Chapter 73 Held In The Wrong Spot
Sarah watched Mark walk away, his boots echoing on the marble until the heavy front doors slammed shut behind him.
Alex remained by the dining table, his gaze fixed on the blue folder that Richard had left open like a trap, and for a moment, the silence between them was louder than any of the shouting that had happened minutes before.
Sarah did not move toward him, she stood her ground, her mind already racing through the logistics of the damage Richard had just caused to the trust they had built over the last few months.
"You knew that paper was out there, Sarah, and you let me walk in here thinking we were bulletproof," Alex said, his voice was flat and lacked the heat of an argument, which made it feel much more dangerous.
"I knew I had a loan twenty years ago, Alex, but I did not know it was a Harrington weapon, and I did not know that a simple list of library materials was being filed away as a security breach," Sarah replied, she walked back to the table and closed the folder with a sharp snap.
"Your father has been keeping a file on me for two decades just so he could use it today, so do not tell me that I am the one playing games here."
"The timing doesn't change the fact that you had a connection to the Vanes before you met me, and you didn't think that was a detail I needed to know before I put my entire reputation on the line for your firm?" Alex asked, he finally looked up, and his eyes were full of a tired, jagged suspicion that made Sarah’s pulse spike.
"I met you through Mark, Alex, I didn't meet you through a Vane lawyer, and I haven't seen a cent of that money since Mark was in diapers," she told him, her voice sounding firm and full of a hard, business-like clarity. "If you want to stay here and let your father convince you that I am a spy, then stay, but I have a son who is currently driving a car while he's blind with rage, and I am not losing him because of a twenty-year-old promissory note."
Sarah didn't wait for his permission to leave, she turned and walked out of the room, her heels clicking a fast, rhythmic beat against the floor as she pushed through the front doors and into the humid night. She saw the tail lights of Mark’s car disappearing around the bend of the long driveway, and she reached for her phone, dialing his number three times only to have it go straight to voicemail every single time.
She got into her own car and hit the steering wheel with the palm of her hand, the frustration of the night finally bubbling up to the surface, but she forced herself to breathe and think like the woman who had survived much worse than Richard Harrington.
She drove toward Mark’s apartment, her eyes scanning the road for any sign of his silver sedan. She reached the apartment complex and found his car parked crookedly in his spot, the engine still ticking as it cooled down, and she ran up the stairs to his floor, her heart pounding against her ribs.
She knocked on the door, but there was no answer, so she used the spare key she kept in her bag and stepped into the small, dark living room that smelled like stale coffee and gym clothes. Mark was sitting on the balcony, his back to the door, and he didn't move when she walked out to join him, he just kept staring at the city lights as if they held the answers to the questions Richard had raised.
"I didn't do it to hurt the Harringtons, Mark, I did it because your father had left us at that time with nothing and the landlord was threatening to put us on the street," Sarah said, sitting on the bench beside him, her voice was soft but lacked any of the poetic fluff that usually came with an apology.
"I don't care about the Harringtons, Mom, I care that I spent my whole life thinking we were a team and that you did it all on your own, and now I find out that a billionaire family was paying the bills from the start," Mark said, he looked at her and his eyes were red, showing the raw, human hurt of a son who felt like his history was a lie.
"They weren't paying the bills, they gave me a start, and I paid every single cent of that loan back with interest by the time you were five years old," Sarah told him, she reached out and gripped his shoulder, her hand firm and grounding.
"I am a smart woman, Mark, and I used the tools I had to build a life for us, and I am not going to let a bitter old man in a suit make me feel ashamed of how I kept you safe."
"Does Alex know? Does he really believe you were a spy?" Mark asked, his voice sounding small.
"Alex is currently sitting in a room with his father being told a story that makes me the villain, and I don't know if he has the strength to see through it yet," Sarah replied, she looked out at the city and realized that the "Exit Strategy" was no longer just about moving money, it was about proving who they were when the world was watching.
The sound of a phone buzzing on the glass table broke the moment, and Sarah saw it was a text on Mark’s phone from an unsaved number, a message that simply said:
"The Vane trust is being reviewed. Meet me at the docks at midnight if you want the real signatures."
Mark looked at the screen and then at his mother, the confusion in his face turning into a sharp, focused curiosity that Sarah recognized all too well.
"That's not a Harrington number, Mom," Mark said.
"And it's not a Vane lawyer," Sarah added, she stood up and grabbed her bag, her mind already shifting back into the defensive mode that had kept her firm alive for twenty years.