Chapter 2 - THE MAN AT THE REHEARSAL
The elevator doors closed.
Jackson disappeared.
I expected relief.
Instead, my hands started shaking.
Not because I regretted leaving.
Because I had finally stopped moving long enough to understand what leaving meant.
No paycheck.
No health insurance.
No Monday morning.
No Jackson.
That last one annoyed me most.
I walked three blocks before realizing I still had my company badge clipped to my coat.
I almost turned around.
Then I took it off and dropped it into my purse.
Pierce Global could survive until Monday without a piece of plastic.
Apparently it would have to survive without me too.
Friday morning, I woke at six out of habit.
Then remembered I didn’t work there anymore.
I lay staring at the ceiling until Sophie called.
“You’re awake.”
“How do you know?”
“You answered.”
Excellent point.
“Are you coming to the venue at noon?”
“Yes.”
“Promise?”
I closed my eyes.
“I promised yesterday.”
“And yesterday you had a job.”
I sat up.
“What?”
Silence.
“Sophie.”
“Margot called.”
I nearly dropped the phone.
“Why?”
“She said you walked out carrying the graduation picture and looked like someone should make sure you hadn’t joined a convent.”
Despite everything, I laughed.
“I am not joining a convent.”
“Good. Your dress is inappropriate.”
By noon, I was at the Hudson Valley estate where Sophie was getting married.
My younger sister took one look at me and wrapped both arms around my neck.
“You chose me.”
The words hurt unexpectedly.
“I should never have made that feel surprising.”
“You didn’t.”
Her voice softened.
“He did.”
I pulled back.
“This weekend is not about Jackson.”
“Great. Then help me prevent Aunt Denise from moving herself to the head table.”
For two hours, I almost forgot Pierce Global existed.
Flowers went missing.
The officiant was delayed.
Sophie’s fiancé, Daniel, discovered his father had accidentally brought brown shoes for a black tuxedo and reacted like civilization had collapsed.
Normal problems.
Beautiful problems.
At three-thirty, Dad arrived.
Robert Carter walked more slowly than he had before his surgery last year, but he still wore a tie to rehearsals because he believed “photographs happen when you least expect dignity.”
He kissed my forehead.
“I heard you quit.”
“Who told you?”
“Sophie.”
I looked at her.
She raised both hands.
“This family does not believe in information silos.”
Dad smiled.
“Good for you.”
“You don’t even know why.”
“You came to your sister’s wedding.”
“That’s enough?”
“For today.”
I hugged him.
My phone buzzed inside my purse.
I ignored it.
Again.
Ignored.
Again.
Sophie looked at me.
“If that man calls during my vows tomorrow, I will marry him myself just so I can divorce him publicly.”
“It isn’t Jackson.”
I checked.
It was HR.
Not a call.
An email.
Termination acknowledgment attached. Final compensation will continue through month-end. Medical coverage extended ninety days.
I stared.
Jackson had fired me.
Or honored the threat.
I wasn’t sure which felt worse.
Then another email arrived.
Not from Jackson.
From Harrington Industries’ CFO.
Ms. Carter, we have been informed you will no longer be participating in Monday’s preliminary close. Under the circumstances, Harrington is suspending review until your role can be clarified.
I read it twice.
Then a third time.
Why would Harrington care whether Jackson Pierce’s executive assistant participated in an acquisition?
Sophie noticed my face.
“What?”
“Apparently a forty-billion-dollar corporation is emotionally attached to my calendar management.”
Dad took the phone.
His expression changed.
“Harrington?”
“Yes.”
He went still.
“What?”
Before he could answer, tires crunched across gravel outside.
A black sedan stopped near the rehearsal lawn.
My stomach dropped before the rear door opened.
Jackson Pierce stepped out.
Of course he wore black.
Black coat.
Black suit.
No tie.
He looked as though Wall Street had personally sent someone to arrest happiness.
Sophie stared.
“That’s him?”
“Yes.”
“I expected horns.”
“They’re retractable.”
Jackson approached but stopped ten feet away.
He looked first at Sophie.
“Ms. Carter?”
“Wrong Carter.”
