PART 9:

Hear it? She said nothing, which he took as permission. Your daughter is one of the most capable, most exhausted, loneliest people I have ever met. And she has been all of those things, I’d guess, for a very long time. I don’t know exactly how much of that is on you. But I know that the version of Victoria you’ve built, the controlled, perfect, untouchable CEO, that’s not Oliver, and that’s not the version of herself she wants to be forever. He paused.

She wants this child. She wants a life that’s actually hers, and no amount of money is going to make me the thing that stops that from happening. The room was very quiet. Margaret Sterling looked at him for a long measured moment. Her expression didn’t break. It was like watching someone run a calculation in real time. You think you love her? She said finally. I know I do.

You’ve known her for 2 months. Long enough, Mr. Brooks. She leaned forward slightly. I have seen men like you before. Men who believe that love is sufficient. That feeling is enough. They are always without exception unprepared for what comes with a woman like my daughter. She paused. The board, the media, the shareholders who will question her judgment for being with someone like you.

The years of your daughter growing up in the shadow of a family that will never fully accept her. The price of this is not $15 million. It is a lifetime and I am trying to save you from it. He was quiet for a moment. I’ve already lost everything once, he said. My wife, the life I planned. I watched my daughter lose her mother at 6 years old.

I know exactly what the worst looks like. He met Margaret Sterling’s eyes without blinking. So when you tell me about the price of this, I need you to understand I have already paid prices that would break most people. This doesn’t scare me. Something shifted in the older woman’s face. The calculation ran. Recalibrated again.

She picked up the envelope, placed it back in her bag. You’re making a mistake, she said. Maybe. He stood up. But it’s mine to make. He walked out without looking back. He was in a cab 3 minutes later when his phone rang. Not Victoria. Marcus. Ethan. Marcus’s voice was tight. You need to come in, not to your office, HR. They want to see you today.

Everything in him went quiet. Why? An anonymous complaint was filed this morning about conduct. about they’re saying you used the company’s corporate account to access private information about Sterling Global before the relationship became public. Someone is claiming you used the relationship for insider access.

The accusation hit him like ice water. That’s not true. I know that Marcus that is never I know Ethan. I believe you. But they’re moving on it. A pause. They’ve suspended your access pending investigation. I’m sorry. I found out 20 minutes ago. He closed his eyes, opened them. Outside, the city moved past the cab window, indifferent. Okay, he said.

The word was becoming a reflex, a way of not going under. It’s her mother, Marcus said quietly. Has to be the timing. Yeah. He exhaled. Yeah, I know. He texted Victoria from the cab. Just the facts, short and clear. Her response came back in under a minute. I know. My lawyer is already pulling the complaint records.

This is fabricated, Ethan. We will prove that. Do not go into that HR meeting without representation. He stared at the message. Something tightened in his chest. Not fear exactly. the particular feeling of understanding that a war had actually started and there was no version of backing down that ended well. He typed back, “I’m not backing down.

” Three dots appeared. Then I know neither am I. The HR meeting happened at 2 p.m. He brought the union rep, not a lawyer. It was too fast to arrange a lawyer, but Marcus had called in a favor and gotten someone with enough institutional knowledge to sit across the table and make sure the meeting was recorded.

Ethan answered every question evenly, denied every accusation directly and signed nothing. The investigator, a woman who was clearly uncomfortable with the whole proceeding, told him the investigation would take 5 to 10 business days, and he was on paid administrative leave in the interim. He walked out of the building he’d worked in for four years with his building pass in a manila envelope and Marcus walking beside him and felt the ground shifting in a way he recognized the particular instability of everything changing at once. “You okay?” Marcus

asked. “No,” Ethan said honestly. “But I’m upright.” “That counts.” “Yeah.” He stopped on the sidewalk, looked up. The afternoon was bright and ordinary, the way it always was when something devastating was happening, like the sky refused to editorialize. I need to get to Ava. Go. I’ll keep you posted from inside.

He got to Denise’s by 4. Ava was at the kitchen table doing homework, and the moment he walked in, she looked up and he saw it in her face. She’d seen something or someone had said something at school. the particular look of a child who has discovered that the world knows something about her family before she did.

He sat down across from her. Denise quietly moved to the other room. Okay, he said. Ask me. Is she famous? Ava said straightforward. No preamble. Yes, like really famous. Yes. Ava looked at her homework then at him. Kids at school were showing each other stuff on their phones. A pause about you and her. He felt something grind in his chest.

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