Chapter 16
CARI
He doesn’t care about me. All he cares about is money and his precious deal.
I know it’s important—it’s everything to him, apparently—but my mom is lying in a hospital bed, and I made a genuine mistake. I’ve been worried sick for days, and my fears were not unfounded.
But none of that matters to Jett. To him, I’m just someone to fix the problem.
My phone buzzes with a text, and I snatch it up. It’s Aunt Scarlett.
Treatment is working. Your mom is doing well! She might come home soon!
My heart leaps with happiness and I am buoyed up by this good news. I spring into action. The tiredness I felt earlier when I was on my way home for a nap? Gone.
I’d jumped into a cab and when Jett sent me that terse message, I rerouted to here. I read my aunt’s text again and feel something I haven’t had in days—hope.
I stare at the florist’s flowers on my desk and smile. The vibrant daisies and lilies are a bright burst of kindness that I so badly need. Some people are loving and kind, and do what they can to make lives better, even for strangers. While others—I stare at the closed door of Jett's office—are unfeeling and unaware.
Anger simmers just below my skin. He can be cold. Brutal. Unforgiving. But this? This wasn’t just on me.
He was the one who should have signed it.
I had the addendum on my to-do list, marked and ready, but I got distracted. Overwhelmed. My mom’s illness, and the immense overwhelming feeling of everything piling up—made this slip through the cracks.
But I’ll fix it. I’ll work through the night if I have to.
I call Vanhelm’s team directly, my voice steady as I apologize. I take full ownership of the mistake without letting my voice tremble, without offering excuses. It wouldn’t matter anyway. When it comes to multi-million dollar deals, these things don’t factor in. I don’t tell them my head hasn’t been in the right place. That I’ve been living on hospital vending machine coffee. That my mom’s illness is consuming me.
To my relief, they agree to pause the deal for 48 hours to allow us to submit the missing document. The manager on the other end—sharp, composed—says, with a hint of humor, “If you ever want to leave Knight Enterprises, Cari, let me know.”
I exhale, forcing a smile into my tone. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Going to someone who appreciates me wouldn’t be a bad thing.
I pull the addendum together, double-check it, then triple-check it, refusing to let a single detail slip past me again. Then I march into Jett’s office with it in hand, my nerves coiled tight.
He’s there, his shirt sleeves rolled up, his tie loosened and looking like death—gaunt, tense, his eyes shadowed with the same exhaustion I feel. He doesn’t say anything when I hand him the file, just grabs a pen and signs it with a sharp flourish.
We both review it again, side by side, in complete silence.
When he hands it back to me, his voice is low. “Thank you.”
I don’t respond. I just turn and leave, because there’s no time to dwell on whatever apology might be buried in his tone. I’m too focused on fixing this, on keeping my mind from spiraling back to my mom.
Jumping into a taxi, I cradle the signed addendum like it’s the most valuable thing in the world.
“SEC Regional Office, please,” I tell the driver. Jett’s pushing his legal team to expedite this. I know he's anxious to make sure his father doesn't catch wind of the situation. In that respect, I understand his restlessness. But I won’t forget or forgive his anger towards me, even if he doesn’t know that my mom’s lying in a hospital bed right now.
The building looms tall and glassy, intimidating even to someone who spends most days in corporate boardrooms. I hurry inside, deliver the document, and confirm everything’s in order. It’ll take 48 hours, but Jett’s pushing his legal team to keep the process moving.
As I step back into the cold air, I finally let out a long breath. I’ve done everything I can.
The day’s slipped by in a blur of phone calls, paperwork, and unrelenting focus. I glance at my phone. It’s six o’clock.
Shock ripples through me. I haven’t eaten. I’ve had no breakfast, no lunch. My stomach feels hollow, my body running on fumes. Come to think of it, I haven’t brushed my teeth or showered today, either.
I pull out my phone and dial Jett to give him an update, but his line’s busy, so I leave a message instead:
It’s done. The addendum’s been delivered, and everything’s on track. I’ll update you when I hear back.
Then I sit back in the cab and breathe. For the first time today, I allow myself to think of my mom. I should go home—shower, change, eat—before heading back to the hospital.
But my phone rings.
It’s Aunt Scarlett.
I answer immediately, smiling because I expect her to tell that Mom’s ready to come home. Instead, her voice breaks through the line—choked, frantic, and full of sobs.
“Cari, come!” she cries. “Come now!”
The air gets sucked from my lungs. My heart shatters into pieces so small they’re impossible to hold onto.
I ask the cab driver to take me to Mount Sinai Hospital, but my voice is barely a whisper.
I stare out the window as the city flashes past—blurred lights and movement I can’t focus on. A sinking feeling anchors itself deep in my chest, heavier than anything I’ve ever felt.
This is it.
I have a sinking feeling that this will be the last time I see my mom.