Chapter 6 - Diane Finally Chose a Side
Diane called three days later.
“I want to see you.”
“No.”
“Claire, please.”
I surprised myself.
“Melissa’s office. Tomorrow. Ryan isn’t invited.”
She agreed.
Diane arrived dressed beautifully, as always, carrying a leather handbag and enough guilt to change her posture.
She sat across from me.
“I should have stopped Grant.”
“Yes.”
She swallowed.
“I froze.”
“You watched him burn me.”
“I know.”
No excuse.
That was something.
Then she said, “I also knew Ryan was using your money.”
My chest tightened.
“How much did you know?”
“Not enough.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
She looked down.
“I knew about the family reserve. Ryan told me you agreed to it.”
“Did you ever hear me agree?”
“No.”
“Did you ever ask?”
“No.”
I laughed once.
Diane flinched.
She admitted she had seen the spreadsheet.
She also knew Grant’s business was in much worse trouble than Ryan had told me.
Three Denver projects had cost overruns.
A lender had threatened to appoint a receiver.
Another loan had a personal guarantee from Grant that could put their Cherry Creek house at risk.
“Why keep spending?” I asked.
Diane looked embarrassed.
“What spending?”
“The apartment. The club. Brooke’s tuition. New Year’s dinner. Everything.”
Her answer was almost too ordinary.
“Grant kept saying the next closing would fix it.”
That sentence had destroyed more families than greed ever did.
Then Diane told us something Ryan hadn’t.
Seven months earlier, Grant wanted to sell their house.
Ryan stopped him.
Why?
Because Ryan told his parents I had agreed to guarantee the refinancing.
I stared at Diane.
“He prevented them from downsizing because he told them my money would rescue the business?”
“Yes.”
“Why would he do that?”
“I don’t know.”
But Diane had brought proof.
A text from Ryan.
Don’t let Dad sell. Claire commitment gives us enough runway.
Us.
Not them.
Us.
That single pronoun mattered.
Ryan was not merely a dutiful son dragged into his father’s financial collapse.
He considered himself part of it.
When Diane left, Melissa said, “Her cooperation could help.”
“Do you trust her?”
“No.”
Neither did I.
But alliances do not have to be built on affection.
Sometimes they begin when someone finally becomes more afraid of continuing the lie than exposing it.
That night I returned to the penthouse alone.
For the first time since the assault, I sat in the chair where Ryan had restrained me.
I put my wrists on the armrests.
Nothing happened.
The room did not own the memory.
I did.
Then my accountant called.
He had found something in three years of joint tax records.
Ryan had reported substantial losses from Bennett Urban Development.
I stared at the phone.
“He doesn’t own Bennett Urban Development.”
May you like
My accountant paused.
“According to these schedules, he does.”
