Chapter 10
They arrested Nathan on a Tuesday morning.
The footage went viral: Nathan Carter in a $3,000 suit, hands cuffed behind his back, guided into the rear of an unmarked police car outside the Carter Group headquarters. The flashbulbs turned the scene white.
Victoria ran after the car in her bathrobe, screaming his name. Someone filmed that too.
I watched neither clip. Margaret told me about them later, her voice carefully neutral.
"And Sophia?" I asked.
"Picked up this morning at a private airport. She was trying to board a chartered flight to Zurich."
I nodded. "Make sure the prosecutor has the offshore account evidence."
"Already sent."
I turned back to my screen. NovaMind's expansion into Southeast Asia was progressing ahead of schedule. Alexander's distribution network had integrated seamlessly with our logistics platform. In three weeks, we'd secured contracts with six major retailers and two governments.
The work was consuming and satisfying in a way nothing had been for years. I had spent so long making myself invisible that I'd forgotten what it felt like to build something that bore my name.
That afternoon, Nathan's defense attorney called my office. I declined the call. He called three more times. I declined each one.
On the fifth attempt, I answered.
"Miss Graves," the lawyer began, his tone cautiously professional. "My client wishes to convey his sincere—"
"Does your client want to make a deal?"
Silence. Then: "He is prepared to offer a full public apology and a retraction of all allegations in exchange for—"
"No."
"Miss Graves, perhaps if we could discuss—"
"There is nothing to discuss. Your client committed fraud, evaded taxes, and conspired with Sophia Mills to defame me. Those are facts. They will be adjudicated in court."
I paused. "And tell Nathan something for me."
"Yes?"
"Tell him that I was never his enemy. I was his wife. He made me into what I am now. He should be proud of his work."
I hung up.
The trial date was set for December. Sophia, facing separate charges of embezzlement and conspiracy, turned on Nathan within 48 hours of her arrest. She offered to testify against him in exchange for a reduced sentence.
When that news leaked, I felt nothing. No triumph. No vindication. Just the quiet relief of a wound finally beginning to close.
At Friday dinner, Alexander poured wine and didn't mention the Carters once. We talked about quantum computing and bad movies and a hiking trail he'd discovered upstate.
"You're different than I expected," he said, halfway through dessert.
"How so?"
He considered the question. "I expected someone guarded. Controlled. And you are, in public." He met my eyes. "But you're also... warm. When you let yourself be."
I looked down at my glass. The compliment sat oddly in my chest—unfamiliar, like wearing clothes that fit after years of borrowed sizes.
"I spent a long time being whatever other people needed me to be," I said finally. "I'm still learning what I actually am."
He nodded, as if that made perfect sense.
"Take your time," he said. "I'm not going anywhere."
---
The footage went viral: Nathan Carter in a $3,000 suit, hands cuffed behind his back, guided into the rear of an unmarked police car outside the Carter Group headquarters. The flashbulbs turned the scene white.
Victoria ran after the car in her bathrobe, screaming his name. Someone filmed that too.
I watched neither clip. Margaret told me about them later, her voice carefully neutral.
"And Sophia?" I asked.
"Picked up this morning at a private airport. She was trying to board a chartered flight to Zurich."
I nodded. "Make sure the prosecutor has the offshore account evidence."
"Already sent."
I turned back to my screen. NovaMind's expansion into Southeast Asia was progressing ahead of schedule. Alexander's distribution network had integrated seamlessly with our logistics platform. In three weeks, we'd secured contracts with six major retailers and two governments.
The work was consuming and satisfying in a way nothing had been for years. I had spent so long making myself invisible that I'd forgotten what it felt like to build something that bore my name.
That afternoon, Nathan's defense attorney called my office. I declined the call. He called three more times. I declined each one.
On the fifth attempt, I answered.
"Miss Graves," the lawyer began, his tone cautiously professional. "My client wishes to convey his sincere—"
"Does your client want to make a deal?"
Silence. Then: "He is prepared to offer a full public apology and a retraction of all allegations in exchange for—"
"No."
"Miss Graves, perhaps if we could discuss—"
"There is nothing to discuss. Your client committed fraud, evaded taxes, and conspired with Sophia Mills to defame me. Those are facts. They will be adjudicated in court."
I paused. "And tell Nathan something for me."
"Yes?"
"Tell him that I was never his enemy. I was his wife. He made me into what I am now. He should be proud of his work."
I hung up.
The trial date was set for December. Sophia, facing separate charges of embezzlement and conspiracy, turned on Nathan within 48 hours of her arrest. She offered to testify against him in exchange for a reduced sentence.
When that news leaked, I felt nothing. No triumph. No vindication. Just the quiet relief of a wound finally beginning to close.
At Friday dinner, Alexander poured wine and didn't mention the Carters once. We talked about quantum computing and bad movies and a hiking trail he'd discovered upstate.
"You're different than I expected," he said, halfway through dessert.
"How so?"
He considered the question. "I expected someone guarded. Controlled. And you are, in public." He met my eyes. "But you're also... warm. When you let yourself be."
I looked down at my glass. The compliment sat oddly in my chest—unfamiliar, like wearing clothes that fit after years of borrowed sizes.
"I spent a long time being whatever other people needed me to be," I said finally. "I'm still learning what I actually am."
He nodded, as if that made perfect sense.
"Take your time," he said. "I'm not going anywhere."
---