Chapter 4
I woke up at six the next morning on the couch in my office.
My back ached. My dress was wrinkled. My mouth tasted like old scotch and regret.
I sat up, rubbed my eyes, and reached for my phone. I’d turned it back on an hour earlier, while I was waiting for the coffee to brew.
It was blowing up.
My Facebook post from the night before had gone viral.
Two hundred thousand likes.
Eighty thousand shares.
Thirty thousand comments.
I scrolled through them fast.
Most were good. You go, girl. I’d have done the same thing. No one messes with a veteran. Finally, a woman who doesn’t just sit there and take it.
Some were bad. You’re a monster. Your own sister? How could you humiliate her like that? You should be ashamed of yourself.
I didn’t care.
Haters were part of the plan.
Bad press was still press. And when the embezzlement story broke, everyone would know I was the victim. Everyone would know I’d been right all along.
I took a sip of coffee, opened my work email.
The first one made me choke.
Subject: Resignation effective immediately.
From: Eric Bennett.
I opened it.
It was two sentences long.
I resign as co-CEO of Bennett Construction, effective today. I will not be coming in. Do not contact me. All further communication goes through my lawyer.
I laughed.
Short. Cold. Cowardly.
Classic Eric.
He didn’t even have the balls to call me. To say it to my face.
I forwarded the email to HR, to the board of directors, to every department head in the company. Then I typed a reply-all.
Accepted. I will be taking over as sole CEO, effective immediately. A company-wide meeting will be held at 10 AM today in the main conference room to address recent events. All employees are required to attend.
I hit send, stood up, and walked to the private bathroom down the hall. I took a shower in the tiny stall there, washed last night’s makeup and hairspray off, changed into the spare suit I kept in my office closet—black, tailored, sharp, the kind of suit that says don’t fuck with me—and pulled my hair back into a tight bun.
I looked in the mirror.
The handprint on my cheek was almost gone. Just a faint pink mark now, easy enough to cover with a little concealer.
I looked like Clara Bennett again.
Strong. In control. Unbreakable.
Good.
The next four hours were a blur.
The company meeting at ten. I stood in front of two hundred employees, told them the truth—about the embezzlement, about Eric and Liam, about the arrests. I told them no one else was in trouble. That their jobs were safe. That the company was strong, that we’d get through this, that we’d come out better on the other side.
Most of them believed me.
Some didn’t.
Three people handed in their resignations before the end of the day. Two of them were Liam’s cousins. I accepted them on the spot, had security walk them out. No hard feelings. I didn’t want anyone loyal to a thief working for me anyway.
Then came the lawyers.
My lawyer, Sarah, showed up at noon with three assistants and a stack of papers a foot high. We went over the divorce, the embezzlement case, the lawsuit I was filing against Natalie for stealing forty thousand dollars from the women’s shelter I ran—money she’d taken over the past two years, small amounts at a time, thinking I’d never notice.
“Natalie’s already hired a lawyer,” Sarah said, flipping through a file. “Name’s Rick Torres. No relation to Liam. Sleazy. Runs ads on late-night TV. Specializes in ‘wronged women’ and personal injury.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Of course she did.”
“He’s already talking to the press,” Sarah said. “Says you’re a controlling, abusive ex-military wife who spent years terrorizing your poor, fragile sister. Says you fabricated the DNA evidence, the texts, everything, to ruin Natalie’s life because you were jealous she could get pregnant and you couldn’t.”
I froze.
The coffee cup in my hand slipped a little. Hot coffee sloshed over the edge, burned my wrist.
I didn’t feel it.
“She told him about the miscarriage?”
Sarah nodded.
“Public record from the hospital. Torres dug it up. He’s going to play the ‘poor infertile sister’ card for all it’s worth. First hearing is next week. He’s already asked for a gag order. Wants you to stop posting about it on social media.”
I stood up, walked over to the window, looked out over the city.
Thousands of people down there, going to work, picking up their kids, living their lives. None of them knew that three years ago, I’d held a tiny baby in my arms for ten minutes before she stopped breathing. None of them knew I’d spent six months after that crying myself to sleep every night, thinking it was my fault, thinking I’d broken my body forever. None of them knew Eric had stopped touching me after that, stopped talking to me, stopped being my husband, because looking at me reminded him of the daughter we’d lost.
And now Natalie was going to use that pain against me.
She was going to take the worst thing that ever happened to me and turn it into a weapon.
“Let him,” I said, turning back to Sarah. My voice was steady. “Let him go on every talk show that will have him. Let him tell the whole world I can’t have kids. Let him tell them I’m a bitter, broken woman. I don’t care.”
Sarah raised an eyebrow.
“You have a plan?”
I smiled.
“Of course I do.”
I walked back to my desk, pulled a thick manila folder out of the drawer, and slid it across the table to her.
“What’s this?”
“Natalie’s medical records,” I said. “From the two abortions I paid for. From the three times she went to rehab for pill addiction when she was in her twenties. From the psych eval she had to get after she crashed Dad’s car into a grocery store while high on Xanax. The doctor said she has severe narcissistic personality disorder. That she lies compulsively. That she’ll do anything, hurt anyone, to get what she wants.”
Sarah stared at the folder, then back up at me.
“You’ve had these this whole time?”
“I keep everything,” I said. “I’ve been cleaning up Natalie’s messes since she was twelve years old. I learned a long time ago to keep receipts.”
I leaned forward, rested my elbows on the desk.
“Next week, when Torres stands up in court and tells everyone my poor, fragile sister is a victim? You stand up, you lay all of this out, and you ask the judge one simple question: does this sound like a fragile victim to you? Or does it sound like a woman who has spent her entire life lying, cheating, and stealing to get what she wants, and got caught this time?”
