Page 92 of Bitter Confessions

She raced out of the kitchen to the master suite, where she tossed on jeans, boots, sweater, and trench coat in record time. Even so, Mo was already waiting when she hurried into the living room. She wasn’t sure if he knew what their errand was or if he sensed her agitation, but he didn’t say a word in the elevator. When her phone blared, she put it on silent, unsurprised to see Daiyu calling her back. She’d deal with her friend later. She strode through the lobby and out to the car, where Johan was waiting.

“Did Roth tell you where...?” she began, but she didn’t finish her sentence, because Johan nodded.

She sat back and ignored the tightness in her chest. What the fuck was Ariana thinking? With all the research she had been doing on companies, it was inevitable she’d take a deeper look at Hennessy & Co. What she’d found was downright alarming. Hennessy & Co. was hanging on by a thread. If Roth hadn’t stepped in when he had, if he wasn’t currently hand-feeding them investments, they’d still be sinking. And Ariana wasn’t fucking helping.

If this scandal broke, the consequences would be severe. Ariana knew that better than anyone, so what the hell was her sister doing? Not only was she endangering herself, but she was putting all their reputations (including Roth’s, since he was now intrinsically linked with them) in jeopardy. Ironic, how Ariana had accused her of ignoring her responsibilities at twenty-three, when she was courting ten times the risk at thirty-eight while running the family company. She had risked it all for love, while Ariana was risking it all to continue her addiction. No comparison.

Her leg bounced as they inched through traffic. When Roth said nothing more about Ariana’s addiction, she’d hoped that meant her sister was in recovery. Apparently not. Ariana had been on her mind, since her sister was the reason she was keeping her distance from the rest of the family. With Christmas less than two weeks away, she felt the estrangement more acutely than she normally would have. After all, discourse was nothing new in her family. It was normal. She just wished Roth weren’t the cause of this recent strife. She’d always seen Colette as the more severe, cold-blooded sister, so Ariana’s staunch stance was that much more shocking and hurtful. If only they could see Roth the way she did. But it was the same thing as getting her dad to see Roth in a certain light. It wasn’t going to happen.

Instead of obsessing over things she couldn’t change, she had filled her days with meetings and figures. It wasn’t lost on her that she’d retreated into work like her sisters. It was their coping mechanism. Business wasn’t as enjoyable as writing, but it was satisfying dusting off skills she thought she’d never use. With every interaction, she gained a little more confidence, a little more insight. She may have left the game, but the rules hadn’t changed—just the players. There were so many moving facets when it came to business. The hardest part was the constant decision-making. But she’d risen to the challenge. For the first time in a long time, she was an active participant in life instead of observing from the sidelines through her writers’ lens. And it felt good.

Jasmine shifted restlessly as her mind raced ahead to the impending intervention. She considered Googling how to confront an addict, but she was too pissed off to care what the professionals recommended. Her sister had no problem expressing herself the last time they were face-to-face. Well, now it was her turn. The bottom line was, this was going to stop. Besides the fact Ariana was a mother, she was running a company Jasmine had given up a year of her life for. She wasn’t going to make such a sacrifice for Ariana to fuck it up because of her addiction. Hennessy & Co. couldn’t end with them—it had to be passed on to the next generation. She would ensure that happened by any means necessary.

They were sitting in standstill traffic when Mo stepped out of the vehicle. She straightened as he opened her door and extended his hand. Once they were on the sidewalk, he gestured to Bergdorf Goodman, a luxury department store.

“Are you sure?” She began before remembering the surveillance photos. Her sister didn’t meet her dealer in bars or parks—they met at the most exclusive stores, where no one would imagine anything illicit going on.

At the sound of multiple doors slamming, she glanced back and saw two men hop out of a black SUV. She’d been keeping her second security team busy over the past two weeks. She wasn’t allowed to interact with them in case someone was watching, but she was starting to recognize their faces and was aware they were always hovering on the periphery.

As she approached the store, Mo placed himself between her and the crowd clustered in front of the eye-catching seasonal window displays. She pushed through the revolving door. It wasn’t until she scanned the bustling main floor that she realized Ariana could be on any of the nine floors. Did she and her dealer make a show of shopping before they went to the dressing room to make the exchange, or did they...?

She rounded the corner and saw her sister standing in front of an illuminated wall of Celine handbags. Beside her was the glamorous dealer she saw in photos. The dealer, Mrs. Upper East Side, gave Ariana a million-dollar smile as she spoke with her hands. Even as she strode toward them, she saw the woman slip something into Ariana’s purse. It was done so quickly that if she hadn’t been watching so intently, she would have missed it. Her heartbeat doubled as she closed the distance between them.

“Am I interrupting?”

Ariana jolted and whirled, clutching her purse with both hands, while Mrs. Upper East Side kept her cool and gave Jasmine a polite, inquisitive smile.

“Have we met?” the woman asked.

“No.” She didn’t smile or attempt to be civil. “And I don’t want to know you.”

The woman’s polished smile faltered.

“The next time my sister calls, I suggest you ignore it, unless you want me to take the surveillance photos I have of your business transactions over the past year to the cops.” She ignored Ariana’s gasp and finished with, “I suggest you take up another profession. You’ve been made.”

The drug dealer glanced at Ariana before taking a step back, clutching the strap of her Birkin as her eyes darted around them. “I think there’s been a terrible mistake.”

“No mistake.” As the woman paled, Jasmine turned away and said, “Let’s go,” without looking at her sister.

She didn’t wait to see if Ariana followed. She stalked through the store and shoved through the revolving door into the biting cold. Before she reached the crosswalk, Ariana appeared beside her. Neither of them spoke. By mutual accord, they made their way to Central Park.

“What do you know?” Ariana asked.

Her hands fisted in the pocket of her coat. “How it began, your attempts to get help, and its escalation.”

“How?” Ariana rasped.

“Roth.”

Ariana stopped in her tracks, her expression horrified. “Roth? How? Why?”

“He has a vested interest in Hennessy & Co. You think he wouldn’t do his research on the executives to see why the company’s in the state it is now?”

She saw she’d made her point when Ariana’s face drained of all color. She shuffled to the side as a woman passed with three dogs. When Ariana stayed in place, eyes glassy with shock, she forced her sister down onto a bench. They sat side by side, staring at the pond. Mo leaned against a tree, seemingly taking in the tranquil setting, while the other guards blended in with those strolling along the walking paths.

“Who knows?” Ariana whispered.

“I was going to ask you the same question.”

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