Chapter 7
He paused.
"Several of the achievements Preston has claimed depend on work that your records show you led."
"Then why didn't anyone correct it?"
"Because presentations, organizational charts, and actual contributions don't always tell the same story. We should have looked more closely sooner."
He didn't excuse the firm's failure.
I appreciated that more than another reassuring speech.
"Does that mean his equity can be denied?"
"It means the committee must evaluate the facts honestly."
Gideon leaned back.
"I'm not going to manufacture a case against your husband. And I won't punish him simply because he's been unfaithful to you."
I nodded slowly.
"Good."
He raised an eyebrow.
"Good?"
"I don't want anyone saying I destroyed his career because I was jealous."
The word tasted poisonous.
Jealous.
As though I had been unreasonable to expect fidelity from the man whose life I had saved.
"I want the truth," I said. "Nothing else."
For the first time, Gideon smiled slightly.
"Then we agree."
He explained that the independent review had already begun.
The equity committee would examine the original reports, meeting records, internal assignments, and financial results.
I would be asked to describe my contributions and defend my analysis.
Preston would have an opportunity to respond.
There would be no altered documents.
No manufactured accusations.
No secret conspiracy.
Just a careful examination of what each of us had actually done.
And that frightened me more than I wanted to admit.
Because Preston had spent five years teaching me to stay quiet.
Now my career might depend on speaking in front of the people he had convinced to overlook me.
Gideon seemed to understand.
"You don't have to do this for revenge," he said.
I looked at the file.
"I'm not."
"Then why?"
I thought of the scars beneath my blouse.
The hospital.
The invitation.
The woman carrying my husband's baby.
"I'm tired of letting him tell everyone who I am."
Gideon nodded.
"Then let's make sure they hear it from you."
Before I left, he asked one more question.
"Have you seen the gala dress code?"
I gave a short, humorless laugh.
"Yes."
"Do you know who approved it?"
"Cassidy Vaughn."
His eyes narrowed.
"That explains the wording."
I studied him.
"You're not surprised?"
"I'm surprised it reached the invitations without anyone challenging it."
He picked up his phone.
"I'll have the restriction withdrawn. Formal attire is appropriate. No guest should be required to expose any part of their body."