After Jonah left, Owen read Celeste’s notes twice.
“She wrote about us like we were stains on a couch,” he said.
“She has money, lawyers, board members, and people trained to believe her.”
Owen stepped beside me.
Owen tapped the trust document. “And you have her signature.”
“That doesn’t mean I know how to fight her.”
“No,” he said. “But it means she knows you can.”
That stayed with me the next morning when Celeste called.
***
“Sadie, dear,” she said. “We have business to conclude.”
Her office looked the same, but everything had changed.
“We have business to conclude.”
Celeste opened a folder. “You’ve done more than anyone expected.”
“I know.”
Her eyebrow lifted. Then she took out a check and slid it across the desk.
$100,000.
For a second, I saw Owen’s college, a working car, and six months of rent.
“What do you want me to sign?” I asked.
“I know.”
“A trustee resignation. You were compensated fairly, Sadie. Let’s not rewrite survival as romance.”
I pushed the check back.
Celeste’s smile thinned. “Women like you survive by knowing when to step aside.”
“No,” I said, standing. “Women like me survive by remembering every person who thought we would disappear.”
Her smile vanished.
“Be careful.”
“I was careful for three years,” I said. “Now I’m awake.”
I pushed the check back.
