Chapter 5
“That isn't true.”
“I know that now.”
A strange sadness passed over her face.
“He said you were technically listed as an employee for tax reasons, but that you mostly handled charity events.”
I almost laughed.
Instead, I looked toward the conference-room door.
For years, I had assumed Madison knew exactly what she was participating in.
Perhaps she knew some of it.
Apparently not all.
“He told you what made it easiest to live with your choices,” I said.
She swallowed.
“That sounds like something you've had experience with.”
It could have been cruel.
Instead, it sounded almost apologetic.
“Yes,” I said. “I have.”
Daniel checked his watch.
“We should go back.”
Madison touched my sleeve before I turned away.
“Iris.”
I looked at her hand.
She withdrew it quickly.
“There was a box,” she said.
“What box?”
“I don't know exactly.”
Her voice dropped.
“About eight months ago, Jason asked me to help clear the storage room at the old headquarters. He said we were moving everything to the new building. There was a metal archive box with your maiden name on the side.”
My heartbeat changed.
“What happened to it?”
“He told me it was personal and took it himself.”
“Where?”
“I don't know.”
Daniel's attention sharpened.
“What was inside?”
“I didn't see everything.”
She looked toward the conference room.
“But I saw blue folders. Old photographs. And an envelope with the Westbridge seal.”
Before I could ask another question, the courtroom doors opened.
The clerk called us back inside.
For the remainder of the morning, the case changed direction.
The judge temporarily froze certain corporate transactions pending a review of the ownership claims. No one declared me the owner of the company. No fortunes magically changed hands.
Real courts rarely worked that way.
Instead, there would be forensic accountants.
Patent specialists.
Depositions.
Expert witnesses.
Weeks of documents.
Maybe months.
But something important had happened.
The story Jason had told—that I had contributed nothing and therefore deserved nothing—was no longer being accepted as fact.
When court adjourned, he avoided looking at me.
That hurt too.
I hated that it did.
Outside the courthouse, rain had begun to fall.
Daniel opened an umbrella.
“I'm having our investigator look into the archive box.”
I nodded.
“Do you believe Madison?”
“I believe she believes what she told us.”
It was one of Daniel's favorite distinctions.
My phone rang.
Mom.
I answered.