Chapter 48

I stepped between Patricia and the door, blocking her exit even though she hadn't tried to leave yet.

"You broke into my apartment."

"The door was unlocked." She set the manila envelope on my kitchen counter, right next to the mug I'd been drinking from an hour ago. The casual violation of it made my jaw clench. "And I didn't break anything. I simply let myself in to have a conversation that's long overdue."

"Get out."

"In a moment." She pulled out one of my mismatched chairs—the one with the wobbly leg that I kept meaning to fix—and sat down like she owned the place. "First, you're going to listen to what I have to say about Richard's will and the very specific instructions he left regarding you."

The sparrow on my wrist seemed to pulse with my heartbeat. "I don't have to listen to anything. This is my home."

"For now." Patricia crossed her legs, her Chanel suit probably worth more than three months of my rent. "But in twenty-three days, you'll be making a decision that affects far more than just your little apartment in Southie. You'll be deciding the fate of a company that employs seventeen thousand people. That influences policy. That shapes markets."

"That tracks." I stayed by the door, arms crossed. "You came here to threaten me into walking away."

"I came here to offer you something Richard never did." She tapped the envelope. "The truth."

My phone sat on the counter next to her envelope, screen still showing that photo of Catherine and Richard. Young. Happy. Before everything went to hell. I wanted to grab it, to hide the evidence of whoever was watching me, but that would show Patricia she'd rattled me.

"The truth," I repeated. "Right. Because you're known for your honesty."

"I'm known for protecting Ashford Industries." Patricia's smile didn't reach her eyes. "Which is exactly what Richard hired me to do thirty-two years ago when he brought me on as general counsel. Before Marcus was born. Before Dominic existed. Before you were even a possibility in his mind."

She leaned forward, and the kitchen light caught the silver in her hair—perfectly styled, probably touched up weekly at some salon that didn't list prices on their website.

"I knew Richard better than anyone. Better than Catherine, certainly. Better than whatever fantasy version of him you've constructed in your head based on a few meetings and a DNA test."

"You didn't know him at all." The words came out harder than I'd intended. "If you did, you'd understand why he chose me."

"Oh, I understand perfectly." Patricia opened the envelope and pulled out a stack of papers. "Richard chose you because you reminded him of himself before the company consumed him. Before the compromises and the calculated cruelty and the slow erosion of everything he'd once believed in. He saw you as a second chance. A do-over."

She spread the papers across my counter—documents, emails, handwritten notes in Richard's distinctive scrawl.

"But here's what Richard didn't tell you, Sloane. Here's the truth he conveniently left out of his deathbed confession." Patricia's voice dropped, quiet and precise. "He didn't want you to run Ashford Industries. He wanted you to destroy it."

The floor seemed to tilt beneath my feet, but I kept my expression neutral, my arms crossed tight across my chest. "That's insane."

"Is it?" She pushed one of the handwritten notes toward me. "Read it. That's from five years ago, when he first started planning this whole elaborate scheme. Before he even knew you existed as anything more than a name on a private investigator's report."

I didn't move toward the counter. Didn't give her the satisfaction of seeing me scramble for information.

Patricia continued anyway. "Richard spent the last decade of his life watching his sons turn Ashford Industries into something he no longer recognized. Marcus with his ruthless expansion strategies. Dominic with his careful, calculated risk management that prioritized stability over innovation. Neither of them had the vision Richard started with. Neither of them cared about anything except maintaining power."

"So he decided to blow it all up." My voice sounded distant, like it belonged to someone else. "Use me as a bomb."

"Not a bomb. A reset button." Patricia stood, smoothing her skirt. "Richard's plan was elegant, really. Bring you in as heir, let you make the changes he'd been too compromised to make himself, and if the company couldn't survive those changes—if the board revolted, if the shareholders sued, if the whole thing came crashing down—well, that would prove it deserved to die."

She moved closer, and I caught the scent of her perfume—something expensive and cold.

"He was going to sacrifice you, Sloane. Feed you to the wolves and watch what happened. If you succeeded, wonderful. If you failed and took the company down with you, even better. Either way, Richard got his revenge on the institution that had consumed his life."

"You're lying." But my nails were digging crescents into my palms, and we both knew she'd landed a hit.

"Am I?" Patricia gestured at the papers. "It's all there. Every calculation. Every contingency. Richard even wrote out the exact phrasing he'd use to manipulate you into accepting. The father-daughter bonding. The appeals to your sense of justice. The suggestion that you were special, chosen, better than his legitimate sons."

Footsteps in the hallway outside made us both turn. Heavy. Familiar.

The door swung open and Dominic walked in, his tie loosened and his hair disheveled like he'd been running his hands through it. He stopped when he saw Patricia.

