Chapter 6 - ELEVEN DAYS
Gregory did not deny it.
That was almost becoming worse than the secrets themselves.
I stood beside his hospital bed holding Charles’s message.
“What happens when you turn sixty-two?”
Gregory stared at the screen.
“Where did you get this?”
“Answer.”
He exhaled.
“The family trust permits a mandatory succession vote.”
“At sixty-two?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“My grandfather believed no chairman should control the family voting block indefinitely.”
“And without a spouse?”
“The voting authority returns to the family committee.”
“Charles.”
“Primarily.”
I laughed without humor.
“So if you stayed single eleven more days, Charles could take control.”
“Yes.”
“And by marrying me, you changed that.”
“Yes.”
My chest tightened.
“You keep telling me you married me for love while producing extremely convenient legal reasons.”
Gregory looked genuinely pained.
“I know.”
“Did you move the wedding because of the birthday?”
“Yes.”
There it was.
I stepped back.
“The original date was November.”
“Yes.”
“We married in September.”
“Yes.”
“You told me the inn had a cancellation.”
“It did.”
“You conveniently forgot to mention that marrying before your birthday kept Charles from controlling the trust.”
“Yes.”
I turned toward the door.
“Eden.”
“No.”
“I did not marry you because of the trust.”
“But you used our marriage to protect it.”
His voice lowered.
“Yes.”
Without telling me.
That was the part I could not get past.
I could survive Celeste.
Charles.
Fake bank accounts.
Old family crimes.
But Gregory had taken something intimate and quietly built corporate defenses around it.
“I need space.”
He nodded.
That hurt too.
He did not order me to stay.
Did not tell me I misunderstood.
He simply let me leave.
I went to the Hawthorne estate that evening.
Not alone.
Charles had demanded I come alone, so naturally Naomi had two investigators parked outside the gates.
The estate sat on nearly thirty acres in Greenwich.
Old stone.
Perfect lawns.
Windows glowing against the September darkness.
Charles waited in the library.
Same room where I had overheard Celeste on my wedding night.
“Smart girl,” he said.
“I’ve been called worse.”
“Did Gregory tell you?”
“Yes.”
“And you still think this was a love story?”
“I think Gregory lies by omission.”
Charles smiled.
“Runs in the family.”
“Why did you bring me here?”
He poured himself a drink.
“To offer you something more valuable than five million dollars.”
“Truth?”
“Exactly.”
I almost rolled my eyes.
He handed me a folder.
Inside were documents proving Gregory had hired private investigators to look into me, my parents, my work history, college debt, medical insurance, apartment leases.
Most were dated after our second dinner.
My stomach turned.
“I already know about the background check.”
Charles looked disappointed.
Then he produced another document.
A draft prenuptial agreement.
My name.
Gregory’s name.
Dated two months before he proposed.
But I had never seen it.
“Gregory drafted a prenup?”
“Of course.”
I flipped pages.
It gave me almost nothing.
A fixed settlement if divorced.
No ownership in Hawthorne Meridian.
No voting rights after divorce.
Then I reached the final section.
Upon Gregory’s death, I would receive one trust controlling six percent of Hawthorne Meridian.
Six percent was worth billions.
I stared.
“He never showed me this.”
“Because Naomi replaced it.”
“With what?”
“The agreement you signed.”
Our actual prenup was far more generous in some ways but excluded company shares completely.
“Why?”
Charles leaned closer.
“Because Gregory originally planned to use you as permanent succession.”
I looked up.
“What does that mean?”
“He wanted to give you control if he died.”
“That makes no sense.”
“Doesn’t it?”
Charles smiled.
“A twenty-three-year-old with no corporate experience inherits influence over one of the largest private real-estate groups in America. Everyone attacks you. You panic. Naomi manages the trust. Gregory controls the company from the grave.”
“That is insane.”
“Gregory has always loved systems more than people.”
I closed the folder.
“What do you want?”
“Sign tomorrow.”
“Sign what?”
“Vote with the family committee to appoint me interim chairman.”
“And Gregory?”
“Retires.”
“You mean gets pushed out while hospitalized.”
“He nearly died.”
“Because someone switched his medication.”
Charles stared at me.
“Did Gregory tell you why he takes that medication?”
“For an arrhythmia.”
“Did he tell you what caused it?”
I said nothing.
Charles’s smile vanished.
“Three years ago, Gregory collapsed during a board meeting.”
“I know.”
“No, Eden. You know the public story.”
He opened another file.
Neurological evaluations.
Cardiac tests.
A psychiatric consultation.
My breath caught.
“Why psychiatric?”
“Because Gregory experienced memory gaps.”
I looked closer.
The tests were real.
For several months, Gregory had complained of confusion, headaches, lost time.
Then symptoms disappeared.
“What happened?”
Charles spoke quietly.
“Nothing.”
I looked at him.
“They stopped.”
“After what?”
“After Gregory fired his personal physician.”
A chill ran through me.
“What was the doctor’s name?”
“Dr. Malcolm Voss.”
I remembered Gregory’s words.
A neurologist he had never met had recently claimed cognitive decline.
“Is Voss involved now?”
Charles smiled faintly.
“You’re learning.”
“Did you hire him?”
“No.”
“Who did?”
Charles’s expression changed.
Before he could answer, the library door opened.
Celeste entered.
She looked furious.
“What are you doing?”
Charles stood.
“Giving Eden context.”
“You idiot.”
She crossed the room.
“Leave.”
“I’m not finished.”
“Yes, you are.”
They stared at each other.
And suddenly I understood something.
They were not partners.
Not completely.
“Charles,” I said, “who hired Dr. Voss?”
Celeste answered before he could.
“Nobody you need to worry about.”
Charles laughed.
“She deserves to know.”
“Know what?”
He looked directly at me.
“Celeste hired him the first time.”
The room went silent.
Celeste slapped him.
Hard.
Charles barely moved.
I backed toward the door.
Celeste turned toward me.
“You don’t understand.”
“I’m beginning to.”
“No.”
She lowered her voice.
“Gregory was supposed to step down three years ago.”
“You drugged him?”
“I stabilized the company.”
My skin went cold.
“You made him sick.”
“He was impossible.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“He was auditing everything. Old projects. Old contractors. My father’s accounts. Charles’s acquisitions.”
“Your father?”
I remembered her full name.
Celeste Rose Hawthorne.
Walter Hawthorne had a brother.
“Who was your father?”
She looked at me.
Then I knew.
“Walter?”
“No.”
Charles answered.
“Walter was Gregory’s father.”
He pointed toward Celeste.
“Her father was Richard Hawthorne.”
Another branch of the family.
Another founder.
Celeste whispered, “Our fathers built the system together.”
The fraud had not been Gregory’s father alone.
It had been the entire older generation.
And Celeste had spent years protecting it.
Outside, tires screamed on gravel.
Naomi’s investigator shouted through my earpiece.
“Eden, get out now.”
I moved toward the door.
Celeste blocked me.
“You’re not leaving with that knowledge.”
Charles stepped between us.
“Enough.”
She stared at him.
“You think she’ll protect you?”
“No.”
He looked exhausted.
“I think I’m tired of protecting you.”
Then the lights went out.
May you like
And somewhere upstairs, glass shattered.
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