Chapter 3 - The Cold Rain
The air outside the Greenwich mansion was crisp, carrying the scent of cut grass and impending rain.
I walked down the long, sweeping driveway, my wet shoes squeaking against the gravel. The freezing water on my skin had begun to numb my limbs, but my chest felt incredibly light—as if a heavy, suffocating iron band had finally been broken after years of silent endurance.
Behind me, the front doors of the mansion flew open, casting a long, rectangular beam of yellow light across the lawn.
"Cassidy! Stop! Please!"
Brendan was running down the driveway after me, his designer leather shoes slipping on the damp gravel. He hadn't even grabbed a jacket; he was in his silk shirt, his hair disheveled, his face twisted in a look of frantic, desperate terror.
"Cassidy, listen to me!" he gasped, catching up to me and reaching out to grab my arm.
I stopped and turned, my eyes locking onto his hand. The sheer, cold intensity of my gaze made him freeze, his hand hovering in the air before he slowly pulled it back, swallowing hard.
"Don't touch me, Brendan," I said, my voice like dry ice. "You lost the right to touch me the day you signed the divorce papers."
"I was stupid, okay?" he cried, his voice cracking. "I was under pressure from my mother! She... she threatened to cut me out of the family trust if I stayed with you. She said you were a distraction, that a girl from a middle-class background would destroy our social standing. I didn't want to leave you, Cassidy. I swear to God, I didn't!"
"And yet, you did," I said. "And for the last three years, you’ve watched your mother and sister treat me like a stray dog. You invited me to dinner tonight under the pretense of 'co-parenting' discussion, only to let them humiliate me. Did you think I wouldn't notice how you shifted your chair so the water wouldn't splash your shirt?"
"I... I didn't know she was going to do that!" Brendan stammered, his eyes darting frantically back toward the house, where the lights were flickering in a chaotic, uncoordinated pattern. "Cassidy, please. If you activate Protocol Seven, the board will initiate a full forensic audit of my division. They’ll... they’ll find the discrepancies."
I narrowed my eyes. "Discrepancies?"
Brendan’s face went even paler, if that was possible. He looked like a man who had accidentally stepped onto a landmine and could hear the ticking beneath his feet.
"I... I had some personal debts," he whispered, looking down at his shoes. "Jessica’s clothing line... she was over-budget, and the banks were threatening to foreclose. I authorized some... some short-term intercompany loans from the acquisition fund. I was going to pay it back next month! I swear, Cassidy! If the audit goes through, it’s a federal crime. I’ll go to prison!"
A cold, bitter laugh escaped my lips. "You embezzled from the company I built to pay for your sister’s vanity projects. And you let your mother treat me like garbage while you were actively stealing my money."
"It’s not just your money, it’s my family's legacy!" Brendan shouted, his panic turning into a flash of his usual, ugly arrogance. "You’re a scientist, Cassidy! You don't know how to run a multi-billion-dollar enterprise! You need us! If you destroy my family, the stock will tank. The market will panic. You’ll ruin your own company!"
"The market doesn't care about a spoiled, incompetent vice president who steals from his own company, Brendan," I said, stepping closer to him. "And as for the stock... Morrison Global’s value is built on my patents, not your family’s social circle. Tomorrow morning, Arthur will announce a restructuring plan that will stabilize the market before the opening bell. You are not a pillar of this company, Brendan. You are a parasite. And the treatment has just begun."
A sleek, black town car pulled up to the gates of the estate, its headlights cutting through the dark. The door opened, and Arthur Pendelton stepped out, carrying an umbrella. He walked over to us, his expression grave, his eyes shifting from my soaked dress to Brendan’s trembling figure.
"Mr. Pendelton," Brendan gasped, stepping toward him like a drowning man reaching for a life preserver. "Arthur, please. You’ve known my family for thirty years! You can't let her do this! Talk some sense into her!"
Arthur didn't even look at him. He held the umbrella over my head, his voice filled with a deep, professional respect.
"The car is warm, Cassidy," Arthur said gently. "I have a change of clothes and a dry blanket waiting for you. The medical team is on standby at your apartment to check on the baby."
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"Thank you, Arthur," I said.
I turned and walked toward the car, leaving Brendan standing alone in the driveway as the first heavy drops of rain began to fall, soaking his expensive silk shirt and washing the dirt of his family’s pride into the gravel.
