Page 121 of Billion Dollar Dispute

“I think so,” I admit.

She smiles. “I think having some coping mechanisms in place will help too.”

“What do you recommend?”

“There’s meditation, breathing techniques, journaling, working out; it's really what works best for you. Next time you feel a hurdle approaching, try one and see which works best.”

As I open up to her about my family, my ex, I realize how badly I want to break my trust issues cycle not only for me, but mostly for Chad. He’s watching and learning every day, and the last thing I want is for him to grow up carrying the same weight of mistrust. The thought of him facing the same struggles feels unbearable, and it pushes me to keep going. She agrees, saying that breaking these patterns can change everything, even if it takes time. We plan to meet again next week, and though there’s a long journey ahead, I feel hopeful for the first time.

I’m determined to give Chad a better example, even if it means facing every old wound along the way.

I arrive at Recaredo Events and head straight to Molly’s desk, pulling up a chair beside her.

She smirks. “I’m going to start calling that your therapy chair soon.”

I laugh, but it falls flat. My mind is a mess. After a real therapy session, I feel like a wrung-out sponge.

“I went to therapy today.”

“Did you go to the place I recommended?” she asks.

“Yeah, I did. So, this isn’t my therapy chair, it’s the chair I come to when I need my friend.”

“I love that you need me,” she says with a grin.

I laugh again. “Therapy was good, but there’s a lot to work through.”

She snorts. “It’s an ongoing battle. It usually doesn’t go away; you’ll be dealing with it long-term. But at least she’ll give you the tools to handle it.”

“I already have homework.”

I need to write a letter to my dad because I recognized some guilt I was holding for not listening to him about Butch. I do think that's some of the reason that I've been putting pressure on myself to make this business thrive.

“I would’ve been surprised if you didn’t. That or I’m more fucked up than you,” she jokes.

I chuckle. God, I needed this. I’m feeling a bit lighter now. Ready to drop the next bombshell, I say, “When I got back from D.C., Harvey was on my doorstep.”

Instead of looking surprised, Molly smirks. “I figured.”

“How did you know?” I ask, puzzled.

“I had my suspicions,” she admits.

I shuffle in the chair. “You know I can’t just take him back like that,” I say, clicking my fingers. “He didn’t just hide one thing; it was multiple things.”

Her smirk fades, and she nods. “I know, and I’m beyond pissed he didn’t tell you exactly what was going on.”

“But finding him on my doorstep… it was hard to say no when he’s given me so much.”

“He did give you the first big job,” she points out.

Oliver’s party was the start of getting consistent, high paying jobs. I’m grateful for that, but I know he had his own agenda.

“But he did it for himself at first, to get his inheritance,” I remind her.

Molly shakes her head. “His brother Jeremy was just here, handing in his event contract, and filled me in. Harvey fell three months short of the deal.”

The realization hits me hard, and my chest tightens. I struggle to breathe.

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