Chapter 9: Friday
They had chosen a restaurant in La Jolla.
Expensive, visible, the kind of place where the Montgomerys would feel comfortable and I was supposed to feel small.
I arrived five minutes early.
Brendan was already at the table.
Scarlett Montgomery was beside him.
I had seen photographs of Scarlett but never sat across from her.
She was tall, precisely dressed, with the particular composure of someone who had grown up being told they were exceptional.
She looked at me the way people look at something they've already decided to discard.
"Chloe." Brendan stood.
"So glad you could make it."
"Of course." I sat down.
I looked at Scarlett.
"It's good to finally meet you properly."
Scarlett smiled.
It didn't reach her eyes.
"Brendan has told me so much about you."
"I imagine he has," I said.
The first few minutes were careful and surface-level — the kind of conversation that is really a negotiation in disguise.
Brendan ordered for the table without asking.
Scarlett talked about a recent trip to Florence.
I smiled at the right moments and said very little.
Then Scarlett set down her glass.
"I want to be honest with you, Chloe," she said.
"I think it's time we had a real conversation."
"I agree," I said.
She glanced at Brendan.
A small signal that I was meant to miss.
"You and Brendan have had a wonderful three years," she said.
"But I think you both know that things need to move in a different direction."
"Do we?"
"Brendan and I have a long history.
A future, actually." She kept her voice warm, almost gentle.
"I think, deep down, you've always sensed that."
I looked at Brendan.
He was watching me with an expression of careful sympathy.
The performance of a man about to deliver difficult news.
"I have sensed things," I said.
"Quite a lot of things, actually."
Scarlett smiled again.
"Then you understand."
"I understand more than you think." I reached into my bag.
I set an envelope on the table between us.
Not Liam's original — Diana had made clean copies.
"I thought this might be useful to have on hand."
Scarlett looked at the envelope.
She didn't touch it.
"What is that?"
"Patricia Osei's signed statement.
She was the fourth judge at the university dance competition four years ago.
The one your father didn't manage to buy." I kept my voice even and quiet.
"She documents the meeting.
The offer.
The amount.
The names of the others present."
Brendan's hand went flat on the table.
"She also documents," I continued, "that Gerald Montgomery's direct involvement in the arrangement connects to a separate set of documents — a financial agreement between your family and Brendan, Scarlett.
Funding contingent on completing ninety-nine deliberately orchestrated events designed to cause me harm."
Scarlett's composure didn't break.
But she went very still.
"I don't know what you're—"
"Scheme forty-one," I said.
"The plagiarism accusation.
I arrived late to my own graduation.
My parents were waiting outside.
My father had made a sign." I looked at her steadily.
"He wrote my name in blue marker.
He still has it."
The table was silent.
"Scheme sixty-seven," I said.
"My studio contract.
Six weeks of auditions I didn't enter because you made me believe I had failed." I turned to Brendan.
"You wrote in the log: *Rating: very effective.*"
Brendan's jaw was tight.
"Chloe—"
"Scheme ninety-seven," I said.
"You called my mother.
You posed as a university official.
She didn't know what was happening.
She was frightened." I paused.
"That was a mistake.
She called me immediately."
Scarlett leaned forward slightly.
"You have no evidence of any—"
"I have twelve pages," I said.
"Handwritten and typed.
Your email to Brendan is included.
The one where you said you wanted me to feel completely alone before the final scheme landed." I looked at her.
"You asked him to start with the mother."
The color in Scarlett's face shifted by a degree that was barely visible.
"This is over," Brendan said.
His voice had dropped.
The warmth was completely gone.
"Whatever you think you have—"
"My attorney filed a pre-emptive motion this morning," I said.
"Before your family's attorney could submit the ethics complaint.
Patricia's statement is included.
So is Liam's full documentation.
So is the financial record of the arrangement with your father." I picked up my water glass and set it down again.
"The motion asks the court to recognize a coordinated, multi-year campaign of deliberate harassment and reputational harm.
The judge bribery is a separate matter, but it's been referred."
Scarlett stood up.
"You should sit down," I said quietly.
"People are watching."
She didn't sit down.
But she didn't walk away either.
"What do you want?" she said.
"I want it to stop," I said.
"Completely.
Every remaining scheme, every contact with my employer, every communication with my university's ethics board.
Withdrawn.
Today."
"And if we don't?"
"Then we continue with the motion as filed." I looked between them.
"Your father's name is on the financial agreement, Scarlett.
Your family attorney coordinated the fabricated documentation.
That is not a private grievance anymore."
Brendan spoke.
His voice was lower now, with something underneath it that was almost dangerous.
"You're making a very big mistake.
My attorney—"
"Your attorney," I said, "doesn't know about Mason's signature on the financial agreement.
Or the fact that Liam kept records because he wanted to stop this eight months ago and was afraid to." I met Brendan's eyes for the first time directly.
"You surrounded yourself with people and assumed their silence was loyalty.
It wasn't."
His hands were both flat on the table now.
He didn't pick up his phone.
He didn't reach for anything.
The silence stretched out.
Scarlett sat back down.
Her posture was different.
The composure was still there but it was working harder now.
"What exactly does the motion ask for?" she said.
"My attorney will be in contact," I said.
"This was a courtesy conversation." I stood.
I picked up the envelope, leaving a copy behind.
"I hope you'll make the right decision quickly.
For everyone."
I walked out of the restaurant without looking back.
On the sidewalk, my hands were shaking.
Not from fear.
From three years of pressure finally, finally releasing.
My phone rang.
Diana.
"How did it go?"
"They heard everything," I said.
"Good." A pause.
"Scarlett's family attorney called our office eleven minutes ago."
I stopped walking.
"Already?"
"They want to discuss terms."
The shaking in my hands slowed.
May you like
Steadied.
"Tell them we're listening," I said.
