Evelyn.
Evelyn had agreed.
She did not need to stand in every room to matter inside it.
Instead, she was across town with Celeste, making a statement to investigators.
Iris waited in a separate office with a counselor and a book she had not turned a page of in twenty minutes.
When Evelyn joined her, the girl looked up.
“Will they take my mom?”
“No one has told us that.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It’s the honest answer I have.”
Iris studied her.
Then she shifted her backpack off the chair beside her.
Evelyn sat.
“My mom says Uncle Damian used to make pancakes shaped like animals.”
“I’ve seen his kitchen. That may be exaggerated.”
“He made a giraffe once.”
“Was it recognizable?”
“Apparently not.”
Evelyn smiled.
Iris finally opened her book.
At the boardroom table, Arthur played his strongest card.
“Your wife’s aunt approached us,” he said. “She offered the property. You approved the transaction.”
“Yes,” Damian said.
“You signed the engagement terms.”
“Yes.”
“You benefited from the company you now accuse.”
“Yes.”
The room went quiet.
Damian looked at the directors.
“I failed to ask questions because the answers seemed convenient. That is my responsibility. It does not make these records disappear.”
Naomi distributed a summary prepared for counsel, carefully distinguishing established documents from matters still under investigation.
One director began reading.
Another asked for a recess.
Arthur refused.
He no longer controlled the room as completely as he believed.
By noon, the board had voted to retain outside investigators and suspend Arthur’s authority pending review.
Damian also stepped aside from decisions connected to the inquiry.
When he returned to the townhouse, Evelyn was in the kitchen making soup.
He stopped in the doorway.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know.”
He loosened his tie.
“Father’s lawyer says I’ve destroyed the family.”
She stirred the pot.
“Your family is upstairs arguing over whether Iris can put ketchup on grilled cheese.”
A sound escaped him.
Almost a laugh.
Then he covered his face.
Evelyn turned off the stove.
He did not cry elegantly.
There was nothing restrained or impressive about the way grief finally caught him.
She held him anyway.
Later, they sat on the floor beside the kitchen cabinets.
“I loved him,” Damian said.
“I know.”
“I keep remembering good things. That feels disloyal to everyone he hurt.”
“Good memories don’t make the harm imaginary.”
He looked at her.
“How do you know what to say?”
“I usually don’t. I just know when someone shouldn’t have to sit alone.”
He touched her cheek.
Slowly enough for her to move away.
She did not.
Their first kiss was quiet and slightly awkward because both of them were crying.
That made it better.
The next morning, a reporter called.
Then another.
By lunchtime, Evelyn’s photograph appeared online beneath a headline suggesting she had married Damian to seize his family’s fortune.
There were references to her weight, her father’s debts, and her former fiancé.
Someone had supplied private photographs from years earlier.
Lenora denied involvement.
Arthur’s spokesperson declined comment.
Evelyn stood at the kitchen counter reading strangers explain her own life to her.
Damian reached for the phone.
She moved it out of reach.
“Don’t make this disappear for me.”
He stopped.
“What do you need?”
Evelyn looked at the photograph they had chosen: her laughing with frosting on her chin at her twenty-first birthday.
For years, she had hated that picture.
Now she remembered who had taken it.
Her father.
Someone who loved her.
May you like
“I need a better photograph,” she said.
“And I need to tell the truth.”
