Chapter 33
It’s nearly six o’clock when my father’s assistant escorts me into his office. My hands are cold—a chill born of his calculated cruelty. Making me wait all day to see him is a classic power move. He’s always known how to make me feel small before I even have a chance to speak.
The double doors slide shut behind me, and his throne looms large. The gleaming mahogany desk, the floor-to-ceiling windows framing the Chicago skyline, the meticulously curated art pieces on the walls—everything here is a stage designed to remind anyone who enters that they are in his domain.
I cross the vast Persian carpet, which smothers the sound of my boots, and sit in the guest chair.
His silence makes it feel more like a hot seat.
He doesn’t look up, doesn’t even acknowledge my presence.
He just continues scribbling notes in the margins of a document with his prized red Emperor pen.
Fine. I can play the silent game too. This is one of his oldest intimidation tactics. Who will blink first?
But as the minutes stretch, the weight of the day presses down on me like a steel beam, pinning me beneath the unshakeable guilt.
I turned off my phone after leaving Bayside, avoiding the temptation to call Chaz.
God, I miss him. But what could I possibly say that wouldn’t compound my secret?
I can’t face him until I can give him the full truth—and maybe some kind of closure.
Visiting Dee and the twins had been a brief reprieve. Holding those babies, breathing in their soft, innocent smell, was a balm to my frayed nerves. It also felt good to focus on something besides my own issues, giving the new mom time to grab a shower and just rest while Mick was out.
Despite disagreeing with my choices, Dee hadn’t pushed. She gave me what I needed—a few hours of peace.
Now, that peace is gone.
My father finally lowers his pen and looks up with his piercing cerulean eyes.
His dark hair is immaculately maintained by a stylist and shows no trace of gray.
His tan—artificial, of course—is as flawless as his surgically smooth face.
At sixty-four, Theodore Townsen refuses to let time leave its mark.
“So,” he says, his tone dripping with mockery. “The prodigal daughter has returned. By my calculation, a week early.”
“I needed to speak with you,” I say, keeping my voice steady despite his jab. If I focus on why I’m here—that singular goal of doing right by Chaz—I can stand my ground and get through this.
His sharp gaze scans over me like a laser, pointed and judging.
He doesn’t miss that my hair is wavy instead of in a sleek bob or that I’m wearing glasses instead of contact lenses.
My face is devoid of makeup, my nails are short and unpainted, and I’m dressed in a casual sweater and jeans instead of tailored corporate attire.
All of the changes I’ve made have his top lip curling with disdain.
“You could have at least made yourself presentable.”
The words hit their target—being a disappointment always does. But I don’t shrink myself for him. Instead, I meet his eyes evenly. “I didn’t see the need for airs, given the nature of what I wish to discuss.”
“And this matter couldn’t have waited to be discussed at home?”
“It’s not a social call.”
His brow arches. “What business matter could it be? You’ve made it abundantly clear you have no interest in the company that has given you what most can only dream of.”
“I’m not here to debate that.” I take a breath, my fingers discreetly tapping against the armrests of the chair. “Did Miguel Delgado work for you?”
He doesn’t flinch at the name, doesn’t even blink. His expression remains inscrutable. “I have thousands of employees, Alexandra.”
“Yes, but this one should stand out. Twenty-two years ago, he had a heart attack at work and died before he even reached the hospital.”
“I see you’ve abandoned decorum as well.”
“I’m just stating the facts as I understand them.”
“You understand nothing.” His voice hardens. “What I meant is, it can’t be a mere coincidence that out of all the people you could have gotten involved with, you chose the son of a former employee—a man who is out for vengeance.”
A gasp escapes me before I can stop it. He knows about Chaz. He knows about Chaz and me. How?
“Oh, Alexandra.” He leans back in his chair with a self-satisfied smirk.
“Did you really think you could just disappear, and I wouldn’t find you?
That I wouldn’t keep tabs on you? You left this,” he gestures broadly to the pristine office.
“To slum it—taking pictures, slinging coffee, letting yourself . . . deteriorate. All while betraying your commitments.” His voice tightens with contempt.
“You’ve shown egregious disloyalty to me, your mother, and Richard.
