Chapter 2
Ten faces stared at her, and not one of them knew she hadn’t slept in three days. Astoria stood at the head of the boardroom’s polished mahogany table, the presentation remote steady in her hand, and she waited for the last board member to settle into her leather chair.
She’d hand-chosen these ten people over the years, people whose respect she’d earned through results, not charm. Astoria Shepry didn’t do charm.
“We exceeded our quarter one projections by fourteen percent,” she said, clicking to the first slide with a color-coded line graph.
“Revenue is up twelve percent year-over-year. The Cascadia project broke ground last month, ahead of schedule. And our sustainability certifications are tracking six months early.”
The numbers were good; they were always good. She’d made certain of that, even while her personal life had been splashed across every business journal from here to San Francisco.
Especially then.
Thomas Brennan shifted in his seat, three chairs down on the left.
She’d been waiting for it. Thomas came from old money and was old-fashioned in ways he thought he hid better than he did.
He’d been skeptical when she’d first joined the Phoenix Ridge business community seventeen years ago: a woman, a lesbian no less, building a company from nothing.
He’d come around eventually, but his doubt always resurfaced when he smelled blood.
“The divorce coverage,” he said, right on cue. “We’ve had inquiries from two institutional investors. They’re concerned about stability.”
“Then reassure them.” Astoria clicked to the next slide showing a prominent chart of their stock-equivalent value over the past five years climbing steadily upward. “Our performance speaks for itself. My personal life has no bearing on the company’s fundamentals.”
“With all due respect, Astoria, perception matters. When the CEO’s marriage becomes fodder on the front-page news—”
“Then the CEO handles it professionally.” She met his gaze and held it. “As I have been and will continue to do so.”
Jennifer Wu, her new COO, leaned forward slightly.
She was a decade younger than Astoria but no less sharp and capable, and she’d stepped into Valerie’s former position without missing a beat.
“The numbers support that. We’ve seen no measurable impact on client acquisition or retention.
If anything, the publicity has increased brand awareness. ”
Thomas’s mouth thinned, but he nodded, recognizing he was outnumbered.
Astoria moved through the rest of the agenda with the same precision she brought to everything else, covering the Portland expansion, new sustainability partnerships, and quarter two projections.
She answered questions without hesitation or getting defensive, commanding the room with her presence, not voice volume.
This was what she was good at, what she could control.
When the meeting adjourned, she shook hands and exchanged brief pleasantries, her smile calibrated to exactly the right degree of warmth. Board members filtered out of the room in twos and threes, already checking their phones and thinking about their next meetings.
And then they were gone, and she was alone.
Astoria exhaled fully, the sound echoing in the empty boardroom. She stood motionless at the head of the table, her hand still resting on the back of her chair, and let herself feel everything just for a moment, the weight of the past six months pressing down on her shoulders like a physical thing.
Her distorted reflection stared back at her from the polished table, and she looked exactly what she was supposed to look like, like the leader who was supposed to be composed and impenetrable.
The door opened behind her.
“Your eleven o’clock is here.” Gloria’s voice was warm but professional, the same tone she’d been using for ten years. “Gerald Bracks. I put him in your office.”
Astoria straightened, rolling her shoulders back and settling the mask into place where it belonged. “Thank you, Gloria. I’ll be right there.”
Gloria lingered in the doorway, her salt-and-pepper hair neat in its usual bun and her glasses catching the light. “I brought you a protein bar. It’s on your desk next to the coffee you haven’t touched.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not eating breakfast. Again.”
“Gloria.”
“Just observing.” Gloria’s expression didn’t change, but her eyes were knowing. Ten years was long enough to see through walls, however tall they were, even Astoria’s. “I’ll tell Mr. Bracks you’re on your way.”
She left, and Astoria was alone again. But only for a moment this time, long enough to smooth down her black blazer, check her reflection in the window glass, and morph into the woman everyone expected her to be.
Her attorney was waiting, and no doubt he would have news about the case and whatever fresh hell her ex-wife had manufactured this week. Astoria gathered her laptop and headed for the door, pulling her shoulders back and down. Whatever it was, she’d handle it like always.