"Get out of her apartment."

"Dominic." Patricia's smile returned. "How convenient. I was just explaining to Sloane what your father really wanted."

"I know what he wanted." Dominic's voice was flat, controlled. "I've known for six months."

The air left my lungs. "What?"

"Richard told me." Dominic still hadn't looked at me, his attention fixed on Patricia. "Last summer, when he knew he was dying. He laid out the entire plan. The secret daughter. The inheritance clause. The twenty-three days."

My vision narrowed to a pinpoint. "You knew."

"He told me because he wanted me to help you." Dominic finally met my eyes, and something in his expression made my chest ache. "He said you'd need someone who understood the company. Someone who could guide you through the transition. Someone who could protect you from Marcus and the board."

"So you what?" My voice cracked. "Befriended me? Slept with me? All part of daddy's master plan?"

"No." The word came out sharp. "I didn't even know who you were when we met. Richard gave me your name and a photo, but I'd never seen you before that day at the coffee shop. That was—" He stopped, jaw working. "That was real."

Patricia laughed, the sound cutting through the tension. "Oh, this is delicious. You actually believe that, don't you, Sloane? You think your relationship with Dominic was some beautiful coincidence?"

"It was." But Dominic's voice lacked conviction.

"Really?" Patricia pulled another paper from her envelope. "Then explain this email from Richard to his private investigator, dated three weeks before you 'accidentally' met Sloane. 'Confirm subject's daily routine. Coffee shop, gym, grocery store. I need a complete schedule for my son.'"

The paper fluttered to the counter between us.

Dominic's face had gone pale. "He wouldn't—"

"He absolutely would." Patricia's voice was almost gentle now, like she was explaining something obvious to a child. "Richard orchestrated everything, Dominic. Your meeting. Your relationship. Even your falling in love with her. He knew you well enough to predict exactly how you'd react to someone like Sloane. Someone real. Someone who didn't care about your money or your name."

"That's not—" Dominic's hands were shaking. "I chose to pursue her. I chose to—"

"Did you?" Patricia tilted her head. "Or did Richard simply set up the dominoes and let them fall exactly as he'd calculated they would?"

The the quiet held between us, thick and suffocating. Outside, a car alarm started wailing, the sound distant and tinny through the walls.

"Why are you telling us this?" My voice came out steadier than I felt. "What do you get out of destroying whatever illusions we had left?"

"I'm telling you this because you need to understand what you're walking into." Patricia gathered her papers, sliding them back into the envelope. "Richard's plan doesn't end with you accepting the inheritance. It ends with you tearing Ashford Industries apart from the inside, whether you mean to or not. The board will fight you. The shareholders will sue. Marcus will use every weapon in his arsenal to destroy you."

She moved toward the door, pausing next to Dominic.

"And when the dust settles and the company is in ruins, Richard will have gotten exactly what he wanted. Revenge on the institution that consumed him. Revenge on the sons who disappointed him. Revenge on everyone who ever told him he couldn't walk away."

"So what?" I found my voice again. "You want me to refuse the inheritance? Let Marcus take over?"

"I want you to make an informed choice." Patricia's hand was on the doorknob. "Richard saw you as a weapon. Marcus sees you as a threat. Even Dominic, for all his pretty words about protecting you, sees you as a problem to be solved."

She pulled the door open, letting in the sound of the car alarm and the smell of the hallway—old carpet and someone's cooking.

"The question is, Sloane, what do you see when you look in the mirror? Are you Richard's daughter, ready to burn it all down? Are you the scared girl from Southie who's in over her head? Or are you something else entirely?"

Patricia left, her heels clicking down the hallway until the sound faded into nothing.

Dominic and I stood in my kitchen, three feet apart, with the weight of six months of lies between us.

"Say something." His voice was barely audible.

"What do you want me to say?" I grabbed my phone off the counter, needing something to do with my hands. "That I believe you didn't know? That I think our relationship was real and not just another manipulation in Richard's grand scheme?"

"It was real." Dominic took a step toward me. "Whatever Richard planned, whatever he orchestrated, what happened between us was real."

"Was it?" I pulled up the photo on my phone—Catherine and Richard, young and hopeful. "Or was I just playing a role he wrote for me? The scrappy underdog. The secret daughter. The girl who'd make you feel something again."

"You're not—" Dominic's hands clenched at his sides. "You're not a role. You're not a character in Richard's story."

"Then what am I?" The question came out raw. "Because from where I'm standing, everyone seems to have a different answer. Richard's weapon. Marcus's threat. Patricia's cautionary tale. Your—what? Your project? Your redemption arc?"

