Chapter 19 Grayson
GRAYSON
After the confrontation outside Halo, I made myself a promise. She hasn’t decided what our night together means. I have to give her time. No more flowers. No visits she hasn’t invited.
I go to therapy, meet with Theo, run the canyon trails. And I wait.
* * *
A week after the confrontation outside Halo, the waiting gets more complicated.
"You need to see this." Theo's standing in my office doorway at VTG, tablet in hand, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else on earth. "The agent shopping the story sent it to our legal office for comment."
I set down my coffee. "What kind of story?"
He crosses to my desk and places the tablet in front of me. The subject line reads: RE: Valentine Tell-All, Proposed Terms. My stomach drops. The thread names Constance, Delaney and a literary agent. At the bottom is the title:
The Valentine Secret Baby: A Sister's Story of Betrayal
I read. And then I read again, because surely I'm misunderstanding.
But no, it's all there in Constance's florid prose.
The "wronged sister" narrative. The "cold, ambitious wife who drove her husband into another woman's arms." The suggestion that Abbie somehow orchestrated the scandal to destroy her own family.
"This is—" I stop. Breathe. Start again. "This is defamation. Clear, actionable defamation."
"I know." Theo's voice is flat. "They're still naming you as the father. They think calling it her side of the story will protect them."
"They can't. Not with her original claim, not with your statement, not with—" I look up at him. "The DNA test. You said you'd do it."
"I will. I am." He runs a hand over his face. "Delaney finally agreed to witnessed samples through our lawyers as part of the parentage proceedings. She wants support formalized. The lab appointment is booked."
"Good." I stand up, grabbing my jacket from the back of my chair. "Forward me everything. And Theo?"
He pauses at the door.
"I know things are complicated between us right now. But thank you for showing me this."
Guilt flickers across his face, or maybe gratitude that I haven't fired him yet. "What are you going to do?"
"Something I should have done a year ago." I button my jacket, checking my reflection in the window to make sure I look like someone worth being afraid of. "I'm going to have a conversation with my father-in-law."
* * *
Richard’s receptionist tells me he’s in meetings. I wait. Nearly an hour later, he comes out.
"Grayson." He gestures toward his corner office. "I suppose you'd better come in."
His office holds leather furniture, golf trophies, and a family photo with Abbie at the edge.
"Drink?" Richard moves toward the bar cart.
"No. Thank you."
He pours a drink. I remain standing.
"I assume this is about the book deal." He swirls his glass. "Constance told me someone was asking questions."
"Did she also forward you the proposed content?"
"I've seen the outline, yes."
"And you're comfortable with your wife and daughter publicly defaming mine?"
Richard takes a slow sip, watching me over the rim. "Constance is... emotional. She believes she's protecting the family reputation."
"She's destroying it." I pull a folder from my jacket, copies of everything, organized with the precision that made me a very wealthy man by thirty.
"Page three. The implication that Abbie somehow orchestrated the scandal for business advantage.
Page seven. The suggestion that she was 'cold' and 'unavailable,' driving me to, and I'm quoting directly, 'seek comfort elsewhere.
' Page twelve. The claim that she's estranged from her family because of her own 'ruthless ambition' rather than any actions on their part. "
I set the folder on his desk.
"Every single one of those claims is demonstrably false. Every single one causes material harm to her reputation, her business, and her emotional wellbeing. And every single one came from your wife's mouth, with your younger daughter's enthusiastic collaboration."
Richard's jaw tightens. "Delaney is struggling. The baby, the public attention—"
"The public attention she created by claiming I fathered her child, you mean?"
Silence.
"I have an affidavit." I pull the second document from my folder.
"Signed by Theodore Marsh, acknowledging paternity.
Both samples are being collected through their lawyers.
The results will follow. When those results come back, and they will come back exactly how we both know they'll come back, your family has two options. "
I watch his face carefully as I lay it out.
"Option one: this book deal disappears. The tell-all never happens. Delaney issues a quiet, private correction to anyone who needs to know. The DNA results stay confidential, the child's identity stays protected, and everyone moves on with their lives and their reputations intact."
"And option two?"
"Option two is public." I keep my voice even, controlled, the voice I use when a negotiation has to end.
"The DNA results. Theo's sworn statement.
