Chapter 40 The Karmic Scales
THE KARMIC SCALES
EMERY
I stand in front of the floor-length mirror, the reflection staring back at me a composite of two worlds. One with her heart. The other with mine.
My condo is a chaotic mess of packed boxes, each one carrying pieces of my past and present lives.
I won’t bring everything with me. Nothing too heavy.
Too damaged. But it’s okay to bring a piece of the past into the present.
A small reminder of all the things I’ve endured.
All the things I’ve discovered about myself.
I adjust the lapels of my tailored Chanel suit. The fabric feels smooth against my skin. Comfortable. Everything feels more comfortable now. Before this weekend, silk often felt like barbed wire. Not anymore. Never again.
I check the time quickly. The press conference starts in one hour. They’ll be here to pick me up soon.
I can’t say I’m looking forward to the dozens of reporters and cameras, but it’s for a good cause. It’s for a good man.
Quinton’s sense of justice is admirable. Soon, he’ll stand in front of the entire media and make an announcement. An announcement that will help thousands of lives. Aside from my newfound faith in the universe, this might be the only good thing to come out of this nightmare.
Four hundred million dollars. The money they stole—minus a hundred million to make it less suspicious.
The extra has already been anonymously donated to various charities.
It’s funny, really. At the end of the day, Simone and Toni got what they were fighting for.
A fund for the families affected by the Diazenix scandal.
And now, after everything, Quin will be dubbed America’s golden boy all over again.
But I think this is his way of balancing the karmic scales.
Take a life.
Help thousands.
As I finish applying a subtle layer of lipstick, the room suddenly fills with piercing electronic beeps. I drop the lipstick, covering my ears from the high-pitched screech sounding from my phone, tablet, and laptop.
I wince, fishing my phone out of my blazer pocket.
What the hell is that? An emergency alert? Before I have a chance to see the screen, the sound stops.
I stare at the black screen, only my reflection looking back at me.
No notification.
Nothing.
“What the…”
I narrow my eyes, attempting to figure out the strange noise. And then I gasp, my heart startled as the stereo system kicks in on its own accord.
The bedroom fills with a haunting melody that sends a shudder through my bones.
You were blue;
Oh so blue;
And I swear it to be true
If you only, if you only, said I love you
In my hand
Yes I held
A lovely way to pretend
If you only, if you only, said I love you
What the fuck is happening right now?
Sliding my phone back into my pocket, I walk into the living room, the music growing louder as I approach the stereo system. The song playing isn’t familiar. It’s old. Creepy. And the lyrics…the lyrics make my skin crawl. They seem invasive. Almost threatening.
My gaze flits around the room.
Is someone in here?
As I turn off the stereo system, the TV flickers to life on its own.
What the actual fuck is happening right now?
I watch, frozen, as an old black-and-white movie scene plays on the wide-screen.
"You were always mine, Mildred. Only mine."
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and I gasp, my belly clenching. Panic swarms in my chest. But so does understanding. So does the truth.
I have no proof. No evidence. But Quin and Damon were right. She’s not on a beach somewhere. She hasn’t moved on. She hasn’t forgotten me.
She’s doing this.
I don’t know how, but she is.
Toni.
With trembling hands, I reach for the remote control and turn off the TV. The room plunges into silence. The only audible sound is my own uneven breaths. Fast. Ragged. Scared.
These devices are supposed to be encrypted. Quin and Damon made sure of it. The FBI said that Toni isn’t in the States. In New York. But she could be. She could have a whole other identity by now. Or… Or she could be anywhere. She could be doing this from literally any corner of the world.
I glance around the condo, paranoia setting in. The curtains are closed and the packing boxes are untouched. There's no sign of forced entry, but I can feel her presence in here. Haunting me. Taunting me.
Unease lingers in my belly as I stand alone in the living room. But I am alone. She’s not here. It’s fine. I’m fine. I’m safe. I have to be safe.
I shake off the discomfort. Maybe it was just a glitch in the electronics systems. A coincidence. It could be a coincidence.
There’s a loud knock on the door, and I damn near faint from fear.
Oh God.
My heart pounds in my chest as I tiptoe toward the front door, my heels lightly clicking on the marble floor. Fear grips at me as I look through the peephole and immediately let out a breath of relief.
Damon and Quinton stand on the other side.
Thank fucking God.
Opening the door, I force a smile. “Hi. You’re early.”
"What's wrong?" Damon raises a brow, frowning. "Did something happen?”
“No,” I squeak out, clearing my throat. “Everything’s fine. Just some…electrical issues.”
