Another subtle reminder that I didn’t belong.
Another conversation about family expectations, finances, or protecting the Carter legacy.
I almost declined.
Instead, curiosity got the better of me.
Richard’s office occupied the entire top floor of one of his commercial towers downtown.
Everything about the space reflected quiet wealth.
Dark walnut walls.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city.
Soft carpeting that swallowed footsteps.
Art that probably cost more than my yearly salary.
The receptionist smiled warmly before escorting me toward Richard’s office.
What surprised me wasn’t the office.
It was Richard himself.
He met me outside his door.
That had never happened before.
He always waited behind his enormous mahogany desk like a king receiving visitors.
“Violet,” he said quietly.
“Thank you for coming.”
“Your assistant sounded worried.”
“I was.”
Something about his voice immediately unsettled me.
He looked exhausted.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
There were dark circles beneath his eyes, and tiny lines I had never noticed before seemed carved into his face.
He suddenly looked much older than his sixty-eight years.
“Can I offer you coffee?” he asked.
“No, thank you.”
He nodded once and gestured toward the chair across from his desk.
For nearly a minute, he simply sat there with both hands folded together.
He looked like a man rehearsing words he didn’t want to say.
Finally, he opened one of his desk drawers.
Without speaking, he removed a thick folder and slowly pushed it across the polished wood toward me.
“Read it.”
I opened the folder.
The first page looked like a legal contract.
The second page made me stop breathing.
In exchange for five hundred thousand dollars, I agreed to quietly divorce Leo, waive every future claim involving the Carter family’s businesses or assets, and relocate immediately after signing.
There were confidentiality clauses.
Deadlines.
Legal witnesses.
Everything had already been prepared.
Attached behind the agreement sat official escrow documents proving that the money had already been transferred into an account waiting in my name.
For several seconds, I simply stared.
Then I laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because it was too unbelievable to process.
“Is this some kind of joke?”
Richard didn’t smile.
“I’ve never been more serious.”
I pushed the folder back toward him.
“You want to pay me to leave your son?”
“Yes.”
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