A defamation suit that will make your wife's 'emotional' behavior front-page news for months.
Your family name dragged through the exact kind of scandal Constance is pretending she wants to prevent. "
Richard sets down his glass. His hand, I notice, isn't quite steady.
"You'd do that to Delaney? To her child?"
"No." I lean forward, planting both hands on his desk. "I'd do everything in my power to keep that child's parentage private. But if Constance and Delaney force this into a courtroom, the truth comes out whether I want it to or not. That's how legal proceedings work. Discovery is a bitch, Richard."
He stares at the folder without touching it.
"There's one more thing." I straighten up, pulling my hands back. "And this is the part I need you to actually hear."
"I'm listening."
"Your wife is doing this to your daughter.
" I watch his face as the words land. "Not to me.
To Abbie. The girl who worked her way through college while Delaney spent your money.
The one who built a career from nothing while her sister was still posting party photos on Instagram.
The one who has spent her entire life being the Montgomery afterthought, and who, against all evidence that she should, still wanted her family to be proud of her. "
Richard's throat moves. He doesn't speak.
"Constance has already poisoned Delaney against her.
If you let this book happen, if you let your wife publicly crucify your older daughter to protect the younger one, you will lose Abbie forever.
Not just for now. Forever." I pick up my folder.
"You'll never be a sentence in her life.
Not a paragraph, not even a footnote. And honestly, Richard?
Given everything you've let happen in the past thirty-two years? You won't deserve to be."
The silence stretches.
"I'll think about it," he finally says. His voice is hoarser than it was.
"You do that."
I'm almost to the door when he speaks again.
"Grayson."
I turn.
"How is she?" The question comes out rough, uncertain, like a man who hasn't asked it enough times to be comfortable with the words. "Abbie. How is she actually doing?"
"She's strong," I say finally. "She's brilliant. She's building something real with her agency, and she's doing it entirely on her own terms." I pause. "And she's hurt, Richard. She's been hurt for a long time, by a lot of people who were supposed to love her better than they did. Including me."
He nods slowly. Doesn't try to defend himself.
"Tell her—" He stops. Swallows. "Tell her I'm proud of her. Would you?"
"That's not my message to deliver." I open the door. "If you want her to know that, you're going to have to find a way to tell her yourself."
I leave him sitting in his expensive office, staring at the family photo where his older daughter is barely in frame.
On the drive home I call my lawyer, then Theo, about the DNA test.
I never call Delaney. The letters go straight into the shredder. The sun sets as I pull into the driveway. Marguerite is waiting in the kitchen when I walk in, her arms crossed and her expression unimpressed.
"You look like you fought a bear," she says. "Did you win?"
"Unclear." I toss my keys on the counter and head for the refrigerator. "Ask me again in a week."
"Sit." She points at one of the barstools. "You're going to tell me what happened while I make you dinner."
"Marguerite—"
"Sit."
I sit.
She moves around the kitchen with the efficient grace of someone who has kept my life in order for years, pulling out ingredients while I give her the abbreviated version. Richard. The book deal. The affidavit. The DNA test that will prove what Theo and I know but Abbie still does not.
"And what about the girl?"
"Which girl?"
"Don't play stupid with me. I've known you for ten years. You know which girl."
"Abbie."
"Of course Abbie. Who else would I mean?"
"I wasn't sure if we were discussing the Richard conversation still."
"We're done with Richard. You told him off, he deserved it, that's finished. Now I want to know about your wife."
"She's not... I don't know if she's my wife anymore. Technically yes. Practically, I have no idea."
"You spent the night together."
"One night. Just over a week ago."
"And since then?"
"I stopped."
"Stop what?"
"The visits. The flowers. It was pressure."
"Did it feel like pressure to her?"
"That wasn't my intention."
"I didn't ask about your intention. I asked if it felt like pressure."
"Probably. Yes. I could see it."
"So you stopped."
"The morning after the interview. Cold."
"Good."
"Then how do I show her I care without crowding her?"
Marguerite sets down her knife and turns to face me.
"There are ways. Being consistent without being present. Caring about her life without requiring credit for it."
"I don't understand what that means."
"It means you stop making grand speeches about how much you've changed and start showing it in ways she doesn't have to witness."