Chapter 9 - THE LAST THING HE TRIED TO TAKEThree months later, I saw Nathan again across a courtroom.
He looked smaller.
Not physically.
The expensive suit was still there.
The perfect haircut.
The carefully rehearsed expression.
But the illusion around him had disappeared.
No executive assistants rushing to his meetings.
No employees stepping aside.
No wife beside him.
No mistress waiting for a text.
Just attorneys.
Nathan faced multiple criminal investigations, although the case had become complicated enough that every lawyer involved refused to predict what would happen.
The civil case moved faster.
His claim to Riverton depended on proving Richard’s original sale had been coerced.
The forensic audit found the opposite.
Richard had been represented by independent counsel.
He received fair market value.
He signed multiple confirmations over the following decade acknowledging the sale.
Nathan’s claim began collapsing.
Then Emily testified.
She did not dramatize anything.
That made her devastating.
“Yes, I am Emily Cole.”
“Yes, I have been alive continuously.”
“Yes, Nathan knew.”
“Yes, these are our emails.”
“Yes, he asked me to relinquish my inheritance.”
“Yes, he later prepared documents treating me as deceased.”
Nathan stared at the table throughout.
Elaine testified next.
That surprised everyone.
Especially Nathan.
After discovering her son had lied to her about Emily for years, something inside Elaine changed.
She admitted helping Nathan locate old Northbridge documents.
Admitted believing Charles had cheated Richard.
Admitted encouraging Nathan to challenge Riverton ownership.
Then the attorney asked:
“Did you know Nathan Cole intended to submit a forged proxy bearing Charles Hale’s signature?”
Elaine looked at her son.
“No.”
“Did you authorize it?”
“No.”
“Would you have?”
“No.”
Nathan finally looked up.
“Mom.”
The judge immediately warned him.
Elaine’s eyes filled.
“You told me she never answered you.”
Nathan whispered:
“Mom.”
“You told me Emily was dead.”
His attorney pulled at his sleeve.
Elaine shook her head.
“I lost my daughter twice because of you.”
She turned away.
Nathan’s face collapsed.
For one second, I almost saw the boy he had once been.
Then I remembered Madison hiding in a bathroom while he demanded evidence.
Compassion did not require forgetting.
My divorce was finalized six weeks later.
Nathan fought over everything.
The apartment.
Investment accounts.
Art.
Even a set of wine glasses he had once mocked me for buying.
My attorney finally asked:
“Does he actually want these things?”
“No.”
“Then why fight?”
“Because he wants me to fight back.”
Nathan understood conflict.
He knew how to turn every interaction into a contest.
So I stopped giving him one.
Anything legally mine, I protected.
Anything trivial, I let go.
The wine glasses went to Nathan.
I hope he enjoyed them.
Madison pleaded guilty to a minor financial disclosure offense related to Linden and cooperated with investigators.
Her attorney negotiated probation and restitution.
She never returned to Riverton.
Six months after the matcha incident, she sent me a package.
Inside was the watch.
The eighteen-thousand-dollar anniversary watch Nathan had given her.
No note.
Just the watch.
I stared at it for several minutes.
Then I called Priya.
“Can you find out whether we can donate jewelry to the Riverton Women’s Transition Fund?”
Priya paused.
“You’re donating it?”
“Yes.”
The fund helped women rebuilding financial independence after leaving controlling relationships.
Something about converting Nathan’s gift into rent deposits, legal assistance, and childcare felt appropriate.
Priya handled the auction.
The watch sold for $21,300.
More than Nathan paid.
I found that funny.
Dad officially retired from every remaining Riverton position that autumn.
Not because of the scandal.
Because he said he was tired of pretending he didn’t want to spend mornings fishing.
Emily joined the board of the scholarship foundation she created with part of her inheritance.
She named it The Open Door Fund.
Her first scholarship class included nineteen students.
Elaine moved closer to Emily.
Their reconciliation was slow.
I respected that.
Some relationships do not heal because someone delivers a perfect apology.
They heal because people show up repeatedly without demanding forgiveness on schedule.
As for me, Riverton had its strongest year in company history.
Not because I performed some miraculous turnaround.
The company was already strong.
But we changed things.
Vendor approvals required independent conflict checks.
Executive expense transparency increased.
Anonymous complaints went directly to an outside ethics firm.
We eliminated special elevators reserved solely for senior leadership.
That last one was my idea.
Howard laughed when I proposed it.
“You’re serious?”
“Completely.”
“What about security?”
“Badge access still controls floors.”
“So executives will ride with everyone?”
“That’s generally how elevators work.”
The policy became surprisingly popular.
One Friday afternoon, almost a year after my first day, I stepped into an elevator beside two interns, an accountant, and a woman from custodial services.
She glanced at me.
Then at the CEO badge clipped to my bag.
“Going down?”
“Yes.”
She pressed the lobby button.
Nobody moved aside.
Nobody needed to.
When the doors opened downstairs, I saw the exact spot where Madison had poured matcha over me.
The memory no longer hurt.
That surprised me.
For months, I had thought betrayal would always divide my life into before and after.
Before Nathan.
After Nathan.
But I slowly understood something.
He was eight years of my life.
He was not the author of it.
I stepped outside into the evening.
My phone rang.
Dad.
“Dinner?”
“What are you cooking?”
“Reservations.”
I laughed.
“That isn’t cooking.”
“It is at my age.”
“I’ll be there at seven.”
I ended the call.
Then another message appeared.
Unknown number.
For a second, I thought of Nathan.
But it wasn’t.
It was Daniel Reeves, a lawyer I had met at a charity board dinner three weeks earlier.
Kind.
Funny.
Divorced.
He had asked whether I wanted coffee sometime.
I had said maybe.
His message read:
No pressure. But I found the terrible coffee place you warned me about, and now I need evidence that better coffee exists.
I smiled.
Then typed:
Saturday. 10 a.m.
I stared at the message before sending it.
My finger hovered.
Not because I was afraid of Daniel.
Because starting again required admitting I still believed people could surprise me in good ways.
I pressed send.
Three dots appeared.
Then:
It’s a date.
I slipped the phone into my bag.
And walked home.
But my story wasn’t quite finished.
May you like
Because two weeks later, I received one final envelope from Nathan.
And what was inside forced me to decide whether revenge was really what I wanted.
