For three seconds, nobody moved.
The only sound in the dining room was water dripping from the ends of my hair onto the floor.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Wade stared at the security chief.
Then at me.
Then back at him.
“Ms. Marchbanks?” he repeated.
His voice had changed.
Not much.
But enough.
Lorraine slowly lowered her wineglass.
“Who is she?”
The security chief didn’t answer her.
He stepped forward and handed me a black envelope.
“Your instructions have been verified,” he said. “Protocol 7 is now active.”
Tara’s smile disappeared.
Wade stood so quickly his chair scraped against the floor.
“Wait.”
He pointed at me.
“Instructions?”
The security chief finally looked at him.
“Sir, I was instructed to speak only with Ms. Marchbanks.”
Wade’s face tightened.
“You know who I am?”
“Yes.”
“And you still won’t answer me?”
“No.”
The room became painfully quiet.
Lorraine put her glass down.
“Delia,” she said, suddenly sounding less amused, “what exactly did you do?”
I opened the envelope.
Inside was a single sheet of paper.
At the top was the logo of Pemberton Holdings.
Underneath it were four words:
EMERGENCY OWNERSHIP AUTHORITY
Wade saw it.
His eyebrows pulled together.
“That doesn’t make sense.”
I folded the paper again.
“It will.”
He laughed nervously.
“You’re trying to scare me.”
“No.”
I looked at him.
“I stopped trying to scare you a long time ago.”
Tara stepped closer to Wade.
“Wade, what is she talking about?”
He ignored her.
His eyes stayed on me.
“You don’t have authority over this company.”
I almost smiled.
Almost.
“You’re right.”
He exhaled, relieved.
Then I finished.
“I have authority over the company that owns yours.”
His expression froze.
Lorraine stood.
“What?”
I reached into my bag and pulled out my wallet.
From behind my driver’s license, I removed a small black card.
I placed it on the table.
Wade walked toward it.
He picked it up.
His fingers began to shake.
On the card was my name.
DELIA MARCHBANKS
And beneath it:
CHAIRWOMAN — MARCHBANKS CAPITAL
Wade stared at it for several seconds.
Then he laughed.
But this time, there was no confidence in it.
“That can’t be real.”
I said nothing.
“Delia,” he whispered, “you told me you worked as a consultant.”
“I did.”
“You told my family you barely made enough to pay rent.”
“I did.”
“You told Lorraine you couldn’t afford the hospital bills.”
“I never said that.”
He looked at his mother.
Lorraine’s face had gone pale.
“But you let us believe it.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
I looked down at my wet dress.
“Because you treated me differently when you thought I had nothing.”
Nobody answered.
The security chief stepped forward.
“Ms. Marchbanks, should we proceed with the next phase?”
Wade snapped his head toward him.
“Next phase?”
I nodded.
“Yes.”
The security chief pulled out his phone.
“Effective immediately, all executive access belonging to Wade Pemberton has been suspended pending investigation.”
Wade’s mouth fell open.
“What investigation?”
“Financial conduct.”
His face drained of color.
“I haven’t done anything.”
I looked at him.
“That’s not what the audit says.”
Lorraine rushed toward the security chief.
“You can’t do this to my son!”
He didn’t move.
“Mrs. Pemberton, please step back.”
“This is our company!”
I finally looked at her.
“No.”
Her eyes met mine.
“It was never yours.”
She stared at me.
Then at the card.
Then at my soaked clothes.
And suddenly I saw something I had never seen on her face before.
Fear.
Real fear.
Tara grabbed Wade’s arm.
“Maybe we should leave.”
He pulled away from her.
“No.”
He was staring at me.
“You planned this.”
“No.”
“You knew this would happen.”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
I paused.
“Three years.”
His face twisted.
“Three years?”
“Three years ago, you brought me home and told your mother I was beneath your family.”
Lorraine looked away.
“You said I was lucky anyone like you would marry me.”
Wade swallowed.
“I was angry.”
“You were cruel.”
“I apologized.”
“You apologized because you needed me to sign the prenatal financial agreement.”
His face went completely still.
The security chief glanced toward Cyrus.
Cyrus had entered quietly through the doorway.
He held a tablet.
“Ms. Marchbanks,” he said, “we have another issue.”
I turned.
“What?”
He looked at Wade.
“His private accounts are already being moved.”
Wade’s eyes widened.
“What?”
Cyrus continued.
“Someone is attempting to transfer approximately eleven million dollars through three shell companies.”
Lorraine looked at her son.
“Wade?”
“I didn’t do that.”
Cyrus raised an eyebrow.
“The transaction was authorized using your credentials.”
Wade shook his head.
“No.”
I looked at Cyrus.
“Freeze everything.”
“Already done.”
Wade stepped toward me.
“You can’t destroy my life because of one stupid dinner.”
I looked at the water still dripping from my sleeves.
“One dinner?”
My voice was quiet.
“You’ve misunderstood.”
I picked up my bag.
“This dinner isn’t why you’re losing everything.”
Wade stared at me.
“Then what is?”
I walked past him.
“The dinner is why I stopped protecting you.”
I reached the doorway.
Behind me, Lorraine suddenly shouted.
“Delia!”
I stopped.
Her voice cracked.
“Please.”
I turned slowly.
The woman who had poured dirty water over my head was now standing with tears in her eyes.
“What do you want?”
She swallowed.
“Don’t take the company.”
I looked at her.
“I don’t want your company.”
Her expression changed.
“Then what do you want?”
I placed one hand gently over my stomach.
“I want my daughter to grow up knowing that nobody gets to humiliate her because they think she has no power.”
Then I looked directly at Wade.
“And I want her father to understand that being wealthy doesn’t make you untouchable.”
I walked outside.
The rain had started.
Cyrus followed me.
As we reached the car, my phone vibrated.
One message.
From an unknown number.
YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT PROTOCOL 7 REALLY ACTIVATED.
I stopped walking.
Cyrus noticed my expression.
“What is it?”
I showed him the screen.
He read it.
His face changed.
“Delia…”
“What?”
He looked toward the house.
“There are only three people in the world who know the full details of Protocol 7.”
I stared at him.
“Who?”
He hesitated.
Then whispered:
“Me.”
“Your father.”
“And Wade.”
My stomach tightened.
“Wade knows?”
Cyrus shook his head.
“Not everything.”
He looked back toward the house.
“But whoever sent that message…”
His voice dropped.
“…knows everything.”
And before I could respond, another message appeared.