Chapter 12
For several seconds, no one in the boardroom moved.
Lara’s final word remained between them, stripped of the tremor and careful vulnerability she had used since entering the room.
The inevitable. She had said it as though Olivia’s removal had never been a possibility to hope for or prepare against, but an outcome she considered natural. Deserved, even.
Philip’s face changed first.
Until that moment, his anger had been divided between professional alarm and personal disbelief.
Lara was talented. He had cast her. He had defended the decision when others questioned whether an understudy without comparable stage experience could carry a production of this size.
Admitting what she had done required him to accept that his own confidence had helped place her close enough to Olivia to cause damage.
Now the last trace of doubt left him.
“What was inevitable?” he asked.
Lara seemed to hear the mistake in her own answer. Her gaze shifted briefly toward her lawyer, but he did not rescue her. He sat very still with one hand resting near his notes, waiting to see whether she could repair the statement without making matters worse.
She tried.
“That Olivia would miss a performance.”
“Because she was injured?” Philip asked.
“Because she was pushing herself too hard.”
“Those injuries did not occur in isolation.”
“I had nothing to do with them.”
“You entered the theater after hours and spent twenty-six minutes backstage where Olivia was later injured.”
“I rehearsed.”
“You lied about doing so.”
“I forgot.”
Philip’s laugh held no amusement. “You remembered coffee, technicians, times, conversations, and the exact moment you left. You forgot only the part that placed you near the site of an incident.”
Lara turned toward Barbara Levin. “This is what I mean. Every answer I give is treated as evidence against me.”
Barbara did not soften. “Your answers contradict one another.”
“Because I’m being questioned by people who have already decided I’m guilty.”
“You were asked where you went after delivering coffee.”
“And I answered.”
“No,” Barbara said. “You omitted the only relevant part.”
The room tightened around Lara.
Olivia watched her try to find a new center of gravity.
Until now, Lara had relied on Mason’s presence even while accusing him.
She looked toward him instinctively after every difficult question, as if some part of her still believed his old reflexes would return if she appeared sufficiently frightened.
Mason had moved farther from the table during the exchange and now stood near the windows, one hand resting against the back of an empty chair.
He looked at Lara without sympathy and without hatred.
Lara folded her hands on the table. “I was preparing to go on because Olivia was becoming unreliable.”
“Unreliable how?” Robbie asked.
Her attention snapped toward him. “She was injured. She was changing the performance constantly. She missed cues and became hostile whenever anyone tried to help.”
“Which cues?”
Lara paused.
Robbie crossed his arms. “You’ve said repeatedly that Olivia was missing cues. Name one.”
“I don’t keep a list.”
“You kept notes on every rehearsal.”
“For my own work.”
“Then this should be easy.”
Her agent intervened. “This is turning into an attack.”
“It is a question,” Robbie said. “Your client has used the phrase missed cues in conversations with at least six company members. I’m asking which cues she missed.”
Lara looked toward Philip. “You saw how erratic she became.”
“No,” Philip said. “I saw her injured and angry.”
“You stopped rehearsal because of her outbursts.”
“I stopped rehearsal because a set piece had been moved.”
“She blamed me.”
“You were the only person who had touched it.”
Lara’s mouth hardened.
The lawyer beside Philip turned a page in his notes. “Let us return to the balcony. You have said you went backstage to rehearse. Which scene?”
“The second-act entrance.”
“Alone, in darkness?”
“There were work lights.”
“Which work lights?”
Lara looked at him blankly.
He continued. “The stage was powered down at nine-ten. The only light in that area came from the stairwell and emergency fixtures.”
Keane glanced up from the documents in front of him. “We confirmed that with building operations.”
Lara’s lawyer leaned close and murmured something to her. She shook her head.
“I could still see.”
“What did you rehearse?”
“My entrance.”
“From where?”
“The stairs.”
Lara’s agent pushed back from the table. “We need a break.”
“No,” Lara said.
Her lawyer turned to her. “I recommend we take one.”
“I said no.”
The command came out too sharply. Lara immediately softened her voice, but the room had heard it.
“I would like to finish this,” she said.
Barbara Levin looked toward the production lawyer, then nodded. “Continue.”
“Did you loosen oil the floor?”
“No.”
“Did you touch it?”
“No.”
“Did you approach it?”
“No.”
“Did you know it was dangerous before Olivia’s scene?”
“No.”
Each denial came faster than the last.
