Chapter 6
Arthur Ashcroft was arrested before sunrise.
He did not shout.
Men like him rarely did in public.
He walked out of his Gold Coast townhouse in a navy robe while cameras flashed and detectives read the warrant.
His face looked calm.
But his hands betrayed him.
They shook as they folded behind his back.
Camille was charged again that afternoon.
Attempted murder.
Conspiracy.
Poisoning.
Forgery.
Witness intimidation.
Financial exploitation of a disabled adult.
The words hit the news like fire dropped into dry grass.
By evening, everyone in Chicago had an opinion about Nico Alfieri.
Some called him a victim.
Some called it karma.
Some whispered that a mafia boss had finally learned what betrayal felt like.
I hated those whispers.
Not because Nico was innocent of everything.
He wasn’t.
I knew enough about the Alfieri name to understand that.
But no crime in his past made it acceptable for his fiancée to poison him, slap him, steal his company, and plan his death.
Pain did not become justice just because people disliked the person bleeding.
Nico watched the news from his hospital bed with the sound off.
His face showed nothing.
Wes sat beside him playing a handheld game.
Somehow, my brother had decided that Nico needed company and snacks.
“You look mean when you watch TV,” Wes said.
Nico glanced at him.
“I look mean always.”
“No. Sometimes you look sad.”
I froze near the doorway.
Nico looked at Wes for a long moment.
Then said, “That is worse.”
Wes nodded like this made sense.
“Addie looks mad when she’s sad.”
“Does she?”
“Yeah. Don’t tell her I said that.”
“I heard you,” I said.
Wes grinned.
Nico looked away, but I saw the faintest smile.
Then Rinaldi arrived with more bad news.
“Board emergency meeting in two hours.”
Nico’s expression hardened.
“They’re moving already?”
“Yes. Arthur’s allies are arguing you are medically unfit to resume control.”
“I was poisoned.”
“They know.”
“And still?”
Rinaldi’s mouth tightened.
“They fear instability more than corruption. Or they are pretending to.”
Nico pushed the blanket aside.
“I’m going.”
“You are in the hospital.”
“I am leaving.”
I stepped forward.
“No.”
His eyes snapped to mine.
“No?”
“You have sedatives in your system, spasms triggered by stress, and blood pressure that keeps dropping. You are not going to a boardroom.”
“My company is being stolen.”
“Then attend remotely.”
He looked at Rinaldi.
“Can we?”
Rinaldi nodded.
“Yes.”
Nico hated the compromise.
That meant it was probably right.
Two hours later, we set up in a hospital conference room.
Nico wore a clean shirt.
I adjusted his collar because his hands were stiff from pain.
He looked at me.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
“Because they’ll look for any sign you’re weak.”
His eyes held mine.
“And what will you look for?”
“Signs you’re about to pass out.”
He almost smiled.
The board appeared on the screen.
Twelve faces.
Some loyal.
Some nervous.
Some already bought.
The chairman, Leonard Vale, cleared his throat.
“Nico, under the circumstances—”
Nico cut him off.
“Which circumstances? The poisoning, the attempted murder, or the forged takeover?”
Leonard’s face tightened.
“We are all sympathetic.”
“No, you are all exposed.”
Silence.
Nico leaned forward.
“My fiancée and her father tried to remove me from control by creating evidence of incompetence. Some of you received those documents before the crash. Some after. Rinaldi has copies of every forwarded email.”
Faces changed.
That was the first crack.
Nico continued.
“I am disabled. I am not stupid. I am in pain. I am not absent. I was drugged. I am not incompetent.”
My throat tightened.
His voice did not shake.
“Effective immediately, any board member who communicated with Arthur Ashcroft regarding a transfer of control will recuse themselves pending investigation. Refusal will be treated as evidence of conspiracy.”
Leonard tried to speak.
Rinaldi interrupted.
“Legal notices have already been served.”
One by one, the faces fell.
The meeting lasted forty minutes.
By the end, three board members had resigned.
Two had requested counsel.
Leonard stopped pretending he was in charge.
When the screen went dark, Nico exhaled slowly.
Then his face drained of color.
I caught his shoulder as he swayed.
“Chair back,” I snapped.
Marcus moved.
Nico tried to resist.
“Don’t.”
“Be quiet.”
He blinked at me.
“Did you just tell me to be quiet?”
“Yes.”
Rinaldi murmured, “Brave woman.”
I checked Nico’s pulse.
Too fast.
His skin was cold.
“You won,” I said. “Now let your body survive the victory.”
His eyes closed.
“I hate this.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
I softened.
“You’re right. I don’t.”
That answer seemed to disarm him.
He opened his eyes.
“Everyone keeps telling me who I am now.”
“Then tell us who you are.”
He stared at me.
“I don’t know yet.”
The honesty stunned us both.
Before I could answer, my phone buzzed.
A message from an unknown number.
A photo.
Wes leaving the hospital bathroom with Edna.
May you like
Under it, one line.
Arthur is not the only Ashcroft.
