Chapter 17
“And?”
“The guest answered.”
I closed my eyes.
“What did he say?”
“That Harrison believed your investments were worth a few million at most.”
I exhaled slowly.
“How would the guest know that?”
“Apparently Harrison has discussed it quite openly.”
Of course he had.
“What else?”
“The reporter is waiting outside the venue.”
“For Harrison?”
“Yes.”
“Can we stop this?”
“No.”
I hated that answer.
“Can we ask them not to turn me into a participant?”
“We already have.”
“And?”
“They agreed we have made no comment.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“I know.”
I walked toward the windows.
Across the water, evening settled over Washington.
Three thousand miles away, my former husband was dancing at his wedding.
“I don’t want to ruin his day.”
My communications director was silent for a moment.
“Caroline, you haven’t.”
“It will look like I did.”
“Anyone can review the timeline.”
“That has never stopped people from believing whatever story entertains them.”
“No.”
I rubbed the bridge of my nose.
“Continue no comment.”
“Understood.”
“If asked about the settlement, refer them to public filings only.”
“Yes.”
“If asked about Harrison or Khloe, no comment.”
“Yes.”
“And tell our employees not to celebrate this online.”
“I already sent the instruction.”
“Thank you.”
I ended the call.
Carter stood several feet away.
“You heard?”
“Enough.”
“I should have waited to authorize the corporate profile.”
“No.”
His answer came immediately.
I turned.
“No?”
“You authorized accurate public disclosure about your companies.”
“This happened because of it.”
“This happened because Mr.
Cole is marrying someone weeks after divorcing the controlling owner of a major investment group.”
“That sounds like blame.”
“It is chronology.”
I almost smiled.
He continued.
“You are not required to hide your professional identity so someone else can avoid uncomfortable questions about his personal choices.”
That sentence stayed with me.
I had done exactly that for years.
Hidden achievements.
Muted celebrations.
Skipped photographs.
Declined profiles.
Changed conversations.
Lowered my voice.
All so Harrison would not feel uncomfortable.
I looked at Carter.
“Do nothing.”
“That was my recommendation.”
“No interventions.”
“Yes.”
“No calls to the reporter.”
“Yes.”
“No favors.”
“Yes.”
I inhaled.
“Whatever happens outside that hotel belongs to Harrison.”
Carter nodded.
“Yes.”
The wedding reception ended a little after eleven Eastern time.
Eight in Washington.
I was in my library reviewing a shipping forecast when my phone began vibrating.
Once.
Twice.
Then repeatedly.
I ignored it.