Ronald’s voice filled the room, thick with alcohol and triumph.
“She hid a kid. Do you understand what that means? The board won’t hand billions to a woman who concealed a dead baby and lied to her husband.”
Then Priscilla’s voice, sharp as broken glass.
“Make it sound worse. Say she abandoned the child. Say she was mentally unfit. People believe tragedy if you arrange the details properly.”
Sienna’s recorded voice was small. “Ronald, that’s horrible.”
His reply chilled the room.
“No, Sienna. That’s leverage.”
Victor stopped the recording.
No one spoke.
Mara’s face had gone white with anger.
“I want him buried,” she said.
Victor glanced at me.
I sat at the head of the table, hands folded, my breathing steady.
Not because I was calm.
Because if I moved too quickly, I might break.
“He doesn’t get buried,” I said. “He gets exposed accurately.”
