Chapter 50
title: "What Iris Saw" wordCount: 2488
I unlocked the passenger door.
Iris climbed in, still clutching the drawing. Her sneakers left wet marks on the floor mat. She'd been crying hard enough that her breath came in little hitches.
"Please don't go."
Her voice was smaller than I'd imagined. Rougher. Like she'd forgotten how to use it.
I gripped the steering wheel. "Iris—"
"You're leaving like Mommy left."
The words hit like a fist to the sternum. I turned to look at her. Really look at her. Eight months of silence had carved something hollow into her face. She was seven years old and already knew what abandonment looked like.
"That's not—" I stopped. Because it was exactly what I was doing. "Your dad needs you right now. You should go back inside."
"No, yeah, I should." I reached for the keys. "But I can't."
Iris wiped her nose on her sleeve. "Why?"
Because I'm a coward. Because staying means admitting I want something I don't deserve. Because every person I've ever loved has either left or died and I'm not doing that again.
"It's complicated."
"That's what Daddy always says." She smoothed the crumpled drawing across her lap. The paper was torn down the middle, right between the two figures I'd sketched. "He says it about Mommy. About why she's not here."
My throat tightened. "Yeah."
"But it's not complicated." Iris's fingers traced the rip in the paper. "She didn't want to be here anymore. I heard her."
The parking lot went very still.
"What did you hear?"
"The night before the accident. I got up to get water and they were in Daddy's study. The door was open a little." She picked at the edge of the drawing. "Mommy was crying. She said 'I can't do this anymore.' And Daddy said 'Please, Victoria, think about Iris.' And Mommy said—"
Her voice cracked. She pressed her lips together.
I put my hand over hers. "You don't have to tell me."
"She said 'I am thinking about her. That's why I have to go.'" Iris looked up at me. Her eyes were the same gray as Dominic's. "I thought if I told anyone, it would mean she didn't love me. That it was my fault."
Jesus Christ.
"Iris, no. That's not—" I squeezed her hand. "Your mom leaving had nothing to do with you. Adults make choices that don't make sense sometimes. Choices that hurt people they love."
"Like you're doing right now?"
The kid was seven and she'd just gutted me with six words.
I looked out the windshield. The sun had almost set. Orange light bled across the hood of my car, made everything look like it was on fire.
"Yeah," I said. "Like I'm doing right now."
"Daddy needs you more than me."
I turned back to her. "That's not true."
"It is." She folded the drawing carefully, matching up the torn edges. "I have Grandma Patricia. And Mrs. Chen comes over sometimes. But Daddy doesn't have anyone. He just works and works and then sits in his study and stares at nothing."
My mother had done the same thing. After my father—after the man I thought was my father—left. She'd sit at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee going cold in her hands, staring at the wall like she could see through it to some other life.
She'd been alone. Completely alone. And she'd chosen that. Chosen silence and secrets and slow death by cancer rather than fight.
I'd spent my whole life angry at her for giving up.
And here I was, doing the exact same thing.
"Okay," I said.
Iris blinked. "Okay?"
"Yeah. Okay." I started the car. "Let's get you home."
Dominic was standing in the driveway when I pulled up. He must have been watching from a window. Waiting.
He reached Iris's door before I'd even put the car in park.
"Iris." His voice broke on her name. "God, I thought—"
"I'm okay, Daddy." She climbed out, still holding the drawing. "I went to find Sloane."
His eyes met mine over the roof of the car. The relief in them was so raw it hurt to look at.
I got out. Shut the door. The evening air was cooler now. Smelled like rain coming.
"She needs to tell you something," I said.
Dominic crouched down to Iris's level. "What is it, sweetheart?"
Iris looked at me. I nodded.
"I heard Mommy the night before the accident." The words came out in a rush. "She said she couldn't do it anymore. She said she was leaving."
Dominic went very still. The kind of still that meant everything inside him had just stopped working.
"You heard that?"
"I'm sorry." Iris started crying again. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I thought it meant she didn't love us."
"Oh, Iris." Dominic pulled her against his chest. His hand cupped the back of her head. "No. No, sweetheart. That is not what it meant."
"But she was leaving."
"I know." His voice was rough. "I know she was. But that was about her, not you. Never you."
Iris buried her face in his shoulder. Her small body shook with sobs. Eight months of silence breaking open all at once.
