“Apparently that wasn’t enough.”
“What did Victoria get?”
“We don’t know yet.”
I thought about her overcoat.
Her smug smile.
“We planned around it.”
Those words came back.
I looked at Sarah.
“This wasn’t spontaneous.”
“No.”
“They knew I was going into surgery.”
“Yes.”
“They knew I might be vulnerable.”
“Yes.”
“And they brought documents ready for signature.”
“Yes.”
My hands went cold.
“Sarah.”
She waited.
“What if I hadn’t become paralyzed?”
“I think they planned to pressure you anyway.”
“What if the delivery had been normal?”
“Maybe they would have waited.”
“For what?”
She hesitated.
I saw the answer before she spoke.
“Another opportunity.”
I stared at her.
“You think Julian has been waiting for me to become weak.”
Sarah did not answer.
She did not need to.
That hurt more than the affair.
An affair was betrayal.
This was strategy.
My husband had not simply fallen for another woman.
He had studied my life.
My company.
My vulnerabilities.
He had waited.
Then he had moved when he believed I could not fight back.
He had mistaken physical paralysis for helplessness.
That mistake was about to cost him everything.
At nine that evening, the board convened an emergency meeting by video.
I joined from my hospital bed.
My hair was unwashed.
My cheek was bruised.
Hazel slept beside me.
Seven board members appeared on the screen.
Three looked horrified.
Two looked furious.
One was crying.
The chairman, Robert Hale, spoke first.
“Genevieve, we can postpone.”
“No.”
“You gave birth today.”
“I know.”
“You underwent emergency surgery.”
“I know.”
“We can handle this without you.”
That sentence irritated me.
