Epilogue
ADDISON
One Year Later
Sunday dinner at the penthouse has become sacred.
Liam is in the kitchen when I emerge from the library at six. The smell of garlic and herbs fills the space. He’s got his sleeves rolled up, tie abandoned hours ago.
My arms circle his waist from behind. “Smells good.”
He glances over his shoulder. “Pasta. The kind you actually like.”
I scrunch up my nose. “As opposed to the kind I pretend to like?”
He laughs. “You’re terrible at pretending.”
Fair point.
He turns to give me a quick kiss before I move away and settle onto one of the island stools. “My mother called.”
“And?”
I pick at a loose thread on my sweater. “She invited all four of us over for Thanksgiving.”
Liam sets down the wooden spoon. “That’s progress.”
“It’s weird.” I take a deep breath, thinking about all I have been through with my parents. “A year ago, they wanted me to end my relationship with you. Called it reckless and embarrassing. Now they’re inviting you to Thanksgiving.”
“I’m glad they changed their minds,” Liam responds.
“They finally realized that I don’t need their approval.” I meet his eyes. “That I’m happy. That their opinion stopped mattering the day I chose myself over their validation.”
He turns off the stove and crosses the kitchen to reach me. Kisses me once. Thoroughly. “Good.”
Footsteps approach from the hallway. Axel appears and immediately heads for the wine.
“Starting early?” I ask.
“It’s Sunday.” He pulls out glasses. “Don’t we always start early?”
“Can’t argue with tradition.” I take the glasses from him, so he can open the wine.
Liam’s phone buzzes on the counter. He glances at the screen, and his eyes narrow, but then he’s smiling.
“What is it?” Nolan asks from the doorway. He’s already reading Liam’s face, the way he always does.
“Harrison Luxe just filed for bankruptcy.” Liam turns the phone toward us. “It’s official.”
Axel lets out a low whistle. “Took them long enough.”
“A year of federal investigations tends to drain resources.” Nolan moves into the kitchen and reads over Liam’s shoulder. “The retaliation charges destroyed whatever credibility they had left.”
“Wait.” I hold up my hand. “The private investigator who followed us actually testified?”
“Last month.” Liam sets down his phone. “You were in Boston for that construction company deposition. We didn’t want to distract you.”
“He confirmed Harrison Luxe paid him fifty thousand to document our relationship,” Nolan explains. “Then instructed him to feed the information to reporters with specific talking points designed to destroy your credibility.”
“Retaliation against a whistleblower.” Axel grins. “Federal prosecutors loved that.”
“Because targeting someone who exposed your fraud to intimidate other whistleblowers is illegal.” I lean against the counter. “So the bankruptcy is from legal fees and the investigation.”
“Partially.” Liam returns to the stove. “Your exposé gutted their stock price. The retaliation scheme just accelerated the inevitable. And nobody wants to do business with a company under federal indictment.” He stirs the pasta. “Everything collapsed quickly after the charges were filed.”
“Ironic,” I muse. “First, they sued me to bankrupt me with legal fees. Then their own legal fees bankrupted them.”
“I’m glad those fuckers got what they deserved,” Axel chimes in.
Liam’s lips twitch. “Agreed.”
We settle around the dining room table for dinner. Axel finished it two months ago at his workshop—intricate geometric inlay along the edges, solid oak construction, big enough to seat eight comfortably. Liam takes the head. Me to his right. Nolan across from me. Axel beside me.
The hideous wooden bird I made at Axel’s workshop three months ago sits on the sideboard. It has terrible proportions, with a beak that looks more like a foot and wings that don’t match.
Axel refuses to let me throw it away. He says I’m getting better. That next time we go to his country house, we’ll try something more ambitious than abstract sculpture masquerading as wildlife.
“I got approached about a book deal,” I mention between bites.
Three forks pause.
“About what?” Liam asks.
“The Harrison investigation. Palmer Capital. The relationship. How to navigate professional credibility when your personal life doesn’t fit into neat boxes.” I take a sip of wine. “They want me to write about building something real when everyone expects you to fail.”
Axel grins. “You’re gonna write a book about us?”
“Not quite. The book is more about perseverance.” I hold his stare. “You three just happen to be the catalyst that made it necessary.”
“Are you doing it?” Nolan asks.
“Maybe. If I can control the narrative.” I dig into my pasta. “If it’s honest instead of salacious.”
“It’ll be honest,” Liam says. “You don’t know how to be anything else.”
The compliment settles warm in my chest.
We talk through dinner about work.