I should leave. Give them privacy. This wasn't my moment.
But I couldn't move.
Dominic looked up at me. His eyes were wet. "Thank you."
"I didn't do anything."
"You brought her back." He stood, lifting Iris with him. She wrapped her arms around his neck. "You could have kept driving."
Yeah. I could have.
"She needed you," I said.
"And you?" His gaze held mine. "What do you need?"
The question sat between us like a live wire.
I needed to stop running. I needed to tell him the truth about James Chen. I needed to figure out who the hell I was when I wasn't performing usefulness for someone else's benefit.
"Time," I said. "I need time."
the dynamic had changed his expression. Not disappointment. Understanding, maybe. Or resignation.
"Then take it." He adjusted his hold on Iris. "But Sloane—"
A car pulled into the driveway behind mine. Black sedan. Driver in a suit.
Patricia Ashford stepped out.
She was wearing a charcoal suit and carrying a leather briefcase. Her hair was pulled back in its usual severe bun. She looked like she was heading into a board meeting, not showing up at her son's house at seven-thirty on a Thursday evening.
"Dominic." She walked toward us. Her heels clicked against the pavement. "I apologize for the intrusion. But this cannot wait."
Dominic set Iris down. "Mother, this really is not a good time."
"I am aware." Patricia's gaze flicked to me, then back to Dominic. "However, I have information you need to see immediately."
"What information?"
She held up the briefcase. "Proof that Marcus has been embezzling from Ashford Industries for the past three years. Approximately forty-seven million dollars, funneled through shell companies and offshore accounts."
The air went out of my lungs.
Dominic stared at his mother. "What?"
"I hired a forensic accountant six months ago. The investigation is complete." Patricia's voice was calm. Clinical. Like she was discussing quarterly earnings. "I have documentation of every transaction. Bank records. Email correspondence. Enough to send him to prison for twenty years."
"You've known for six months?" Dominic's voice was dangerously quiet. "And you are telling me now?"
"I was waiting for the right moment." Patricia set the briefcase on the hood of my car. "Marcus has been consolidating power. Turning the board against you. I needed to be certain you were ready to act."
"Ready to act." Dominic repeated the words like they were in a foreign language. "He has been stealing from the company my father built. From our family. And you waited?"
"I waited because you were not strong enough." Patricia's expression did not change. "You were grieving. Unfocused. If I had given you this information three months ago, you would have confronted Marcus emotionally. He would have destroyed you."
Iris pressed closer to Dominic's leg. He put his hand on her shoulder.
"And now?" he asked.
"Now you have something to fight for." Patricia looked at me again. "Someone who reminds you what integrity looks like."
My face went hot. "I'm not—"
"You are exactly what he needs." Patricia opened the briefcase. Pulled out a thick folder. "Marcus believes he has won. He thinks the board will vote you out next week. He has already drafted a press release announcing his appointment as CEO."
Dominic took the folder. Flipped it open. His face hardened as he scanned the first page.
"This is comprehensive."
"I do not do anything by half measures." Patricia closed the briefcase. "You have forty-eight hours before the board meeting. I suggest you use them wisely."
"Why now?" I asked. "Why not wait until after the vote?"
Patricia turned to me. Her eyes were sharp. Calculating. "Because Marcus made a mistake. He threatened Iris."
The temperature dropped ten degrees.
"What?" Dominic's voice was lethal.
"This afternoon. He told me that if I did not support his bid for CEO, he would ensure certain details about Victoria's accident became public. Details that would be traumatic for Iris to learn." Patricia's mouth thinned. "I will tolerate many things. Threats against my granddaughter are not among them."
Dominic's hand tightened on Iris's shoulder. "What details?"
"Nothing that matters." Patricia's tone was final. "Victoria was leaving. We all knew that. Marcus is simply attempting to weaponize your grief."
But something in her voice was off. A hesitation. Like there was more she was not saying.
Dominic heard it too. "Mother—"
"Handle Marcus." Patricia picked up her briefcase. "I will manage the board. By Monday morning, you will have the votes you need."
She walked back to her car. Got in. The sedan pulled away.
Dominic stood there, holding the folder. His face was unreadable.
"Daddy?" Iris tugged on his hand. "Are you okay?"