His eyes shifted to me.
“Right.”
Sophie folded her arms.
“Are you here to ruin my wedding?”
“No.”
“Good answer.”
“I’m here to speak to Elena.”
“She doesn’t work for you.”
“I’m aware.”
Something in his voice made me look at him more carefully.
He looked tired.
Jackson Pierce did not look tired.
Other people became tired on his behalf.
“What do you want?”
“Harrington suspended the deal.”
“I saw.”
“They conditioned Monday’s diligence session on your participation.”
“Why?”
“Because their CFO requested you specifically.”
My anger sharpened.
“And you knew?”
“I learned last night.”
“Why would he request me?”
Jackson’s jaw tightened.
“Because the restructuring work you did on their domestic projections uncovered an accounting discrepancy.”
“I moved six slides.”
“You also rebuilt the supporting schedule.”
“That is called doing my job.”
“Yes.”
He said it differently.
Like maybe he had only just realized what my job actually contained.
“The discrepancy traces through four subsidiaries,” he continued. “Harrington believes you found it without knowing what you found.”
“So hire an auditor.”
“I have.”
“And?”
“They think someone has been deliberately burying acquisition liabilities.”
Dad made a quiet sound behind me.
Jackson’s eyes moved toward him.
Everything changed.
Not dramatically.
No one gasped.
Jackson simply stopped.
Dad did too.
They stared at each other.
“Robert Carter,” Jackson said.
Dad’s voice became very quiet.
“Jackson Pierce.”
I looked between them.
“You know each other?”
Dad didn’t answer.
Jackson did.
“Not personally.”
“Then why do you look like you just found a ghost at a wedding rehearsal?”
Sophie whispered, “Excellent wording.”
Dad ignored her.
His attention stayed on Jackson.
“You look like Vincent.”
Jackson’s face closed.
“My father.”
“You knew his father?” I asked.
Dad looked at me.
“I knew of him.”
“That is not what that sounded like.”
Jackson reached into his coat.
I stiffened.
He removed a thin folder.
“No work today,” I said.
“It isn’t work.”
He held it out.
I did not take it.
“What is it?”
“A consulting agreement.”
I laughed.
“You fired me yesterday.”
“You left.”
“After you told me not to return.”
“Yes.”
At least he had the decency to look uncomfortable.
“I handled that badly.”
Sophie coughed.
“Understatement.”
Jackson glanced at her.
“I’m beginning to understand the family communication style.”
“You’ve met us for ninety seconds.”
“It has been informative.”
I almost smiled.
Almost.
“What does the agreement say?”
“You consult on Harrington through Monday. Your hours are yours. You attend the wedding. No contact tomorrow unless you initiate it. Your rate is five times your former hourly equivalent.”
I stared.
“Five?”
“I was advised ten looked desperate.”
“By who?”
“Margot.”
I loved Margot.
Still, I did not take the folder.
“Why me?”
Jackson’s expression changed.
“Because the discrepancy appeared only after you rebuilt the model.”
“That doesn’t make me irreplaceable.”
“No.”
His voice lowered.
“But you notice what everyone else accepts.”
The words landed harder than they should have.
Then Dad stepped forward.
“Do not sign anything connected to Harrington.”
I turned.
“What?”
His face had gone pale.
Jackson watched him.
“You know why,” Dad said.
“No,” I replied. “Apparently everybody does except me.”
Dad looked at Jackson.
Then at me.
“Fifteen years ago, Harrington Industries nearly destroyed this family.”
My stomach tightened.
“How?”
Dad reached inside his suit jacket and removed an old photograph from his wallet.
Three younger men stood in front of a freight terminal.
One was Dad.
One was a younger Vincent Pierce.
The third name was written beneath in blue ink.
Thomas Harrington.
I stared.
“What is this?”
Dad turned the photograph over.
A sentence had been written across the back.
Not in Dad’s handwriting.
Jackson recognized it.
“My father wrote that.”
May you like
I read the words aloud.
IF ROBERT CARTER’S DAUGHTERS EVER COME NEAR HARRINGTON, TELL THEM THE ACCOUNT WAS NEVER CLOSED.