About the congressional testimony I gave last month on pharmaceutical companies falsifying clinical trial data. The legislation that was introduced based on my research.
About Archer Media’s expansion—River’s running daily operations now, managing a team of twelve, while I focus on investigations that actually matter.
About Palmer Capital’s latest acquisitions. The biotech company Nolan flagged during his due diligence research. The one whose sustainability certifications turned out to be forged. How I investigated and published before they could complete their IPO.
This is how it works now. Their investment research feeds my investigative journalism. My exposés help them avoid companies that talk ethics but practice corruption.
“The ethical investment journalism division is working,” Nolan observes. “We’ve avoided three bad deals in six months because of your investigations.”
“And we’ve closed deals with companies who appreciate the scrutiny,” Liam adds. “Investors like that we’re thorough.”
Axel refills wine glasses. “Plus, Addison’s credibility makes us look good.”
“I make you look ethical,” I correct. “You guys look good without my help.”
Axel’s hand finds my thigh under the table.
After dinner, we migrate to the library.
Axel’s bookshelf dominates the north wall. Dark walnut with carved details that catch the last of the evening light. Every shelf holds books I’ve collected over the past year—first editions, signed copies, research materials for ongoing investigations.
The painting my guys bought for me hangs opposite. The confident woman painted in crimson and gold.
Some mornings, I sit here with coffee and just look at it and remember what it felt like to see it in the gallery. How all three of them noticed what it meant to me.
I settle onto the couch with files for tomorrow’s interview. Nolan takes the chair by the window with his own reading. Liam reviews contracts at the desk. Axel sprawls on the floor with sketches for his next furniture project.
This is what we built after the scandal forced everything into the open.
Not perfect. We still fight. Liam tries to control outcomes. Axel pushes boundaries. Nolan withdraws when his needs feel secondary. And I work too much when proving my worth becomes a compulsion instead of a choice.
But we talk through it. We’ve learned to communicate instead of letting resentment fester.
Liam sets down his tablet and reaches for his briefcase. Pulls out a folder. “We have something for you.”
He sets it on the coffee table in front of me.
“What is this?” I ask, apprehensively.
“Open it,” Nolan encourages.
Axel says nothing, but his smile lets me know this is a good surprise.
The first page is a legal document. Dense text. Corporate language. I scan until the relevant section jumps out.
Transfer of ownership interest. Palmer Capital. Equal partnership. Twenty-five percent equity stake.
My name is at the top.
“You’re giving me ownership?”
“We already did.” Nolan closes his book. “Signed the paperwork last week.”
Axel shifts onto his side. “Figured you should own part of what you helped build.”
I stare at the document. Twenty-five percent. Equal to each of them.
“This is… a lot of money.”
“It’s what you’re worth,” Liam responds.
My throat tightens. I refuse to cry over paperwork.
“Thank you.”
Axel moves first. Pulling me up from the couch and kissing me hard enough that I forget the question I was about to ask.
When he releases me, Nolan takes his place. His kiss is gentler.
Liam waits until Nolan steps back. His hand cups my face. “You’ve always been ours. This just makes it more permanent. And official.”
“I thought we were already official.”
His mouth curves. “Now it’s legally binding.”
I laugh. The sound fills the library.
I set down the contract and look around the library. At Axel’s bookshelf holding everything I’ve collected. At the painting of the woman choosing herself. At the three men who helped me understand that love isn’t transactional.
A year ago, I thought going public would destroy everything. My credibility. Their company. All of it.
Instead, we’re stronger.
Archer Media publishes investigations that change policy. Palmer Capital makes investments that align with actual ethics instead of performative sustainability. Both companies thrive because we built them on honesty instead of hiding.
And Harrison Luxe—the company that tried to bury me—just filed for bankruptcy.
“What are you thinking about?” Liam asks.
“How different this is from what I expected.” I meet his eyes. “A year ago, I was terrified. Now I’m...”
“Happy?” Nolan supplies.
“Yeah.” The admission comes easily. “Happy.”
Later, when we’ve migrated to the bedroom we share most nights, I lie awake thinking about the future.
The book I’ll write. The stories I’ll expose.
Thanksgiving dinner with my parents and my three boyfriends, and now business partners.
The dining table Axel built for eight, because someday we’ll need the space. Nolan’s plans for the roof terrace garden. Liam’s research into vacation properties where we can disappear when the city gets too loud.
Plans. Future. Forever.
And this is forever.
Four people who chose each other and refuse to let go.
That’s everything.