Chapter 12 - Tristan’s Last Attack
Tristan’s legal team stopped calling me irrelevant.
Now they called me dangerous.
Funny how quickly useless becomes threatening.
Carlton argued that even if I held significant ownership, I lacked recent executive experience.
The board needed stability.
Employees needed continuity.
Lenders needed confidence.
I agreed.
That surprised everyone.
“I don’t want to become CEO,” I said.
Tristan stared at me.
Judge Callahan asked, “Then what are you seeking?”
“Independent oversight.”
Leah explained our proposal.
An interim executive committee.
No unilateral transfers.
No destruction of records.
No management retaliation against employees cooperating with investigators.
No major corporate decisions until ownership was resolved.
Three board members supported it.
One resigned.
Two turned over additional emails.
Tristan’s empire wasn’t collapsing.
His control was.
That made him desperate.
The next morning, his attorneys produced photographs.
Me outside a hotel.
Me at a restaurant.
Me hugging a man on the sidewalk.
Carlton spoke carefully.
“Mrs. Pembroke has portrayed herself as the stable parent while concealing an intimate relationship.”
Tristan leaned back.
Smug again.
I stared at the photograph.
Then laughed.
Judge Callahan frowned.
“Mrs. Pembroke?”
“I’m sorry.”
Carlton looked irritated.
“Would you like to explain?”
“Yes.”
I pointed at the man.
“That’s Aaron Chen.”
He waited.
“My cousin.”
The gallery burst into laughter.
Judge Callahan struck her gavel.
Carlton looked at Tristan.
Tristan looked genuinely confused.
Leah slid across a family photograph.
Aaron stood beside me at our grandmother’s eightieth birthday.
Carlton sat down without another word.
But the worst part happened during lunch recess.
Mason disappeared.
Nine minutes.
Only nine.
It felt like nine years.
Lucas ran toward me crying.
“Mason’s gone.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
“He went to the bathroom.”
Security moved immediately.
Tristan came out of a conference room.
“What happened?”
“Mason is missing.”
His face changed.
Real fear.
For all his failures, I believed that part.
Then a deputy shouted.
“Found him!”
Mason appeared near a stairwell.
Pale.
Shaking.
Holding an envelope.
I ran to him.
“Where were you?”
“A man said Dad wanted me downstairs.”
Every adult froze.
“What man?”
“I don’t know.”
Tristan said, “I didn’t send anyone.”
Mason handed me the envelope.
My name was printed across the front.
Inside:
DROP THE FORENSIC AUDIT.
ACCEPT JOINT CONTROL.
OR YOUR CHILDREN LEARN WHAT YOUR FAMILY REALLY DID.
Leah took the note.
“What does that mean?” I whispered.
No one knew.
Security footage identified the messenger.
Derek.
Again.
But Derek was already in custody.
Or supposed to be.
A deputy checked his phone.
Then his face changed.
“What?”
“He was released this morning pending further questioning.”
Tristan stood.
“Who authorized that?”
No one answered.
Then Mason tugged my sleeve.
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“The man said something else.”
“What?”
“He said Grandpa wasn’t who you thought he was.”
My blood went cold.
May you like
Because Grandpa could only mean one person.
My father.