"My—" Dominic stopped, the word catching in his throat. He was silent for a long moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was different. Stripped of its usual control. "You're the first person in ten years who made me want something besides survival. The first person who looked at me and saw someone worth knowing instead of someone worth using."

He moved closer, and I could see the exhaustion in his face, the lines around his eyes that hadn't been there six months ago.

"Richard might have orchestrated our meeting. He might have calculated how I'd react to you. But he couldn't have predicted this." Dominic gestured between us, the movement sharp and frustrated. "He couldn't have predicted that I'd choose you over the company. That I'd walk away from everything he built rather than watch it destroy you."

"You didn't walk away." My voice was quiet. "You're still here."

"Because you're still here." Dominic's teeth pressed together. "Because in twenty-three days, you're going to make a decision that will change everything, and I—" He stopped again, that careful control slipping. "I can't let you do it alone."

"Even though you think I'll fail."

"I think Richard set you up to fail." The distinction was subtle but important. "I think he gave you an impossible choice and a ticking clock and no real support system, because he wanted to see what would happen when someone like you collided with something like Ashford Industries."

Dominic pulled out the other kitchen chair and sat down heavily, like his legs wouldn't hold him anymore.

"But I also think you're smarter than Richard gave you credit for. Stronger. More adaptable. I think if anyone could actually pull this off—could take control of the company and reshape it into something better—it would be you."

"That's not what you said earlier." I stayed standing, my back against the counter. "Earlier you said the cost was too high."

"It is." Dominic looked up at me, and something in his expression made my breath catch. "But maybe that's not my decision to make. Maybe I've been so focused on protecting you that I forgot you don't need protection. You need information. Support. Someone who believes you can handle whatever comes next."

"Do you?" The question hung between us. "Believe I can handle it?"

"I believe—" Dominic's phone buzzed in his pocket. He ignored it. "I believe you're capable of anything you set your mind to. I believe Richard underestimated you. I believe Marcus is terrified of you for good reason."

His phone buzzed again. And again.

"Answer it." I nodded toward his pocket. "Could be important."

Dominic pulled out his phone, his expression shifting as he read the screen. "It's Marcus."

"What does he want?"

"He's calling an emergency board meeting." Dominic's voice was tight. "Tomorrow morning. Nine AM. Mandatory attendance for all Ashford family members."

"I'm not—" I started, but Dominic cut me off.

"You are. Legally, as of Richard's death, you're considered an Ashford family member for the purposes of board governance. It's in the will. You have the right to attend any board meeting during your twenty-three-day decision period."

"Why would Marcus call an emergency meeting?"

Dominic's phone buzzed with another text. He read it, his face going pale. "He's moving to have you declared mentally incompetent to inherit. He's got a psychiatrist lined up to testify that the stress of the inheritance has made you unstable. He's got witnesses who'll say you've been behaving erratically. He's got—"

Another buzz. Dominic's hand tightened around the phone.

"He's got photos. Of us. From tonight. From every night for the past six months." Dominic looked up at me, and I saw something close to fear in his eyes. "He's going to argue that I've been manipulating you. That our relationship is evidence of your inability to make sound judgments. That you're emotionally compromised and legally unfit to control Ashford Industries."

The car alarm outside finally stopped, leaving a silence that felt too loud.

"So that's it." My voice sounded distant again. "Marcus makes his move. Uses our relationship as a weapon. Destroys both of us in one play."

"Unless—" Dominic stood, his phone still buzzing with incoming messages. "Unless we get ahead of it. Unless we show up tomorrow with our own strategy. Our own evidence. Our own—"

My phone lit up on the counter. Another text from the unknown number.

A photo. Marcus and Patricia, sitting in a car. Talking. The timestamp showed it was from twenty minutes ago. Right after Patricia left my apartment.

Below the photo: They're working together. Always have been. The meeting tomorrow is a trap. Don't go.

"Sloane?" Dominic was watching me. "What is it?"

I turned the phone so he could see the screen, and watched his expression shift from confusion to understanding to something darker.

"Patricia was lying." The pieces were clicking into place, sharp and inevitable. "She didn't come here to warn me. She came here to plant doubt. To make sure I'd be off-balance tomorrow. To make sure I'd—"

The door to my apartment slammed open for the second time that night, and Catherine stumbled in, her nurse's scrubs torn and her face bruised, blood trickling from a cut above her eyebrow.

"They took him," she gasped, her hand clutching the doorframe. "They took James. Marcus's people. They said if you show up tomorrow, if you try to claim the inheritance, they'll—"

She collapsed, and Dominic caught her before she hit the floor, his phone clattering to the ground as my world narrowed to the sound of Catherine's ragged breathing and the message still glowing on my screen and the weight of twenty-three days that had just become twenty-three hours.