Sarah grinned.
“I like the way you think.”
She stood up, grabbed the folder, tucked it under her arm.
“I’ll have the response drafted by tonight. We’ll file it first thing tomorrow. Anything else?”
“One thing,” I said. “Eric. He’s trying to cut a deal with the DA, right? Testify against Liam in exchange for immunity?”
Sarah nodded.
“DA’s office called me this morning. They’re considering it. Eric’s got a clean record. He’s a good witness. They think they can get Liam on ten years if Eric testifies.”
“Tell them no,” I said.
Sarah blinked.
“What?”
“Tell the DA if they give Eric immunity, I pull all the evidence. All the bank records, all the texts, all the wire transfers. I tell the court I made it all up. That I was angry, that I wanted to get back at my husband. The case falls apart. Liam walks. Eric walks. Everyone gets away with everything.”
Sarah stared at me like I’d grown a second head.
“Clara, that’s perjury. You could go to prison.”
“I’m not going to do it,” I said. “But the DA doesn’t know that. Tell him. Make him believe it. Eric doesn’t get immunity. He gets three years, minimum, same as Liam. Or I burn the whole case to the ground.”
Sarah was quiet for a long time.
Then she nodded.
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll talk to the DA this afternoon. He won’t like it. But he knows you’re a veteran. He knows you’re stubborn. He’ll believe you’d do it.”
She walked to the door, then stopped, turned back.
“One more thing. Eric showed up at the house at eight this morning. Drunk. Tried to get in. The alarm went off. Security got there before he could break anything. He’s at a motel on the east side of town now. Living out of his car, basically. You transferred all his money, remember?”
I remembered.
One hundred and thirty-seven dollars.
“Good,” I said. “Let him suffer.”
Sarah left.
I sat back in my chair, closed my eyes, and let out a long breath.
It was only two o’clock in the afternoon.
It felt like three days had passed since the party.
I was tired. So tired my bones ached. I wanted to go home, get in my bed, and sleep for a week.
But I couldn’t.
Not yet.
My phone rang.
I didn’t recognize the number.
I answered anyway.
“Clara Bennett.”
“Hey, sis.”
Natalie’s voice.
Sugary sweet. Fake. Like she hadn’t mouthed I’ll kill you less than twelve hours earlier.
I gripped the phone so tight my knuckles turned white.
“How did you get this number?”
“Mom still has it in her contacts,” she said, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “Listen. I want to make a deal.”
I laughed.
“A deal? You’re lucky I haven’t had you arrested yet.”
“Arrested for what?” she purred. “For loving your husband? For having a baby? You don’t have anything on me, Clara. Rick says all your evidence is inadmissible. Hearsay. Stolen. We’re going to sue you for everything you have. The house. The company. The shelter. All of it.”
“Good luck with that,” I said.
“Wait,” she said. Her voice dropped, got serious. “I don’t want to fight. I’m pregnant. I’m stressed. It’s bad for the baby. Let’s end this. Right now. You give me five hundred thousand dollars. You sign a paper saying you won’t press charges against me or Eric or Liam. You tell the police you made the embezzlement up. And I’ll disappear. I’ll move to Florida. I’ll never bother you again. You’ll never have to see me or the baby ever again.”
I stared at the wall.
Five hundred thousand dollars.
For her to go away.
It was tempting.
God, it was so tempting.
I could write the check today. Be done with all of it. Go back to my quiet life. Run the company. Run the shelter. Never think about Natalie or Eric or Liam ever again.
But I knew Natalie.
I’d known her her whole life.
She’d never go away.
She’d take the money. She’d move to Florida for six months. Then she’d come back. She’d want more. More money. More attention. More of everything she thought I owed her.
And next time, she’d be smarter. Next time, she wouldn’t make the mistake of announcing it in front of three hundred people. Next time, she’d hit me where I couldn’t see it coming.
“No,” I said.
Natalie’s voice turned cold. Fast.
“What?”
“No,” I repeated. “You don’t get to destroy my life, then pay yourself five hundred thousand dollars to walk away. You want to fight? Fine. We’ll fight. In court. In the press. Every single day until one of us is broken. And we both know it’s not going to be me.”
I hung up.
I blocked the number.
I stood up, walked over to the window again.
Down on the street, a black car was parked across the road. Engine running. Tinted windows.
It had been there since nine that morning.
I’d noticed it during the company meeting.
I watched it for another minute.
Then the back window rolled down a crack.
A hand holding a camera stuck out.
I smiled, lifted my hand, and waved.
The window snapped back up. The car peeled out, tires screeching, and disappeared around the corner.
Natalie’s lawyer.
Or the press.
Or someone else.
It didn’t matter.
Let them watch.
Let them take photos.
Let them write whatever they wanted.
I had nothing to hide.
I walked back to my desk, turned on my computer, and pulled up the shelter’s bank records. I was going to go through every transaction from the past three years, line by line, and find every single dollar Natalie had stolen. I was going to make her pay back every penny. With interest.
I was in the middle of a spreadsheet when there was a soft knock on the door.
“Come in.”
It was Jake Marlow.
The forensic accountant Sarah had hired a week earlier to go through the company’s books. Mid-thirties, brown hair, glasses, a scar across his left eyebrow from a college hockey accident. Quiet. Smart. The kind of guy who noticed every number that was off by a single cent.
May you like
He was holding a thick stack of papers, his face pale.
“Ms. Bennett,” he said. “I think you need to see this.”
