Page 125 of Braving the Storm
“Actually, it does. Because Montgomery Media arranged for corporate entertainment that, for some strange reason, always seemed to include a performance by a certain high school cheer squad. Not only was my father grooming Tegan Mitchell while she was still underage, but your very own family and business were the agency ensuring he could get away with it right in the public eye.”
He sneers my way. “That’s bullshit. You can’t prove anything.”
“Would payments made directly from Montgomery Media into the bank account of a fourteen-year-old do? What about transcripts of text messages and emails? Tegan might have been young, but she was intelligent enough to keep records.”
Antoine curses beneath his breath, knuckles going white against the countertop. “You’re a foul little cunt.”
“And you’re a filthy fucking cheater who is going to give me that divorce right now. You’re going to sign those papers; otherwise, my attorney is going to press send on her own media release…” I check the time on my phone screen. “Oh, in about the next ten minutes, give or take. If I’ve calculated my time zones correctly, it should land just in time for a breaking news headline on the evening bulletins across the UK and Europe embroiling Montgomery Media in a child prostitution ring and the subsequent death of Tegan Mitchell.”
Shouldering my handbag, I gather up the remaining copies of evidence that I don’t even need to bother showing them. “But what would I know? I’m just a dumb bitch, right?”
“Dad regretted you being born.” My sister spits out her last jab of poison, and I don’t even care. I’m so fucking done.
“Considering that he drove a young woman to end her own life, coerced his own brother to marry his hidden secret while under the influence, and refused to claim a child that was his… I don’t really give a shit what he thought about me.”
“The Mitchells signed an NDA. I’ll make sure they get dragged through the most painful, expensive lawsuit I can come up with if they breathe a word.” Cris has almost gone purple as she sees her precious Lane Enterprises potentially collapsing around her ears.
“Oh, they’re not going to say anything. However, the company’s board is now fully briefed and has been made aware of my final act as a primary shareholder. They have signed off on a new trust fund that all the shares I had previously been entitled to as a result of Dad’s estate shall be paid into immediately. I’ve also instructed the company that Dad personally informed me of his insistence to go ahead with back-paying them share profits for the past ten years… you know, his lasting contribution to recognizing the important work of adoption agencies around the country. It’s all detailed on page five.”
Cris quickly flicks through to the part of the document where the annual multiple seven-figure donation is listed, along with the total sum of back pay covering the past ten years.
“Our brother might have been screwed over by you and Dad, but I’ll gladly ensure he benefits financially, and I’m sure that boy will live a much healthier and more peaceful life having absolutely no knowledge of his connection to the Lanes.”
As I talk, I watch Antoine hover over the documents, pen in hand, but yet to actually connect with the tabbed lines requiring his signature.
“Look, Antoine… we can do this right now, just a few quick signatures, or we can fight this out in a war of dirty secrets in the public eye. Think of it this way, give my freedom to me, and you’re free to go rub your tiny dick over as many Hampton’s socialites as you want and schmooze up to all their Ivy League Club papas to bag yourself a rich ornament who will happily sit around this place playing LA housewife.”
He looks as though he’s about to start arguing with me, then checks his watch.
“Fine. Run back to your little game of incest by proxy.”
Laughing now, I cross my arms. “I don’t expect you to understand any of this because you’ve never cared about anything or anyone other than your own over-inflated ego. So no, what I’m going to do is go live my life. I’m going to do something good in this world, and I’m going to do it all with a man who stands by my side and understands me better after a matter of weeks than the likes of you people have done in twenty-six years.”
I rip the papers away from him as I see that he’s signed the final location and do a quick double-check to confirm I’ve got everything I need from him.
My sister has remained suspiciously quiet this entire time, and when I look over at her, there’s so much rage flowing through her veins that it only takes a second. She launches at me, quickly rounding the kitchen bench, and slaps me square across the face.
“Get the fuck out of my life, Briar. You’re the worst thing that ever happened to me.” Her voice trembles, high-pitched and screeching.
The hit blooms into a rash of heat under the force of her assault. It stings like a bitch, and leaves my head spinning.
You could hear a pin drop in this marble and glass-clad mausoleum.
“Are you ok, Briar?” The concern in Clara’s voice cuts through the silence over the speakerphone, only punctuated by my sister’s heavy breathing.
“I’m fine, thanks, Clara, I’m ready for the driver now.” Rubbing my jaw with my free hand, I look at my sister with nothing even remotely like anger. All I feel is sorry for the misery she’s chosen to let fester inside her all this time.
“Crispin, I hope to never see you again as long as I live, but do me a favor and go to therapy… or better yet, take up woodchopping.”
Turning on my heel, with quick strides toward the front door, I feel the weight of the past years of my life melt away as each foot brings me closer to the sparkling midday sun dancing outside.
For the first time in my life, I’m officially free.
With a trembling, trepidation deep inside my chest, as I rub one hand over the leather cuff still secured around my wrist, all I can hope is that the man I left behind might have been willing to wait all this time for me.
Chapter 43
Running the faucet, I carefully set the glass beneath the flow of water and hold the stems of the flowers to one side so the delicate petals don’t get bruised.
