Page 89 of My Ex-Fiance's Best Men
My anger gets the better of me, but at least I’m telling my truth for once.
“None of that matters anymore, Phoebe. Only the survival of Baldwin Enterprises matters,” Crystal replies. “Sorry, but that’s the reality we’re dealing with. Or, at least, Mom and I are dealing with. You, apparently, are still hung up on how unfairly you think people treated you.”
“People? You mean my own family. My own fiancé.”
“Well, boo-hoo and cry me a fucking river. Get over it already. I’ll send you a fruit basket to apologize. But in the meantime, you need to do the right thing for once in your sad, pathetic life.”
We pull up outside the Baldwin Enterprises building. This used to be my second home. I was supposed to work here for a long time. I was going to protect my father’s business and take all of its operations to the next level. I studied and trained for this job. I worked so hard for it. Now, just looking at it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
This place has become my undoing.
“Crystal, you don’t have to play along,” I tell her.
“Yes, I do, Phoebe, and so do you. Or else we’re all screwed. Sign the legal documents our lawyers prepared for you and let us get to work so we can undo this mess you created.”
I stand before the large,oval mahogany table in the middle of the conference room—one of three on the top floor which my mother and the executive board use for legal and business matters too sensitive to be handled anywhere else. It tracks. I’m a legal and business matter that’s too sensitive to be handled anywhere else, too.
My mother sits at the head of the table, quietly flipping through a copy of the legal documents prepared for this occasion. Crystal is next to her, sipping coffee from a white porcelain mug, silent and ashen, while the lawyer, Mr. Harding, talks me through a copy of my own.
“This virtually bypasses any court action,” he says. “All you have to do is sign at the bottom and add your initials to every page, three original signatures for each copy. Your mother will retain one, our firm will file the second one, and you’ll have the third for your personal records.”
“And that’s it,” I mutter, staring him down.
I’ve never met this guy before, but I don’t like him. His tweed suit makes him particularly obnoxious, and that Hercule Poirot-style mustache doesn’t do him any favors, either, especially when paired with his beady eyes and excessively sweaty hands. I’m still wiping mine on my dress from an earlier handshake.
“Yes,” Mr. Harding says. “This document also guarantees there will be no further legal action taken against you.”
“Further legal action?”
Mom looks up, raising an eyebrow at me. Still, she doesn’t say a word.
“Baldwin Enterprises would otherwise be entitled to sue you for any financial losses incurred by your online and public behavior. They would stand to gain millions of dollars in damages,” Mr. Harding explains.
“If I don’t renounce my inheritance and company shares, that is,” I conclude.
“That is correct.”
“So, one way or another, my mother has made sure to get her hands on my money. Right?”
Mom gives me a flat smile. “You left me no other choice, Phoebe.”
“How many company checks have you signed for your illegal gambling buy-ins over the years?” I ask her directly. “Or was last night the first time you were that desperate to keep playing?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mom replies nonchalantly.
“It’s okay. In due time, it will all come out,” I say.
She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. Only a futile attempt to mask her shaky nerves. “By the time we’re done with you, darling, it won’t even matter. Just do yourself a favor and let the grownups save your father’s company.”
“I’m embarrassed for you both,” I say, my gaze bouncing between my mother and sister before landing on Mr. Harding. “I cannot, in good conscience, sign this.”
“Well, like Mr. Harding just explained, if you don’t, the legal action we’ll undertake will be swift and decisive. You won’t stand a chance against us in court,” Mom replies.
“You’re willing to do this to your own daughter. Are you not ashamed of yourself, Mom?”
“You speak to me of shame? You? Who’s face is plastered all over the news as we speak? Political and financial pundits are discussing our fate on their talk shows right now, wondering what will become of us, wondering how we’ll recover after your arrest, and you speak to me of shame?”
“I feel like we’re going around in circles here,” I sigh deeply. “Nothing I say will ever get through to you because you don’t want to accept the truth. Only your curated version.”
