Chapter 7 - THE WOMAN THEY BLAMED
By sunrise, half of Atlanta knew I had been poisoned.
By breakfast, the other half knew Megan Foster had been in my bedroom all night.
I found out because a reporter shouted the question through the gates of the FBI field office.
“Mr. Mason! Is the maid a suspect?”
Megan stopped walking.
I did too.
Cameras flashed beyond the barricade.
Another reporter shouted.
“Did Ms. Foster administer your medication?”
A third:
“Was she romantically involved with you before the incident?”
Megan’s face went white.
I felt something ancient and violent rise inside me.
Marcus stepped closer.
“Keep moving.”
I did not.
That was a mistake.
Megan touched my shoulder.
“Dominic.”
One word.
Enough.
I looked at her.
“No.”
“Do not give them what they want.”
“They are accusing you.”
“They are asking questions.”
“They know what they are doing.”
“So do I.”
She took her hand away.
“Keep moving.”
I did.
That may have been the hardest order I had followed in twenty years.
Inside, the source of the leak became obvious.
An anonymous email had been sent to three news outlets.
It included a photograph of Megan asleep beside my bed.
Her hand holding mine.
Noah under the yellow blanket.
The angle came from inside the bedroom.
My bedroom cameras had been disabled years ago.
I did not allow surveillance in private rooms.
Marcus looked at the photograph.
“This was taken from the doorway.”
Megan stared.
“Who came in?”
“Nancy once,” I said.
Her face tightened.
“And?”
“Marcus.”
“I did not take it,” he said.
“I know.”
“Dr. Vale earlier.”
“He was gone before Noah arrived.”
Megan looked at me.
“Anyone else?”
I tried to remember through fever.
Nothing.
Marcus enlarged the reflection in the bedside mirror.
A shape appeared near the door.
Dark suit.
One hand holding a phone.
A silver ring.
Marcus swore.
“What?”
He zoomed.
The ring had a square black stone.
I knew it.
Derek Sloan wore it every day.
My deputy security chief had photographed the woman saving my life and converted the image into evidence against her.
“He was inside,” I said.
Marcus’s jaw tightened.
“Security log shows Sloan checked the second floor at 2:48.”
Megan looked at me.
“That was when your fever was worst.”
“Yes.”
“He saw the pill?”
“Possibly.”
“He saw me.”
“Yes.”
“And now he wants me blamed.”
“Yes.”
She laughed once.
It sounded exhausted.
“Great.”
The federal investigators wanted Megan interviewed separately.
I objected.
She told me to stop.
“I have my own lawyer.”
“When did you get a lawyer?”
“Twenty minutes ago.”
“With what money?”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Do not.”
I stopped.
Good.
She continued.
“The victims’ advocate found one who handles witness representation pro bono.”
Relief moved through me.
I hated needing relief.
“Fine.”
“I’m going in alone.”
“No.”
She stared.
I corrected myself.
“Your decision.”
“That looked painful.”
“It was.”
She almost smiled.
Then she entered the interview room.
I waited forty-three minutes.
Longest forty-three minutes of the week.
Marcus sat across from me.
“You trust her.”
“Yes.”
“You said that fast.”
“I noticed.”
He leaned back.
“For a man who corrects pen angles, you are handling uncertainty badly.”
“I will remember to fire you later.”
“No, you won’t.”
That was becoming a theme.
My phone buzzed.
Board chairman.
Then Gordon.
Then Elias.
I ignored all three.
Another call.
Dr. Hart.
“Vale is conscious.”
“What did he say?”
“Hello would be customary.”
“Evelyn.”
“He asked for you.”
“Is he safe?”
“Two officers outside his room.”
“I’ll come.”
“No.”
I closed my eyes.
“Why?”
“Because he specifically said not to.”
My attention sharpened.
“Why?”
“He thinks Sloan is not acting alone.”
“We know that.”
“He gave us a name.”
“Elias?”
“No.”
I stopped.
“Gordon.”
“Yes.”
My jaw tightened.
Elias’s son.
My COO.
The man who had called Caleb to a meeting he never reached.
“What did Gordon do?”
“Vale says Gordon delivered your medication bottle to his clinic yesterday morning.”
I stared.
“Why?”
“He claimed your usual pharmacy delivery had been delayed and asked Vale to bring it during the house call.”
“So the bottle was compromised before Vale arrived.”
“Most likely.”
“Vale?”
“Still not cleared. But the evidence is moving.”
“Did Gordon know what was inside?”
“We do not know.”
“What else?”
Evelyn hesitated.
“Vale says he altered your father’s hospital timeline twenty years ago.”
“I know.”
“You do?”
“Raymond told me.”
“Vale wants to confess formally.”
“Good.”
“He also says Elias paid him for years afterward.”
“Blackmail.”
“Some payments. Some threats.”
“Why did he stay my physician?”
“Guilt.”
That was a poor reason.
Also human.
The interview-room door opened.
Megan came out with a woman in a navy suit.
Her attorney.
Megan looked angry.
“What?”
She held out a printed page.
Bank transfer.
Twenty-five thousand dollars.
