Chapter 8
Richard's POV
The next morning, bad news hit me.
"This is fucking unacceptable!" I slammed my fist on the conference table, watching my executives collectively flinch. "Would someone like to explain why investors pulled out of an $80 million deal?"
No one spoke. No one dared.
"The payment was delayed for three days." I glared at my CFO, who looked like he wanted to disappear into his chair. "And no one thought to tell me?"
"Sir, you weren't in the office yesterday. You told us to give the contracts to Mrs. Harrison, but—"
"You're all useless," I cut him off. "Get out. All of you."
They scattered like cockroaches when the light turns on, leaving behind half-empty coffee cups and scattered papers.
"Not you, Grace," I said as she rose to follow them. "Stay."
She sat back down, her face a perfect mask of professional composure. No emotion, no fear. Her calmness irritated me further.
"Why wasn't the payment processed?" I demanded.
Grace met my eyes steadily. "I don't have sufficient authorization for transactions of that size, Richard. You know my signing authority is limited to $50,000."
I ran a hand through my hair, frustration building. She was right; the authority I had given her wasn't high.
"The IPO is in three weeks. This kind of mistake could tank our stock price before we even go public."
Grace nodded, then leaned forward slightly. "Richard, perhaps this situation highlights a structural issue. With the IPO approaching, you need to focus on the big-picture strategy. Maybe you should authorize me to handle all operations during this period."
I studied her face, searching for ulterior motives. Was this opportunism, or genuine concern for the company?
"Is that difficult? If you're not comfortable then..."
"I'll have legal draft a temporary authorization," I finally said. "But full signing authority would require board approval."
"I understand," she replied, something shifting in her eyes.
---
Grace's POV
With newly granted access to the company's systems, I began systematically downloading core company data.
I watched the progress bar crawl across my screen, heart pounding despite my outward calm. Each percentage point felt like a small victory.
"Wanting to control my life comes with a price," I murmured, fingers tapping impatiently on my desk.
With a soft chime, the download completed. I ejected the drive, tucking it securely into my purse just as my phone rang. Margaret Harrison's name flashed on the screen.
I considered letting it go to voicemail, but answered on the fourth ring.
"Grace, Jason wants that French truffle steak you make tonight. He says only yours tastes authentic." Her voice carried its usual imperious tone. "Be home by 6 to prepare it."
She hung up before I could respond.
I closed my eyes, memories flooding back—two years of being treated like an upscale housekeeper. Frequently cooking for that brat Jason, preparing tea for Margaret's social circle, always accommodating to avoid making things difficult for Richard in family relationships.
Looking at my phone screen, I pondered for a few seconds before setting it aside without further action.
I reviewed all the company's recent project plans. There was one key project that I personally managed, where the client's representative would only deal with me.
After a moment's thought, I went to knock on Richard's office door. Upon entering, I discovered he was already gone.
"Mr. Harrison just left after receiving a phone call. He left in a hurry and canceled his meetings," his assistant said.
I called Richard directly, but when the call connected, a woman's voice came through the line.
"Richard's phone."
My spine stiffened. "Laura?"
"Please don't misunderstand." A brief pause. "We're at the hospital. Emma fell. But don't worry, it's not serious."
"Put him on the phone," I said directly.
"He's settling the bill right now. I can have him call you back later..."
"No need, treating Emma takes priority," I said, ending the call.
---
Laura's POV
I stood beside Emma's hospital bed, watching her lie there with an exaggerated pained expression as Richard examined her leg. My daughter was putting on quite a performance, complete with quivering lip.
"It hurts so bad, Daddy!" she whimpered dramatically.
"It's just a small scrape, princess," Richard said gently, his fingers carefully probing her knee. "You'll be fine."
"Who was that on the phone?" Richard glanced at me and asked.
"Grace."
"Was it about company business?"
"She said it wasn't anything urgent, that you should take care of things here first. Maybe she just misses you," I said deliberately.
He tried to take my hand but I pulled away twice. Finally, he wrapped his arm around my waist.
He whispered in my ear, the intimate gesture instantly making me unable to control the smile forming at the corners of my mouth.
"Your dear one should be someone else," I pretended to be angry.
"That hurts," he leaned in closer, "you're the only one in my heart, always."
Richard hesitated, "I should call her back. If she gets suspicious, it could cause problems."
"She won't suspect anything," I said firmly. "I think she's a fool, completely devoted to you. You're overthinking."
"Laura..." Richard's voice carried a hint of reproach.
I shook my head resolutely, "I don't care. If you call her back now, it proves you don't love me and Emma anymore."
Richard usually persuaded me easily, but this time I was determined to stand my ground. Watching the conflicted expression on his face, I knew I had won. Richard finally nodded, agreeing not to call back, choosing instead to stay with us.
---
Grace's POV
At seven that evening, as I arranged my perfume equipment in my new apartment, my phone rang again. Margaret Harrison's name flashed on the screen.
"Are you deaf or blind?" she barked when I answered. "Jason has been waiting for dinner for over an hour!"
I took a deep breath, feeling something shift inside me. The old Grace would have apologized profusely, rushed to accommodate her demands.
Not anymore.
"Margaret, I won't be coming home tonight," I said, my voice calm but firm. "I'm preparing financial reports for tomorrow's board meeting. This directly impacts the company's IPO."
A stunned silence, then: "Have you lost your mind? Does Richard know you're speaking to me this way?"
"Actually," I replied, allowing a touch of confidence to color my voice, "Richard authorized me today to manage all operational matters for the company. I'd be happy to arrange delivery from a Michelin-starred restaurant for Jason—they'll make a much better steak than I could."
The line went quiet. I could almost hear her mental gears grinding to a halt.
"I'll text you the restaurant options," I added pleasantly. "Good night, Margaret."
I ended the call before she could respond, a small smile playing at my lips.