Chapter 22

Arthur

The phone kept ringing. I stared at it, my mother's name flashing on the screen, and for a moment I considered letting it go to voicemail. But that would only delay the inevitable.

I answered. "Mother."

"Arthur." Her voice was ice. "I need you to come to the estate. Now."

"It's two in the morning—"

"I'm aware of the time. I'm also aware that you had your father arrested for murder." A pause. "We need to discuss this. Immediately."

My jaw clenched. "There's nothing to discuss. He killed Robert Locke. I turned over the evidence. That's all there is to it."

"That is not all there is to it, and you know it." Her voice sharpened. "You've destroyed this family, Arthur. The least you can do is face me."

She hung up before I could respond.

I stood there, phone in hand, memories flooding back unbidden.

My father's study, the smell of leather and old books. His hand on my shoulder after I closed my first deal. "That's my boy. You're going to do great things, Arthur."

My seventh birthday. My mother had wanted to hire a party planner, but my father insisted on doing it himself.

He'd spent the whole afternoon setting up a treasure hunt through the estate, hiding clues in all my favorite spots. At the end, the treasure was a model rocket we'd built together over the previous month.

"Someday," he'd said as we launched it into the sky, "you're going to build real ones. You're going to change the world, son. I know it."

I'd believed him. God, I'd believed every word.

My tenth birthday. My mother had baked a cake—she never baked, but she'd insisted on doing it herself. It was lopsided and the frosting was a mess, but my father had declared it the best cake he'd ever tasted.

We'd eaten it together in the garden, just the three of us, and for one perfect afternoon we'd been a normal family.

When had that changed? When had my father become the kind of man who could order someone's death over a patent dispute?

Had he always been that person, hiding behind birthday cakes and treasure hunts? Or had something broken along the way, turning him into a monster?

I didn't know. I'd probably never know.

"Arthur?" Ceci's voice pulled me back to the present. "What did she say?"

"She wants me to come to the estate. To 'face her.'" I laughed bitterly. "As if I'm the one who should be ashamed."

"Do you want to go?"

"No. But I have to." I looked at her. "You don't have to come with me. This is—it's going to be ugly, Ceci. My mother's not exactly known for her restraint."

"All the more reason I should be there." She took my hand. "You said we carry this together, remember? I'm not letting you walk into that house alone."

"She's going to blame you. For all of this."

"Let her." Ceci's chin lifted. "I can handle Irene Winston."

I wanted to argue, to protect her from what was coming. But the truth was, I didn't want to face my mother alone. I was tired of being alone, tired of carrying everything by myself.

"Okay," I said. "But if she crosses a line—"

"Then we leave. Together." Ceci squeezed my hand. "Ready?"

No. I wasn't ready. I'd never be ready for this.

But I got in the car anyway.

The gates opened automatically as we approached, recognizing my car, and I felt my stomach twist.

The house was lit up like a funeral home, every window glowing. My mother stood in the doorway, perfectly composed in a silk robe and pearls.

"Arthur." She didn't even glance at Ceci. "Inside. Now."

"Mother, this is—"

"I know who she is." Her eyes finally flicked to Ceci, cold and dismissive. "Miss Locke. How convenient that you're here. This concerns you as well."

Ceci's hand tightened on mine, but her voice was steady. "Mrs. Winston."

"Inside," my mother repeated. "Both of you. We have a great deal to discuss."

She turned and walked into the house, clearly expecting us to follow.

I looked at Ceci. "Last chance to run."

"Not a chance." She pulled me forward. "Let's get this over with."

We followed my mother into the library—the same room where, just hours ago, I'd confronted my father about Robert Locke's death. It felt like a lifetime ago.

My mother closed the door behind us and turned, her composure finally cracking.

"How could you?" Her voice shook with rage. "How could you do this to your own father? To this family?"

"He murdered Robert Locke," I said flatly. "What did you expect me to do?"

"I expected you to handle it privately! To use your resources, your connections, to make this go away quietly. Instead, you called the FBI. You handed them evidence. You—"

She choked on the words. "You destroyed everything your father built. Everything this family stands for."

"Everything he built was funded by blood money," I shot back. "And as for what this family stands for—apparently that's murder and corporate espionage."

"You self-righteous—" She cut herself off, visibly struggling for control. "Do you have any idea what you've done? The stock price has already dropped thirty percent. Our partners are distancing themselves. The board is in chaos. You've ruined us, Arthur. Ruined us for her."

She pointed at Ceci, and I felt rage flood through me.

"Don't," I said, my voice dropping to something dangerous. "Don't you dare blame Cecilia for this. She didn't kill anyone. She didn't cover up a murder for 13 years. That was Father. And you—" I stepped closer. "Did you know?"

My mother's face went pale. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Did you know what Father did to Robert Locke?"

"Arthur—"

"Answer the question." My voice cracked like a whip. "Did you know your husband murdered his business partner, and did you help him cover it up?"

For a long moment, she just stared at me. Then, quietly: "I suspected."

The room spun.

"You suspected," I repeated. "You suspected your husband committed murder, and you did nothing."

"What was I supposed to do?" Her voice rose. "Turn him in? Destroy everything we'd built? Robert Locke was going to ruin us, Arthur. Your father did what he had to do to protect this family."

"He killed an innocent man!" I shouted. "He left a nine-year-old girl without a father! And you—you knew, and you kept quiet, and you let me work alongside him without ever saying a word!"

"Because I was protecting you!" she screamed back. "If you'd known, you would have done exactly what you did tonight—thrown away everything for some misguided sense of justice. I was trying to save you from yourself!"

"No." I shook my head. "You were saving yourself. Your reputation, your lifestyle, your precious social standing. You didn't care about me. You never have. I've just been another asset to manage, another piece of the Winston empire to maintain."

"That's not true—"

"It is." My voice went quiet. "I'll handle the transition at Winston Corp. I'll make sure the company survives this. Mom, this is the very last gift I can give you."

I turned to leave, Ceci's hand in mine, but my mother's voice stopped me.

"I will never support the two of you, not now, not ever. This woman who seduced my son and destroyed my family!"

I looked at Ceci. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, yet she held her chin high, her spine unyielding. She’d been through hell tonight—we both had—but she was still standing. Still fighting. Still right here with me.

We exchanged a quiet smile.

And we walked out together.