Sent three days ago.
To an account in her name.
I stared.
“What is this?”
“I don’t know.”
Her attorney said, “The account was opened online using Ms. Foster’s Social Security number.”
Megan’s voice shook.
“I never opened it.”
The transfer originated from a vendor tied to Mason Hospitality.
Of course it did.
Someone had built a frame.
Access to my bedroom.
Photograph by my bed.
A fake bank account.
Money.
Motive would come next.
Maybe debt.
Maybe resentment.
Maybe an affair invented for headlines.
I felt cold.
“This is Gordon.”
Megan’s attorney raised one hand.
“We do not know.”
“Then who benefits?”
“That is not evidence.”
I looked at Megan.
“Do you believe me?”
The question hit harder than it should have.
“Yes.”
She stared.
“You didn’t even pause.”
“No.”
“Why?”
Because you stayed.
Because you found the pill.
Because you could have let me drink the juice.
Because you had held my hand when there was nobody to impress.
Because my father wrote that fear should not decide who I became.
“Because if you wanted me dead, I would be dead.”
Her eyes filled.
“That is a terrible compliment.”
“It is what I have.”
Her attorney looked between us.
“Please do not make statements like that publicly.”
Fair.
At noon, the Mason board called an emergency session.
I joined by secure video from the FBI office.
Elias sat at the center.
Gordon beside him.
Sloan’s chair empty.
Raymond’s empty.
Twelve directors filled the screen.
Elias looked heartbroken.
That was his talent.
“Dominic.”
“Elias.”
“We are all deeply concerned.”
“I am sure.”
“Given the allegations—”
“What allegations?”
He paused.
“Attempted poisoning. Internal theft. Federal seizure of company records.”
“Cooperation.”
“What?”
“Federal cooperation. Not seizure.”
His face tightened.
“That distinction may comfort you. It does not comfort investors.”
“Then let them be uncomfortable.”
Gordon leaned forward.
“Dominic, this is not personal.”
I almost laughed.
He continued.
“You are medically compromised. Your judgment is under obvious strain.”
“Because I was poisoned.”
“Yes.”
“By medication you delivered to Vale.”
The room froze.
Gordon’s face emptied.
“I did what?”
“Dr. Vale says you brought the bottle.”
“That is absurd.”
“Is it?”
“I dropped off a pharmacy package because your assistant asked me to.”
“What assistant?”
He hesitated.
“Lydia.”
My executive assistant.
She had been in London for four days.
I looked at the camera.
“Try again.”
Gordon realized the mistake.
Elias moved immediately.
“This is exactly why you should step back.”
“No.”
“Dominic.”
“No.”
My voice sharpened.
“For twenty years, this company has buried problems under the word family.”
Nobody moved.
“My father’s murder. Raymond’s theft. Caleb Foster’s death. My accident. Adrian Vale’s falsified medical records.”
Elias’s face changed.
Tiny.
I saw it.
Good.
“I am done.”
Arthur Clay, an independent director, leaned forward.
“What are you proposing?”
“Full external audit of every Mason entity. Independent special counsel. Suspension of Gordon Webb pending investigation. Preservation of all records.”
Chaos erupted.
Elias raised his voice.
“You cannot do that unilaterally.”
“I can call the vote.”
“You will destroy the company.”
“No.”
I looked directly into the camera.
“I may destroy what should have died twenty years ago.”
Silence.
Then Elias said softly, “Your father would be ashamed.”
That was the weapon.
He had used it for years.
I felt it land.
Then fail.
“My father left me a letter.”
Elias went still.
“He told me not to become him just to avenge him.”
I leaned closer.
“So stop speaking for a dead man.”
The vote passed seven to five.
Gordon was suspended.
External counsel appointed.
Records frozen.
Elias did not move for the final minute of the call.
When it ended, Megan was standing in the doorway.
She had heard.
“You broke your rule.”
“Yes.”
“How does it feel?”
“Expensive.”
She smiled.
Then her phone rang.
Unknown number.
She answered cautiously.
“Hello?”
Her face changed.
“Who is this?”
A pause.
Then she looked at me.
Fear returned.
She put the call on speaker.
A man’s voice.
Derek Sloan.
“Megan.”
Her grip tightened.
“What do you want?”
“You know what they’re going to do.”
“No.”
“They’ll make you the story.”
“Who?”
“Gordon. Elias. Everyone who needs Dominic confused.”
I said nothing.
Sloan continued.
“I have something Caleb left.”
Megan stopped breathing.
“What?”
“A recording.”
“Give it to the FBI.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because it proves I helped kill him.”
The room went silent.
Megan’s face became white.
Sloan’s voice cracked.
“I didn’t mean for him to die.”
She whispered, “Where are you?”
“I’ll tell you.”
“No.”
Her attorney stepped forward.
Megan raised one hand.
Sloan continued.
“But Dominic cannot come.”
I looked at her.
She looked back.
And for the first time, I understood something I had spent my entire life refusing to learn.
May you like
Protecting someone did not always mean standing in front of them.
Sometimes it meant trusting them to stand where they chose.
