Chapter 1 - THE BUCKET
The first thing Cassidy Hale felt was the weight.
Not the cold.
The weight.
An entire metal bucket of ice water came down over her head at once, flattening her dark hair against her face and driving the beige fabric of her maternity dress against her eight-month belly.
Water crashed across the white tablecloth and spilled onto the marble floor.
Cassidy sucked in a breath.
Across the dining table, Brendan Morrison laughed.
Her ex-husband actually laughed.
Jessica raised her champagne glass.
Diane Morrison stood beside Cassidy holding the empty bucket.
“Smell better now, parasite.”
Cassidy remained seated with one hand instinctively covering her belly.
The dining room belonged in a magazine—warm chandeliers, walnut paneling, hand-painted ceiling, eighteenth-century sideboards, and twelve place settings nobody had touched because Diane had spent most of dinner discussing the Morrison family’s importance.
Cassidy shivered.
Brendan leaned back in his bright pink dinner jacket as if his pregnant ex-wife being drenched at the table were entertainment arranged with dessert.
Jessica tipped her champagne deliberately across Cassidy’s shoulder.
“Poor girls need washing.”
Cassidy closed her eyes for one second.
She had spent three years swallowing insults because responding gave Brendan exactly what he wanted: proof that she was emotional, difficult, ungrateful.
Tonight she had come only because Diane claimed Brendan was finally prepared to discuss the medical insurance arrangements for the baby without attorneys.
That had been a lie.
Cassidy opened her eyes.
She took out her phone.
Diane smirked.
“Calling somebody?”
Cassidy did not look at her.
She pressed one icon.
Then another.
“Protocol Seven. Now.”
Brendan’s smile remained for another two seconds.
Cassidy knocked the empty bucket away when Diane reached toward her again.
Metal struck marble and spun beneath the dining table.
Heavy footsteps sounded beyond the doorway.
Two men in dark suits entered.
Brendan’s smile disappeared.
The lead security officer looked past Diane, past Brendan, directly at Cassidy.
“Ms. Hale, we’re here.”
He crossed the room and positioned himself beside her chair.
The second officer quietly closed the dining-room doors.
Diane’s mouth opened.
“What is this?”
Cassidy wiped water from her eyes.
“Security.”
Brendan laughed once, uncertain now.
“Mom employs security.”
The lead officer looked at him.
“No, sir.”
Silence.
Cassidy rose carefully.
Her dress poured water onto the marble.
“Preserve the room footage,” she said.
“Already done.”
“Restrict tonight’s guests from accessing the residential executive floor.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Brendan stared at her.
Jessica slowly put down her champagne.
Diane whispered, “How are you giving orders in my house?”
Cassidy looked around the chandelier-lit room.
“That’s your first mistake.”
She picked up her purse.
“This isn’t your house.”
Brendan stepped forward.
“Cassidy, what the hell are you talking about?”
The security officer moved between them.
Cassidy stopped at the doorway.
She could have told them everything.
Instead she looked at the family that had spent years treating wealth like proof of moral rank.
“Tomorrow morning,” she said, “ask Meridian Crown who owns the voting shares.”
Diane’s face changed first.
Not understanding.
Recognition.
Tiny and terrified.
May you like
Cassidy saw it.
And suddenly she knew Diane Morrison had been afraid of the company’s real owner long before she knew the owner was sitting at her dinner table.
