Chapter 2
Julian shifted in the armchair, the cheap vinyl groaning under his weight. He kept his eyes fixed on Arnold’s hands, watching the way the corporate lawyer squared the edges of the manila folder before resting it gently on the rolling metal tray. There was no triumph in Arnold’s demeanor, only the grim exhaustion of a man tasked with cleaning up a mess he knew could never truly be erased.
“You think burying the file in probate court makes it disappear?” Arnold asked, his tone flat, devoid of the theatrical anger Julian had expected. “It only creates a paper trail that points straight back to this room, Julian. Every transaction, every wire transfer, every compromised signature—it’s all traceable.”
“We did what we had to do to protect the firm,” Julian replied, his voice dropping an octave. He glanced briefly at Catherine, whose face remained pale and turned toward the window, refusing to look at either of them. Her bandaged forehead caught the late afternoon sun filtering through the blinds, casting striped shadows across her blanket. “You weren’t in the boardroom when the auditors came knocking, Arnold. You were safely tucked away handling acquisitions in Chicago.”
“And now I’m here,” Arnold said, tapping a single finger against the cardboard tab of the folder. “Cleaning up the fallout of a tragedy that was entirely preventable. Catherine knew the risks when she took the keys that night. The police report called it an accident. But we both know the steering column didn’t just snap on its own.”
Thomas shifted his weight by the window, the fabric of his grey suit rustling softly. He had remained silent since Arnold entered, but his posture was rigid, like a coiled spring ready to release. Thomas had always been the pragmatist of the group, the one who handled the logistics while Julian handled the strategy and Catherine fronted the public relations. Now, logistics meant deciding whether to sink with the ship or throw the captain overboard.
“Leave the photograph, Arnold,” Thomas said, his voice deep and resonant. He didn’t look at Arnold; instead, his eyes were fixed on the reflection of Catherine in the glass pane. “We aren’t going to stop the lawsuit. If Catherine goes down for financial malfeasance, she goes down alone. We aren’t pooling our assets to bail her out of a federal indictment.”
May you like
Catherine finally turned her head. Her eyes, usually sharp and calculating, looked hollow, framed by dark circles and the stark white of the bandage. She reached out with a trembling hand, her fingers brushing the edge of the manila folder.
“You think you can just cut me loose, Thomas?” Catherine whispered, the sound fragile yet venomous. “We signed the same ledger. Every single name is on page four.”
