The deal had reached Monroe Alder because one of my partners liked the technology.
I discovered Owen’s involvement six weeks earlier.
Instead of killing the deal, I had recused myself from direct negotiations.
I wanted him to succeed on merit.
I had even planned to reveal my identity during our honeymoon and tell him I would support the investment if the committee approved it independently.
That future was gone.
At 2:06 a.m., I sent one message to our general counsel.
Do not cancel Monday’s Price Dynamics meeting. Add enhanced conduct and disclosure representations to every financing document. No exceptions.
I wasn’t going to destroy Owen’s company because my feelings were hurt.
That would have been personal revenge.
I didn’t need revenge.
I needed documentation.
If Owen wanted millions of dollars from my firm, he would certify—legally—that he had disclosed anything that could expose the company to material legal or reputational risk.
If he lied, the consequences would belong to him.
At 2:14, Naomi called again.
“The emergency petition will be ready this morning.”
“Thank you.”
“Cass?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t protect him.”
I stared at the dark river outside my window.
“I’m done protecting anyone from the consequences of what they choose to do.”
Sunday morning
At 9:30 a.m., I returned to the Price family house.
Not alone.
Naomi came with me.
So did a private investigator who was documenting the property, and two professional movers.
I had purchased several items for Owen before the wedding because he claimed his parents’ house needed upgrades before hosting visiting relatives.
A new sectional.
A refrigerator.
A $4,300 espresso machine.
A television.
Outdoor furniture.
And, ironically, the high-end washer and dryer Lorraine refused to let anyone use because she considered handwashing some kind of moral virtue.
Every purchase had been made through one of my personal accounts.
We were there only for the possessions legally belonging to me.
Lorraine came running down the stairs wearing a robe.
“What is going on?”
