Chapter 6 - THE NIGHT BEFORE THE PROPOSAL
Camille did not intend to sleep with Elias Wren.
That was what she told herself for months.
She went to his apartment because Julian had disappeared emotionally again.
Two days earlier, Grant and Everett had spent four hours discussing Hawthorne-Prescott alliance.
Julian emerged angry and would not tell Camille why.
She asked whether he still wanted marriage.
He said:
“Why are we discussing this tonight?”
Not yes.
Not no.
Camille heard rejection.
She drank two glasses of wine at charity dinner.
Elias offered ride.
Elias had always liked her.
Not openly.
But women know.
In elevator she said:
“Do you think Julian loves me?”
Elias answered:
“He loves badly.”
She laughed.
“Helpful.”
At his apartment, more wine.
They kissed.
Stopped.
Kissed again.
Camille said:
“This is insane.”
Elias replied:
“Yes.”
She stayed.
Morning shame.
No romance.
No plan.
They agreed never again.
The next evening Julian proposed on a private terrace at Metropolitan Museum after-hours, his mother’s old ring? Maybe not, too symbolic. He used new diamond.
Camille said yes.
Then cried in bathroom later because she had betrayed him less than twenty-four hours earlier.
She almost confessed.
Everett stopped her.
“You will not destroy a merger and two families over one drunken mistake.”
“How do you know?”
She had called father.
Of course.
Everett said:
“You wanted Julian. You have him.”
That became another silence.
Camille’s life was full of people telling her the future mattered more than truth.
Unlike Nora, she usually agreed.
Months later Elias and Camille texted occasionally.
No further sex.
But emotional tension.
He asked:
“Do you ever think about it?”
Camille:
“Don’t.”
Once:
“If Julian finds out, he’ll hate both.”
Elias:
“He deserves truth.”
Camille:
“Then tell him and lose everything.”
Elias did not.
Because Grant had promoted him to COO.
The night Nora revealed locket, Camille finally understood how much secrecy had accumulated around engagement.
She was not only fiancée who hid one-night affair.
She was daughter hiding family conspiracy.
Woman who hit employee.
Person who had known necklace mattered and chose silence.
Julian ended engagement.
She spent next morning vomiting in guest bathroom from anxiety.
Everett arrived at hotel suite furious.
“You talked to him.”
“Yes.”
“About box?”
“Yes.”
He slapped hand on table.
“Jesus Christ, Camille.”
She flinched.
He had never hit her.
Never needed.
His anger still controlled.
“I’m done.”
“With what?”
“You.”
Everett laughed.
“You’re emotional.”
Camille stared.
Same language Helena had recorded.
Women in these families became “emotional” at convenient moments.
“I told Julian about Elias too.”
Everett went still.
“You idiot.”
“I’m tired.”
“Of what? Champagne? Diamonds? Being engaged to man women would kill for?”
“Being managed.”
Everett’s eyes hardened.
“Everything you have came from management.”
That sentence snapped something.
Camille realized father did not see daughter.
He saw asset.
Social access.
Marriage link.
“Did you help kill Helena?”
Everett went white.
“What did you say?”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Do you know who did?”
“No.”
“Then why box scare?”
“Because Grant forged trust and I knew.”
Admission.
Camille stared.
“You knew?”
“Yes.”
“Since when?”
“Since before Helena died.”
Her skin went cold.
“You let Julian live with father who stole from him.”
“It was business control.”
“It was his mother’s property.”
“Helena was blowing up family over technical paperwork.”
Technical.
Forgery.
Everett continued:
“If that trust is enforced retroactively, dozens transactions challenged. We could face civil exposure, tax problems, shareholder suits.”
“You care about prison?”
“I care about everything.”
Camille asked:
“Why marriage?”
Everett looked away.
She knew.
“Because you wanted Prescott assets merged before Julian got control.”
“That is simplistic.”
“So yes.”
He sighed.
“Julian loves you.”
“Not anymore.”
“He’ll recover.”
“No.”
Everett looked.
For first time he saw loss of leverage.
Camille said:
“I’m cooperating.”
“With whom?”
“Julian’s counsel.”
Everett’s face changed.
“Do not.”
“Why?”
“Because you don’t know everything.”
“Then tell.”
Silence.
Camille stepped closer.
“What happened to Helena?”
Everett said:
“I didn’t kill her.”
Again.
Not answer.
“Who did?”
He looked at daughter.
Then:
“Ask Grant what he told Silas Trent to do that night.”
Camille had heard name.
Silas Trent.
Former Hawthorne head of security.
Retired suddenly after Helena’s death.
Moved to Florida.
Died? She thought alive.
“What did Grant tell him?”
Everett whispered:
“To stop Helena from reaching Julian.”
Camille stopped breathing.
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
“Bullshit.”
“I swear.”
“Did Silas sabotage car?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did Grant?”
“No.”
“How can you know?”
Everett snapped:
“Because Grant was with me until eleven.”
Helena left 11:22.
Could have ordered earlier.
Camille stared.
Everett continued:
“Grant wanted papers retrieved.”
“He said scare her.”
“He said no police.”
“I thought Silas would intercept.”
“What happened?”
“Car went off road.”
“And then?”
“We protected company.”
Camille’s stomach turned.
“You covered.”
“We let accident remain accident.”
“Did you know brakes?”
“No.”
“Did you ask?”
Everett looked away.
That was enough.
Camille stepped back.
For first time she understood what “family protection” really meant.
Not murdering.
Sometimes simply refusing to ask question because answer might cost money.
She called Julian after father left.
He did not answer.
She sent text:
Silas Trent. Former security chief. Grant told him to stop Helena from reaching you that night. Dad claims he thought it meant retrieve documents. I don’t know if true. Silas is alive. Naples, Florida, last I knew.
Then she called attorney.
Not family attorney.
Her own.
May you like
If she was going to lose everything, she wanted at least one decision that belonged to her.
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