Chapter 66
[Rose's POV]
The Uber pulled up to Magnolia Estate just as dusk settled over the grounds. I paid the driver and stepped out. The front door opened before I reached it—Alfred's timing, as always, impeccable.
"Miss Rose." He took my coat with practiced efficiency. "Mr. Sullivan is in the drawing room. He asked that you join him when you arrived."
I nodded, moving through the familiar hallways. My phone buzzed as I walked. Jennifer's name lit up the screen.
"Miss Evans, I wanted to inform you that Mr. Andrew Brooks has paid the restitution in full. Five million dollars, as required. The funds cleared thirty minutes ago."
I stopped walking. "And the criminal charges?"
"Pending your instruction."
"Drop them. All of them." My voice came out flat, tired. "Mr. Brooks has paid what he owed. That's sufficient."
"Understood. I'll notify the relevant parties immediately."
I ended the call and continued toward the drawing room, where James sat near the window with a book he wasn't reading. He looked up when I entered, his expression somewhere between concerned and curious.
"How was dinner with your family?"
"Educational." I moved to the sofa, suddenly aware of how much I didn't want to discuss the evening's events. "Has Christopher—"
"He's still out." James's tone carried an edge. "Dealing with the Brooks situation, I assume."
Before I could respond, the doorbell rang. Alfred's footsteps echoed in the hall, followed by voices I recognized with immediate discomfort. Lauren's smooth, careful tone. Madison's bright, artificially enthusiastic greeting.
James and I exchanged a glance. He set his book aside and straightened in his chair as Alfred appeared in the doorway.
"Mr. Sullivan, Ms. Brooks and her daughter are here to see you."
"Show them in."
Lauren entered first, dressed in what I'd come to recognize as her "negotiating" outfit—Chanel suit, modest jewelry, hair pulled back in a way that suggested both professionalism and approachability. Madison skipped in behind her, wearing a pristine dress.
"Mr. Sullivan." Lauren's smile was warm but measured. "I hope we're not intruding. We wanted to thank you personally for your... intervention today."
James remained seated, his posture regal and unmoved. "Miss Brooks."
I stood near the fireplace, watching the scene unfold with the detachment of someone observing a performance. Lauren's eyes flickered to me briefly, something unreadable passing across her face before she refocused on James.
James reached for the crystal decanter on the side table, pouring himself two fingers of bourbon with deliberate slowness. He didn't offer any to Lauren. The message was clear—this wasn't a social call he welcomed.
"Alfred," he said without looking toward the door, "water for our guests, if they'd like."
"Of course, sir."
As Alfred left, an awkward silence settled over the room. Madison pulled at her mother's sleeve, whispering something I couldn't hear. Lauren bent down, murmuring a response that made the child nod seriously.
James took a slow sip of his bourbon, still standing, making no move to invite them to sit. Lauren watched him, her practiced composure showing hairline cracks.
Finally, he gestured toward the chairs with his glass. "Sit, if you're staying."
"Mr. Sullivan," Lauren began again, her voice carrying that particular quality of someone who'd rehearsed this conversation. "I want you to know how grateful we are. Andrew made a terrible mistake, but your willingness to accept restitution and withdraw charges... it means everything to our family."
James arranged apple slices on a plate. "Your brother made several terrible mistakes, Miss Brooks. Embezzlement. Fraud. Creating offshore accounts to hide stolen funds." He set the plate on the coffee table between them. "These weren't errors in judgment. They were crimes."
Madison's eyes went wide. She looked at her mother, then back to James, clearly sensing the shift in atmosphere even if she couldn't fully comprehend the words.
"I understand that," Lauren said quickly. "And Andrew understands that too. He's... he's been dealing with some personal issues. Financial pressure. He made poor choices, but—"
"Poor choices." James's voice cut through her explanation like a blade. "Five hundred thousand dollars in documented theft. That's not a poor choice, Miss Brooks. That's systematic criminal behavior."
Lauren's face flushed. Her hands, folded neatly in her lap, tightened until the knuckles went white. Madison pressed closer to her side, sensing danger she couldn't name.
"I..." Lauren swallowed hard. "I'm not here to make excuses for him. I just wanted to thank you for your mercy."
"Mercy." James picked up his own cup of tea, which had somehow appeared while I wasn't looking. Alfred truly was remarkable. "An interesting word for allowing someone to avoid prison by paying ten times what they stole."
The silence that followed stretched uncomfortably. Madison fidgeted, pulling at her dress. Finally, she stood up, the movement drawing all our attention.
"Great-grandpa James," she said in a voice that had clearly been coached for maximum appeal, "I want to apologize for my uncle Andrew. Mommy says he was influenced by bad friends. He didn't mean to do anything wrong."
James set down his tea with a soft clink. "Little one, when adults make mistakes, other adults should apologize for them. Not children."
His eyes moved past Madison to Lauren. The temperature in the room seemed to drop.
"Miss Brooks, your brother embezzled half a million dollars from my company. He created false purchase orders, established shell companies, and transferred funds to accounts in the Cayman Islands. This wasn't the result of 'bad friends.' This was deliberate, calculated theft."
Lauren's composure finally cracked. Her lips trembled before she pressed them into a thin line. "I understand you're angry—"
"I'm not angry." James's calm was somehow more devastating than fury. "I'm simply clarifying the situation so there's no misunderstanding. Your brother is a criminal who avoided prison because he—or someone on his behalf—paid a significant sum of money. That's the beginning and end of this matter."
Madison shrank back into her chair, confused and frightened. Lauren's hand found her daughter's, squeezing tightly.
"Can I..." Madison's small voice broke the tension. "Can I go find Lily?"
Lauren looked at James, silently asking permission. He nodded once.
Alfred, who'd been standing silently by the door, stepped forward. "I'll inquire if Miss Lily is available for a visit."
He left, returning a moment later with Lily trailing behind him. The little girl moved hesitantly, her eyes finding me before acknowledging anyone else. When she saw Madison, something flickered across her face—resistance, maybe even distaste—but it was quickly replaced by a carefully practiced smile.
Lily drew herself up straighter, her voice coming out in that artificially bright tone children use when they're performing. "Hi, Madison. What do you want to play?"
Madison brightened immediately, jumping down from the chair. "Can we go to your room? I want to see your toys!"
"Sure!" Lily's enthusiasm sounded hollow to my ears, but no one else seemed to notice. She held out her hand, and Madison took it eagerly.
As they left, Lily glanced back once. Our eyes met for just a second. In that brief look, I saw her internal struggle—the desire to please her father warring with her genuine feelings, the effort it took to be welcoming when every instinct told her to protect her space.
My chest tightened. She was four years old and already learning to suppress herself for others' approval.
The door closed behind them. Lauren immediately turned to me, her expression shifting to something that might have been genuine if I believed she was capable of genuine emotion where I was concerned.
"Rose." My name in her mouth sounded calculated. "I owe you an apology as well."
I said nothing, simply looking at her.
"I judged you harshly when we first met," she continued, her voice taking on that confessional quality people use when they want to sound vulnerable. "I thought you were... playing a role. Trying to ingratiate yourself with the family for some ulterior purpose. But I see now that you genuinely care about everyone here. Your relationship with James, the way you've helped Christopher see things more clearly... I was wrong about you."
She paused, clearly expecting a response. Some gracious acceptance of her apology, perhaps. Some reassurance that her suspicions had been understandable.
I gave her neither.
Instead, I simply nodded once, the barest acknowledgment that she'd spoken. No words. No forgiveness. No opening for further conversation.