She trembled violently, wrapping her arms around her own ribs. “I knew Derek desperately wanted me to convince you to sign something. He swore it was just routine estate planning. He kept saying you were getting older, that the stress was killing you, that it was finally time to smoothly transfer leadership.”
She buried her face in her hands again. “And the cognitive decline,” she wailed softly. “He told me you were showing serious signs. He said Dr. Caldwell was deeply worried. He convinced me we needed to legally protect you before you made a catastrophic mistake that destroyed the company.”
“Did you honestly believe him?”
She looked up, her expression completely shattered. “I wanted to. You have worked so incredibly hard, Mom. I thought maybe you really were just exhausted. Maybe you genuinely needed the help.” She swallowed hard, a fresh wave of tears spilling over. “And I was just so angry.”
“Angry at what?”
“At you,” she confessed, the truth tearing out of her. “Because you always chose the company over absolutely everything else. Over me. Over your own life. I just wanted you to finally stop. I wanted you to rest. I wanted my mother back.”
Hot tears finally broke free and tracked down my own face. “Oh, Rachel. But I didn’t want any of this. I swear I didn’t want this.”
“I believe you,” I said softly, the words tasting like ash.
“Do you really?”
I paused, staring at the ruined lace of her dress. “I want to.”
By ten o’clock, the shell-shocked guests finally began to filter out into the night. Some stopped to give me tight, uncomfortable hugs. Others couldn’t even bring themselves to meet my eyes as they practically fled toward the valet station.
George Matthews stopped beside me, giving my shoulder a firm, anchoring squeeze. “You saved the company, Catherine. You did it the absolute right way.”
Three of my key board members paused on their way out to pledge their unwavering support. There would be an emergency board meeting on Monday morning. Derek’s position was officially terminated effective immediately. A few high-society guests slipped out quietly, deeply embarrassed by the sheer spectacle of it all.
An elderly woman, one of my very first consulting clients, reached out and gently took my hand. “My sister went through this exact nightmare,” she said softly. “Her son took everything she owned. Thank you so much for fighting back.”
I just nodded, entirely too exhausted to form words.
By eleven o’clock, the war room had relocated back to my dimly lit study. Sarah, David, George, and Rosa sat heavily around the oak table. One last meeting to assess the absolute wreckage.
Sarah spoke first, her tone strictly business. “The injunction is rock solid. Derek and Caldwell are both currently sitting in a holding cell. The formal bail hearing is scheduled for Monday morning.”
David leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Cascade’s offshore accounts are completely frozen. The FBI is officially taking over the deeper investigation into Kozloff’s criminal network. Derek’s massive mob debt automatically makes this a sprawling federal case now.”
George looked over at me, his brow heavily furrowed. “What about Rachel?”
I folded my hands neatly on the desk. “She will not be criminally charged. She was psychologically manipulated.”
Sarah hesitated, the lawyer in her warring with the friend. “Catherine, she knowingly signed the incorporation documents for Cascade Holdings.”
“She is my daughter,” I stated, my voice leaving absolutely no room for debate. “And she is a victim in this, too.”
David’s low voice cut through the tension. It was surprisingly gentle. “Catherine, even if she didn’t know the full extent of the nightmare, she knew something was wrong. You need to be emotionally prepared for that reality.”
I met his unblinking stare. “I am.”
Rosa stood up quietly, walked over to the mahogany cabinet, and poured a tall glass of ice water. She set it gently on the desk in front of me. “What do you need right now, Miss Catherine?”
I looked up at her—this fiercely loyal woman who had kept my home running, kept my darkest secrets safe, and literally caught my daughter when she fell tonight.
“Sleep,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “And maybe an entire year alone on a deserted island.”
At half past midnight, I finally dragged myself up the sweeping staircase. I was still trapped in the heavy gold silk dress. My feet violently ached. My mind was completely numb. I turned the brass knob and pushed the door to my bedroom open.
Rachel was sitting quietly on the very edge of my mattress, still suffocating in her grass-stained white wedding gown. She looked up with hollow eyes when I walked in.
“Can we talk?” she whispered.
I walked over and sat down heavily on the bed right beside her. “Tomorrow,” I told her. “Tonight, we just sit.”
And so we did. We sat shoulder to shoulder in the dark, a mother and a daughter draped in gold and white silk, staring blindly at the wall. We didn’t say another word.
Outside my window, the Morrison estate was completely dead silent. The massive white tent was empty. The guests had all fled. The damning evidence was safely locked away in briefcases. Derek Pierce and Dr. Caldwell were sitting in cold jail cells. I had forty-seven million reasons to be profoundly grateful.
But all I felt was incredibly tired.