Quinton frowns as well. “Are you sure? You look a tad pale.”
“Just nervous.” I manage to conjure up a dismissive laugh. "The press and all," I lie. "You know I don't like cameras."
Quinton offers me his arm. "You'll be fine, darling," he reassures me. "I doubt they will address you unprompted." He gives me a warm smile. “Shall we go then?”
I swallow, my gaze drifting to Quinton's outstretched arm. This is necessary, I know. Our performance for the public is mandatory. We need to fit into the norms of society. We need to safeguard ourselves from the scrutiny, from the whispers.
It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just for show. But my eyes betray me as they flicker toward Damon. He understands, but there’s tension in his stiff posture. He doesn't want to be relegated to “the friend.” I get it. I understand his discomfort.
"Take his hand, Emery,” Damon breaks the silence with a forced smile. "That's an order."
I take a deep breath, steeling myself. "I'm ready," I say, latching onto Quin. “Let’s go.”
We head down to the town car, and as we slide inside, the door closing behind us, I steal a glance at Damon. I swallow, knowing that this isn’t ideal. But he gives me a small nod, understanding passing between us. I smile at him, and his shoulders relax.
We’ll adjust us. We must.
As we’re driven to the press conference, I try to shake off whatever fuckery just occurred at the condo. The car weaves through the city, and Damon and Quin’s hands find mine, two silent anchors that hold me down. Relax me. Remind me that I’m safe and loved and protected.
The town car pulls up outside NovaTech Pharmaceuticals, a swarm of media vans and reporters clustered around a stage. The driver opens the door, and Damon gracefully steps out, followed by Quin.
Offering his hand, Quinton guides me out of the car. Cameras flash. Reporters yell. And I clutch onto Quin. Damon trails behind us, maintaining a discreet distance. My heart pangs with guilt.
Smiling at the cameras, Quinton walks up the short steps to the stage, and I feather a small kiss on his cheek, whispering, “I’m proud of you.”
I step off to the side and stand next to Damon as Quinton steps up to the podium, cameras flashing from every direction. Quin clears his throat, and the reporters fall silent, waiting for the big announcement.
"Thank you all for being here today,” Quin begins.
“I stand before you not just as the CEO of NovaTech Pharmaceuticals but as a person who understands the profound impact our actions can have on everyday lives.
Today, I wish to address a matter that has plagued our company and the hearts of those who have suffered due to the Diazenix scandal. "
My heart swells as Quin does something far few large corporations do, he takes accountability, responsibly. For their lack of due diligence. Their oversight. Their greed.
Quinton's gaze is steady as he addresses each and every reporter, each camera, and I wonder if Toni is watching this press conference. I wonder if, in this moment, she, too, feels relief.
“I am proud to announce that the Marquis Foundation has established a four hundred million-dollar Diazenix Family Fund.
" A soft murmur ripples through the crowd as Quinton continues.
"This fund is dedicated to families who have lost a parent, grandparent, or sibling to the Diazenix controversy.
We hope this fund alleviates the physical and mental costs associated with the loss of a loved one.
"In addition to this fund, I have personally ensured that our legal department closes all transparency loopholes so that an oversight like this never happens again.
" Quin takes a small breath. "Again, thank you for being here today.
I understand the responsibility we bear, and I am committed to rectifying the wrongs of the past. Now, I will take any questions you may have. "
Damon leans over to me as Quin takes questions from the media. “How much do you think he pays his speech writer?”
I perk a brow at the accusation. “Probably less than you used to.”
“So protective,” Damon smirks. “I wonder what you say about me when I’m not around.”
“Nothing good,” I whisper, teasing him.
“Be nice, Miss Jones.” He casts me a darkened side-eye. “Our new house has many exposed pipes. I’d hate to string you up from one.”
I bite my lip. “Yes, I’m sure you’d hate that.”
“Or, I could—”
Before he can finish his thought, my phone beeps in my pocket. Damon frowns at my shaken reaction.
Slowly, I pull out my cell and wince, forcing myself to read a text message from the unknown number.
I was right to be scared.
I see you, Emery Jones. No matter where you go, I will always see you.
My eyes widen and I look around frantically.
Where is she?! Is she here?
Another text.
Stop frowning. Smile. Smile for the cameras, bella. You are so fucking pretty when you smile.
My heart rattles against my ribs, my hand shaking.
“Give me that.” Damon yanks my phone out of my hand and glares down at the screen, his jaw clenching. “This bitch.”
That’s the thing about karma.
She really is a bitch.
To be continued…