Gerald Bracks was already seated when she arrived, his leather briefcase open on the floor beside him and a manila folder resting on his knee. He stood as she entered, buttoning his suit jacket with the fluid ease of a man who’d been doing it for forty years.
“Astoria.” He extended his hand. “You look well.”
She didn’t, and they both knew it. But Gerald was old-school, the kind of attorney who believed in courtesies even when they were lies. She shook his hand and gestured for him to sit.
“What’s the damage this time?” she asked, settling into her chair behind the desk.
“Valerie has new representation.”
Astoria’s fingers stilled on her laptop. “Already? It’s only been three weeks since she fired Alexandria Pierce.”
“She moves fast when she’s motivated.” Gerald opened his folder. “Hartwell and Associates. Rachel Hartwell is the lead counsel.”
The name carried weight. Astoria knew Rachel Hartwell by reputation: a senior partner with twenty-five years in family law, ethical but formidable. She was the kind of attorney judges respected and opposing counsel dreaded. And she was a significant upgrade from Valerie’s previous representation.
“There’s a second chair,” Gerald continued. “Miller Scott, a mid-level associate with six years at the firm. She’s younger, but she’s already built an impressive track record. Won a significant case last year protecting an abuse survivor from a wealthy ex-husband. The press loved her.”
Astoria pulled up her browser and typed in the firm, letting Gerald talk while she navigated to the staff page. Rachel Hartwell’s photo showed a woman in her fifties with kind eyes and silver-streaked hair, the sort of face that would make a jury feel safe.
She clicked on Miller Scott’s profile next.
The photo caught her off guard. Miller was beautiful in an unguarded way that seemed almost accidental, her smile genuine and warm, the kind of expression you couldn’t fake for a headshot. It was nothing like Astoria’s own corporate photos, strategically composed to project exactly the right image.
Something flickered in her chest so quickly that she couldn’t quite hold onto it to name.
It’s just stress, she reasoned. Just six months of this endless nightmare wearing her down.
“—ethical practice, strong client relationships,” Gerald was saying. “Rachel Hartwell doesn’t play dirty, but she doesn’t need to. She wins on preparation and credibility.”
Astoria scrolled through Miller Scott’s case history: pro bono work with domestic violence survivors and a quote in a legal journal about the importance of believing victims. Compassionate and principled, exactly the kind of attorney who would take one look at Valerie’s performance and see a wounded woman fleeing a loveless, abusive marriage.
“And Miller Scott?”
“A wild card. She’s good, really good, but she’s not the lead counsel.
Rachel will be making all the strategic decisions.
” Gerald shifted, crossing one leg over the other.
“My read on the situation is that Valerie hired them for credibility. Hartwell & Associates has a reputation for integrity, so it makes her look like the reasonable party.”
Of course it did. Valerie had always been strategic about appearances.
“The first mediation is scheduled for Tuesday, March twenty-sixth,” Gerald continued. “Standard procedure with a professional mediator at a neutral location.”
Astoria shifted in her seat. She had five days to prepare to sit across a table from her ex-wife and two attorneys who would believe every lie Valerie told them and look at Astoria and see exactly what Valerie wanted them to see: the ice queen villain.
She looked at Miller Scott’s photo again, the woman who had built her career on protecting people from monsters. And she would think Astoria was one.
“Strategy,” Astoria said, closing her laptop harder than necessary. “What’s ours?”
“Same as it’s been. We document the truth, stay professional, and don’t engage with Valerie’s performance.” Gerald’s voice was calm and measured, probably the same tone he used with all his clients. “The evidence is on your side, Astoria. We just have to be patient and let the truth come out.”
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She’d been patient for six months while Valerie poisoned the narrative and while business presses speculated about what kind of woman could drive her wife to such desperate measures.
“Fine,” she said. “Send me everything you have on both of them, anything that might indicate their approach.”
Gerald nodded and packed. “I’ll have it for you by the end of the day.” After he finished packing his briefcase, he looked at her. “Try to get some rest before Tuesday. You’ll want to be sharp.”
“I’m always sharp.”
He didn’t argue, just gave her a small nod and left.