“Did you tell anyone Olivia would be unable to perform after the incident?”
“No.”
Robbie opened the folder in front of him. “You told Sandra, ‘Perhaps now they’ll finally let someone else have a chance.’”
Lara’s eyes widened. “That was a joke.”
“You told one of the dressers that Olivia’s body was forcing her to accept what her ego would not.”
“I was concerned about her.”
“You told the stage manager that the production could not survive if everyone continued pretending Olivia was physically capable of the role.”
“She was limping.”
“You told Mason that Olivia was using her injuries to control the company.”
Lara turned toward him. “You said that too.”
Every gaze shifted.
Mason did not deny it.
“I said she was using work to avoid dealing with our marriage,” he said. “I never said she was faking an injury.”
“You agreed she was manipulative.”
“I said I felt manipulated during an argument. I should not have said it to you.”
Lara gave a small, disbelieving laugh. “You should not have said anything to me now that it is inconvenient.”
Mason’s expression remained still. “I should not have said it because it belonged inside my marriage.”
“You wanted me to understand you.”
“I wanted admiration without accountability.”
The statement silenced the table.
Lara stared at him.
Olivia felt the force of his honesty. He had said nearly the same thing to her in the lobby, though less plainly. Now he offered it before producers, lawyers, Philip, Robbie, and the woman whose devotion had fed that weakness.
Lara’s face tightened. “You used me.”
“Yes.”
The answer startled everyone, including Olivia.
Mason continued before Lara could respond. “I encouraged emotional intimacy I had no right to encourage. I accepted your attention because it made me feel important. I discussed my wife and my marriage with you because you reflected back the version of myself I wanted to see.”
Tears appeared in Lara’s eyes again, but this time they seemed to come from fury rather than calculation.
“You said you needed me.”
“I did.”
“You said I was the only person you could talk to.”
“I said that.”
“You told me you wished things were different.”
“I meant my marriage. You chose to believe I meant you.”
“I did not choose anything. You made me believe it.”
Mason’s voice stayed level. “I gave you reason to hope. I did not promise you a life.”
“You did not have to say the words.”
“No,” Olivia said. “He did enough.”
The room turned toward her.
She had remained silent for most of the questioning, letting Lara’s contradictions gather without interference. Now she looked at Mason, not Lara.
“He did enough to betray me,” she continued. “That does not make you innocent.”
Lara’s attention shifted toward her.
Olivia rested her injured wrist against the table.
“You found every weakness in my marriage and used it. Some of those weaknesses existed before you. Some were created by Mason’s choices.
None of that gave you permission to injure me, steal from me, lie about me, or prepare the company to accept my replacement. ”
“You cannot prove I injured you.”
“No,” Olivia said. “Not yet.”
The confidence in her own voice surprised her. She had spent weeks pleading to be believed, mistaking belief for the only form of safety available. Now the burden had shifted. Lara could deny each incident, but she could no longer control the room in which those denials were heard.
Lara leaned back. “Then all you have is jealousy.”
Olivia almost smiled.
“Of what?”
The question landed differently from accusation.
Lara’s eyes narrowed.
“Your role?” Olivia asked. “You were my understudy because I recommended you. Your friendship with my husband? You had it because I allowed you into my home and trusted both of you. The company’s affection? You earned that by telling each person whatever made them feel generous.”
“You think everyone only liked me because I manipulated them.”
“I think you resented every kindness that did not end with you owning the person who offered it.”
The words stripped away Lara’s composure.
“You always thought you were better than me.”
“No.”
“Yes, you did. At school, at auditions, at dinners, everywhere. You walked into rooms and expected them to open for you.”
Olivia heard the years beneath the grievance.
The university rehearsal halls. Shared auditions. Parties where Lara stood near Mason and laughed at Olivia’s stories. Every old memory she had interpreted as friendship rearranged itself.
“I worked for those rooms,” Olivia said.
“So did I.”
“Then why did you need mine?”
Lara’s mouth parted, but no answer came.
Philip looked between them. “How long?”
Lara turned toward him.
“How long have you wanted Olivia’s role?”
Her laugh was brittle. “Every understudy wants the role.”
“No. Every understudy prepares to perform it. You wanted her removed from it.”
“I wanted a fair chance.”
“You auditioned.”
“With her in the room.”
“She recommended you.”
“She controlled the audition.”
Philip’s expression sharpened. “I controlled the audition.”
“You were watching her for permission.”