Chapter 7 - Victor Tries to Rewrite the RainThe first hour of Victor’s interview was denial.
The second was irritation.
By the third, he began making enemies out of everyone who might have helped him.
“I didn’t forge anything,” he said for the sixth time.
The forensic accountant, a woman named Priya Shah, adjusted her glasses.
“Mr. Hayes, the authorization metadata shows the file was created from your company laptop at 11:43 p.m. on March 8.”
“I work late.”
“The document was then uploaded using your credentials.”
“People borrow passwords.”
Russell looked up. “Do you often share company passwords?”
Victor’s jaw tightened.
“No.”
“Then your explanation is?”
Victor looked at me.
It was remarkable how often guilty men look toward women when searching for blame.
“I was under pressure,” he said.
Priya made a note.
Russell asked, “From whom?”
Victor hesitated.
There it was.
The temptation.
Blame Kendra. Blame Eleanor. Blame unnamed executives. Blame stress. Blame marriage. Blame me.
He chose badly.
“Olivia made life difficult.”
The attorneys became very still.
I did not move.
Russell’s face turned blank.
“Explain how Mrs. Hartwell caused you to create fraudulent documents.”
Victor heard the trap too late.
“That’s not what I mean.”
“What do you mean?”
“She was cold. Judgmental. Always watching. Never supporting me.”
I laughed.
It was quiet, but it landed.
Victor’s face reddened.
“You think this is funny?”
“No,” I said. “I think it’s familiar.”
His eyes narrowed.
“You sat in my house for years acting like some innocent victim while your father pulled strings behind my back.”
“My father did not force you to steal.”
“You lied about who you were.”
“Yes.”
The room quieted.
Victor blinked, startled by the admission.
I leaned forward.
“I hid my name. You hid crimes. Do not confuse the two because mine embarrasses you.”
Priya’s pen paused.
Victor looked away first.
Russell resumed. “Let’s discuss Northline.”
At 2:47 p.m., Victor requested a break.
Russell granted eight minutes.
Victor walked to the far end of the conference room and stared through the glass walls at employees pretending not to notice him. His company phone sat on the table, finally surrendered. His access card lay beside it like a dead insect.
I stepped into the hallway.
Not because I needed air.
Because my father was waiting there.
Arthur stood near the vending machines, which looked absurd around him. Two junior employees passed, saw him, and nearly collided with each other trying not to stare.
“You should eat,” he said.
“I had soup.”
“That was six hours ago.”
“You’re monitoring my meals now?”
“Yes.”
Despite everything, I smiled.
He handed me a protein bar.
I looked at it.
“Dad.”
“What?”
“This tastes like cardboard and regret.”
“It has almonds.”
“That does not help.”
He almost smiled back.
Then his gaze moved past me into the conference room.
Victor stood with his back to us, shoulders tense.
“Are you satisfied?” my father asked.
The question unsettled me.
“No.”
“Good.”
I looked up at him.
He continued, “Satisfaction would mean you are enjoying his destruction. You are not. That will keep you honest.”
“Do you enjoy it?”
My father’s expression did not change.
“Yes.”
I stared at him.
He looked at me calmly. “I am less evolved than I encourage you to be.”
A laugh escaped me before I could stop it.
For a moment, we were not father and daughter standing outside an internal fraud interview after the collapse of my marriage. We were simply us.
Then Victor turned.
Through the glass, he saw my father standing near me.
His face altered.
Not fear this time.
Resentment.
The break ended.
When we returned to the room, Victor had found a new strategy.
Charm.
He sat straighter. Smoothed his tie. Lowered his voice.
“Russell, I think this has become unnecessarily adversarial.”
Russell folded his hands. “Has it?”
“Yes. Mistakes were made.”
“By whom?”
Victor inhaled. “By me. By others. This entire situation has emotional dimensions.”
Priya looked unimpressed.
Victor turned to me.
“Liv, I hurt you. I know that.”
The words entered the room carefully dressed as apology.
I waited.
He continued, “But you have to admit you hurt me too.”
There it was.
The hook beneath the ribbon.
“I hurt you by being slapped?”
His lips pressed together.
“By deceiving me.”
“You married me because you thought I had no one.”
“That’s not true.”
“Then why did you never ask where I came from?”
“I respected your privacy.”
“No,” I said. “You enjoyed my isolation.”
His face darkened.
The charm slipped.
“You don’t get to sit there like you’re better than me.”
“I never needed to be better than you, Victor. I needed you to be decent when you thought I couldn’t punish you.”
He had no answer.
Russell slid another document forward.
“Mr. Hayes, this is a draft repayment demand based on currently identified misused funds. It is not final. The amount may increase.”
Victor looked down.
For the first time all day, real fear crossed his face.
“How much?”
Priya answered. “Initial exposure is eight hundred and seventy-two thousand dollars.”
Victor’s lips parted.
“That’s impossible.”
“It is conservative,” she said.
He shook his head. “No. No, some of that was legitimate.”
“Then provide supporting deliverables.”
He stared at the table.
There were none.
At 4:15 p.m., Victor’s personal attorney arrived.
Too late to stop him from having said enough to damage himself.
The attorney, Dennis Larkin, entered with the weary expression of a man who had already read the first page of a disaster and knew the ending would be expensive.
“I’d like a private room with my client,” Dennis said.
Russell nodded.
“You may use Conference B.”
Victor stood quickly.
As he passed me, he whispered, “You’re enjoying this.”
I looked up at him.
“No. That’s why I’ll survive it.”
His eyes flickered.
For one second, I saw the man from Logan Square. Flowers in hand. Smile soft. Saying he didn’t care that I came from nothing.
Then the second passed.
He walked away.
At 5:02 p.m., Russell received confirmation that Meridian’s board had accepted Victor’s suspension unanimously.
At 5:38, Charles Devlin resigned as interim chairman after undisclosed communications with Marianne Vale surfaced.
At 6:11, Marianne was placed on leave.
At 6:30, Kendra’s attorney offered voluntary cooperation.
At 7:06, Eleanor Hayes arrived at my father’s building without an appointment.
That surprised even Russell.
My father looked at the security notification on his phone, then at me.
“She wants to see you.”
“No.”
“Good.”
“But let her up.”
His brows lowered.
“Olivia.”
“I said I don’t want to see her. I didn’t say you couldn’t.”
My father considered this.
Then he turned to Russell.
“Bring Mrs. Hayes to the east sitting room.”
Russell left.
My father buttoned his jacket.
“Do you want to watch?”
I thought of Eleanor’s thin smiles, her pearl breakfasts, her voice saying some women never get chosen.
“No,” I said.
Then I changed my mind.
“Yes.”
May you like
Because Eleanor Hayes had spent seven years speaking about me as if I were furniture.
It was time to hear what she sounded like when the furniture owned the house.
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