My mother wilted. “You haven’t eventried, Cora.”
My father made another disgusted grunting noise, flicking his hand toward me like trying to get something gross off the tips of his fingers. “You should think hard about how important this tryst is to you,” he spat. And then he turned his head, his gaze searing through me, all the rage and disappointment swirling there in a vicious vortex. I took a step backward.
“Because there are limits,” he said in low voice. “Our company is perilously close to being dragged into the filth along with you. If things don’t take a turn for the better soon, I’ll be forced to take matters into my own hands.”
His words landed like a hammer, and I blinked a few times, nodding. My mother berating me first had been a blessing. I might not have survived a verbal dressing down by Allan Margulis if he’d started and ended this session.
“Now leave,” he finished.
I looked between them, bewildered. So many hurtful things had been lobbed at me today. My entire childhood had been a back and forth between loving kindness with Chris and distant manipulation and molding from our parents. After Chris’s death, I’d finally learned to armor up before meeting with either of them. And though I’d entered this office today with every bit of my invisible emotional guards in place, it wasn’t enough to fully protect me.
It could never be enough. The words they used wedged themselves into my heart like spears, always reminding me that I was the constant, unrelenting disappointment. I could never do the right thing—not even when I followed their guidance to a tee.
So why bother following their wishes anymore?
I turned on my heel and let myself out of the office. Emotions stormed my head, unused comebacks biting through me. There were so many things I’d overlooked in the spirit of negotiation, but they’d all return to haunt me for the remainder of the day.
When I checked my phone, I had one missed text.
ELI: Enjoy.
What the fuck was that supposed to mean? I could only assume it was a mistake message, and right now, I had more important things to stew over. I didn’t need to add Eli’s cryptic one-word texts to the Monday pile.
I barely made it back to my office before Axel was calling. Relief warred with anxiety as I saw his name on the screen. I had so much I wanted to tell him, but the sheer emotional effort of recounting what had just transpired made me want to sink into a heap and never collect myself.
I shut my office door and answered the phone. “Hey, Axel.”
“Cora.” He sounded winded, like he’d just finished a run. But that was impossible. He’d gone straight to the office. “Can you talk? There’s an emergency.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
AXEL
My hands shook as I held the letter. Cora was on speakerphone as I scanned the text for what felt like the billionth time this morning.
This letter had shown up in the morning mail. Postmarked, stamped and sealed by the Securities and Exchange Commission.
“I have received an official subpoena,” I said slowly, every quake in my voice begging me to crack altogether, “from the United States Securities and Exchange Commission.”
Cora’s silence said it all. Finally, she sighed. “Axel, I’m so sorry.”
“We’re being investigated for fraud,” I added, the words sounding tinny and false. I couldn’t even believe I was saying them. I dropped the letter onto my desk and dragged my hands down my face. My heart beat so fast I thought it might race right out of my body. Maybe it could go find a new human to live inside. One that wasn’t being constantly wracked with devastating news. “I think I’m going to die, Cora.”
“Axel,” she hissed. “Don’t even say that.”
“I can’t handle this,” I told her, gripping the arms of my chair. “This is the worst possible timing. Like somebody planned this for the exact moment I felt at my lowest point. And they said, ‘Guess what, bitch. It’s gonna get worse. We’re gonna take the whole fucking thing from you now.’”
“I’m coming over,” she said. “You’re not going anywhere, right?”
“Only to an early grave,” I muttered glumly.
“Stop it. Where are your brothers?”
“Slowly perishing from humiliation and failure,” I told her. We’d spent a couple hours that morning poring over the details of what this investigation meant. In conclusion: we were fucked. We certainly hadn’t committed fraud, but the gray areas of our approach might not look so above board to a committee designed to sniff out malpractice. The whole thing made me want to crawl underneath my desk, fall asleep, and never wake up.
Everything we’d worked for: down the drain.
“I’m on my way,” she said. “Don’t do anything rash. Stay where you are. I’ll be there in twenty.”