Fortunately, no one else knows about the reports I’ve received.
I’ve spared us all that indignity. I assumed this affair was just another one of your juvenile rebellions.
I was gracious enough to let you get it out of your system. Clearly, I gave you too much credit.”
I swallow hard, my pulse thudding in my ears as I gather the details in my mind.
One item screams louder than the rest. “You had me followed,” I accuse, my hands balling into fists.
The man at the café—the one Chaz mistook for a developer—was sent for me.
This is more of a personal matter. “How could you invade my privacy like that?”
“It’s in my best interest to monitor an asset, especially when that asset appears to be compromised.”
“I’m not an asset. I’m your daughter.”
“You are not behaving like a daughter,” he snaps, leaning forward, his eyes narrowing with menace. “Tell me, Alexandra, did curiosity get the better of you? Did you snoop into why the Bayside project was halted and see an opportunity to consort with the enemy?”
The accusation stuns me. I was drawn to Bayside after I saw the pictures from the prospectus, but I had no idea how deeply this all went. “I wasn’t aware of Chaz when I chose Bayside as my retreat.” My voice trembles with anger.
“How Delgado must be beating his chest over this latest conquest,” he sneers. “You must make for quite the trophy.”
“This conversation is absurd, not to mention paranoid. Chaz isn’t some schemer. He doesn’t even know me as Alexandra Townsen—he only knows me as Lexie Monroe.”
“Is that what you think?” His low laugh reeks of condescension.
“You’ve been duped. It’s all an act. He’s just using you to get to me.
A quick look at the company website, and he’d have found everything he needs—your role as an executive, your position on the board, and most importantly, that you’re my daughter. ”
His accusation inflames my anger. “You give yourself too much importance. Chaz knows nothing of my connection to you. I only discovered it myself because of something I remembered—seeing Chaz as a young boy sitting in the reception area here. Mother and I walked past him, and I noticed how sad he looked. What was that about?”
“Enough!” His hand slices the air. “You have the audacity to come here and waste my time with this. Delgado’s death had nothing to do with me or Townsen Industries.
He was a weak man who had more ambition than the constitution to succeed.
The son’s deluded himself into believing otherwise. It’s laughable.”
“There’s nothing laughable about a family losing their husband and father,” I counter, outraged by his callousness. “Chaz saw the man he loved and admired worked to the bone by you—to his demise.”
“Don’t be na?ve. I work my people hard, and they thrive under the pressure. The son is just another opportunist looking for a handout. Are you aware that he’s made demands for money?”
“If that’s true, it wasn’t out of greed,” I say, unyielding. “It’s because he believes it’s owed to him and his family. That your company was responsible.”
“Our company.” He shoots to his feet. “This man you’ve been conned into believing is a victim would take you right down with me if given the chance.”
“You don’t know him,” I snap in defense. “Chaz is a good and decent man who suffered a devastating loss.”
“It seems you’re unstoppable. It’s a trait I might admire if it weren’t so misguided.
But be that as it may, I think we can make a deal.
” He sits back down, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face.
“Your noble hero can have the money he asked for, but only if he signs a full release of liability—freeing me and the company from all future claims. And”—his tone cuts like a blade—“you agree never to see him again. You’ll return to work here, marry Richard, and we’ll pretend none of this nonsense of yours ever happened. ”
I drive straight home, replaying the conversation over and over again, his so-called “deal” sticking to me like acrid sludge.
The gall of him, assuming he could bully me into accepting a life handcuffed to him and Richard.
He thought that he could use my feelings for Chaz as leverage, that I’d cave like the obedient little daughter he groomed me to be.
Fuck him!
Those words burned on the tip of my tongue. Instead, I looked at him, calm and steady. Bolstered by fighting for Chaz, I was more sure of myself than I’d ever been. It wasn’t that the anxiety had magically disappeared—the frenetic fizz wouldn’t just vanish. But in that moment, I was in control.
“No deal,” I told him, point blank. “You’ve sorely underestimated me if you think I’d trade one injustice for another.”
And with that, I turned on my booted heels, leaving him shock-faced and seething.
It was one of the most liberating and satisfying things I’ve ever done. Yet, it kills me that I walked away without securing justice for Chaz.