Too Late For Regret: My Cold Husband's Tears

Frederica sat in the heavy leather chair across from her father's desk. A gauze pad was taped to her forehead, bright white against her pale skin.

Marcus lit a cigar. The smoke curled around him, obscuring his face.

Stone, the secretary, slid a piece of paper across the mahogany surface.

Frederica looked down. It was a check. Fifty thousand dollars.

"A care package," Marcus said, exhaling smoke. "Buy some concealer. Go on a vacation."

Frederica let out a dry laugh. "Hush money? For my mother's breakdown?"

Marcus tapped ash into a crystal tray. "Do not be dramatic. It is to ensure you do not go crying to Easton. We are in a delicate merger phase."

Frederica stared at the check. Her pride screamed at her to tear it up and throw it in his face. But her brain-the auditor's brain-saw an opportunity. This wasn't money; it was data. The account number, the routing information-it was a key.

She reached out. Her fingers, stained with dried blood under the nails, picked up the check. Her expression was cold, indifferent. Let him think this is all I'm worth, that I can be bought so cheaply.

"Fine," she said, her voice devoid of emotion. Her internal thoughts were racing. This account will lead me straight to the off-the-books funds he's using to pay Dr. Aris. This isn't a payoff. It's evidence.

Marcus raised an eyebrow. He looked surprised at her quick compliance. "What do you want?"

"I want signature authority on Meredith's offshore trust," she said, knowing the request was obsolete. It was a test, a way to confirm her suspicions about his legal maneuvers.

Marcus's face hardened. "That is family capital. Absolutely not. Her power of attorney was transferred to me years ago. You know that."

Frederica shrugged, feigning disappointment. Just as I suspected, she thought. He's already consolidated legal control. She folded the check and slipped it into her pocket. "Then fifty it is. But I want it as a cashier's check."

Marcus waved his hand dismissively. "Stone, take her to the bank in the morning."

Frederica stood up. Her head throbbed with every heartbeat. She walked out of the study.

"Watch her," she heard Marcus say. "Do not let her pull anything."

She walked down the hallway and nearly collided with Dr. Aris coming down the stairs.

She grabbed the doctor's arm. "Is she asleep?"

The doctor wouldn't meet her eyes. "Yes. I increased the dosage. She will sleep for a long time."

Frederica tightened her grip. "If she does not wake up, I will have your license revoked. I have the files, Doctor. The ones detailing your prescription kickbacks from pharma reps."

He paled and pulled away, hurrying toward the exit.

Frederica walked out the front door. The night air bit at her wound. She looked at the check in her hand. It wasn't just money. It was an exit strategy.

She walked toward the parking area. Her car was blocked in.

A red Ferrari was parked directly behind her bumper. A man was leaning against the door, smoking.

The ember of the cigarette glowed, illuminating a face that looked like a softer, crueler version of Easton's.

Julian Reilly.