"Yes, sweetheart." He looked down at her. "I am okay. But I need you to go inside with Mrs. Chen for a little while. Can you do that?"
Iris nodded. She glanced at me. "You're staying, right?"
The question was so hopeful it hurt.
"For a bit," I said.
She smiled. Actually smiled. Then ran toward the house.
Dominic waited until the door closed behind her. Then he turned to me.
"I need to ask you something."
My stomach tightened. "Okay."
"Stay." He took a step closer. "Not for the company. Not to help me fight Marcus. Stay because—" He stopped. Took a breath. "Stay because I am asking you to. Because I want you here."
The words hung between us. Simple. Devastating.
I wanted to say yes. God, I wanted to say yes.
But the lie was still there. The one I'd built my whole life around. That love was transactional. That people only wanted me when I was useful.
If I stayed now, I would never know if he wanted me or just needed me.
"I can't." The words tasted like ash. "Not yet. I need to figure out who I am when I'm not trying to be what someone else needs."
Dominic's expression did not change. But something in his eyes dimmed.
"How long?"
"I don't know."
"Will you come back?"
The question was so quiet I almost missed it.
"I don't know that either."
He nodded. Once. Like he'd expected that answer.
"Then I will not ask you to make promises you cannot keep." He held out the folder. "But take this. Read it. If you decide to come back, you will know what we are fighting."
I took the folder. Our fingers brushed.
"Dominic—"
"Go, Sloane." His voice was rough. "Before I say something that makes this harder."
I wanted to ask what he would say. Wanted to stay and hear it.
Instead, I got in my car.
He stood in the driveway, watching me. The porch light cast shadows across his face. Made him look older. Tired.
I started the engine. Backed out.
Did not let myself look in the rearview mirror.
I made it three blocks before I had to pull over.
My hands were shaking. The folder sat on the passenger seat. I picked it up. Flipped it open.
Bank statements. Email printouts. Spreadsheets tracking money moving through accounts in the Caymans, Switzerland, Singapore.
Marcus had been systematic. Careful. He'd buried the theft under legitimate expenses. Consulting fees. Vendor payments. Real estate investments.
Forty-seven million dollars.
My phone buzzed. Text from Reese: "Where are you? Are you okay?"
I typed back: "Yeah. I'm fine."
Another buzz. "That's not an answer."
"I'm figuring some things out. I'll call you tomorrow."
"Sloane—"
I silenced my phone. Tossed it on the dashboard.
The sun had set completely now. Streetlights flickered on. A couple walked past my car, holding hands. Laughing about something.
I thought about my mother. About the journal she'd kept. All those years of documentation. Evidence of what the Ashfords had done to James Chen.
She'd had proof. She could have fought. Could have demanded justice. Could have claimed the inheritance that should have been hers.
Instead, she'd run. Chosen silence. Chosen survival over truth.
And I'd hated her for it.
But sitting here, holding evidence of Marcus's crimes, knowing I could walk away and never look back—
I understood.
Fighting meant risk. Meant vulnerability. Meant admitting you wanted something enough to bleed for it.
Running was easier.
I closed the folder. Set it back on the seat.
Started the car.
I was pulling back onto the street when my phone rang. Blocked number.
I almost did not answer. But something made me pick up.
"Hello?"
"Sloane Whitley." Marcus's voice was smooth. Calm. "I hope I am not interrupting."
Every muscle in my body went rigid.
"How did you get this number?"
"That is not relevant." A pause. "I understand my mother paid Dominic a visit this evening. Brought him some interesting reading material."
My grip tightened on the phone.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Please. Let us not insult each other's intelligence." His voice dropped lower. "I know what Patricia gave him. And I know you are the reason he will actually use it."
"Good. Then you know you're finished."
"Perhaps." He sounded amused. "But I wonder if Dominic knows the whole truth about Victoria's accident. The real reason she was driving that night. Where she was going."
My blood went cold.
"What are you talking about?"
"Meet me. Alone. Tomorrow morning. Six AM. The construction site on Harbor Street." A pause. "If you do not, I will ensure Iris learns exactly what her mother was running from. And trust me, Miss Whitley—that truth will destroy what is left of that child."
The line went dead.
I sat there, phone pressed to my ear, listening to silence.
Then I threw the car into drive and headed toward Harbor Street.