Chapter 10 - Caleb's Last Choice"I don't want anything from her."
As children, my cousins and I joked about it.
Uncle Thomas smiled at bad restaurant service.
At lawyers he planned to fire.
At journalists who asked questions he hated.
My father rarely smiled when angry.
Thomas always did.
When agents stopped the jet, Thomas was sitting onboard drinking bourbon.
Richard wasn't there.
That was the problem.
Flight manifests showed no passenger named Richard Prescott.
Security footage showed Richard entering the terminal.
Then nothing.
Thomas claimed he had never seen him.
"I was flying to Toronto for meetings," he told investigators.
At midnight.
On forty minutes' notice.
During a federal manhunt.
Nobody believed him.
But disbelief wasn't evidence.
My father did not speak for nearly ten minutes after hearing the news.
Then he said, "I should have known."
"You couldn't."
"I knew he hated me."
"Hating you isn't the same as helping Richard."
Dad looked exhausted.
"It might be."
Thomas had spent decades believing our grandfather unfairly favored Dad.
When William became CEO, Thomas left the company board for six years.
They reconciled after my mother's death.
Or so we thought.
Elena began digging.
By morning, she found a series of payments from one of Richard's shell companies to a private investment fund indirectly controlled by Thomas.
Total: twelve million dollars.
Dad stared at the number.
"How long?"
"Four years," Elena said.
Four years.
Almost the exact period of my marriage.
A possibility entered my mind.
"What if Richard wasn't targeting me because of Caleb?"
Everyone looked at me.
"What if Caleb was how he got access to me?"
Elena's face changed.
I continued.
"Richard wanted Vance assets."
Dad shook his head slowly.
"He couldn't reach them directly."
"But Thomas could."
Elena opened another document.
"And Savannah's marriage created proximity."
The affair.
The forged signature.
The debt.
The fabricated emails.
Maybe these weren't separate crimes.
Maybe they were one plan.
Richard needed control over assets connected to me.
Thomas wanted leverage against my father.
Caleb wanted his father's approval.
Vanessa wanted money.
Everyone's weakness had become another person's tool.
Except mine.
For years, Richard had believed my weakness was love.
He was wrong.
Love had made me patient.
Not blind forever.
At eleven, Thomas's attorney announced he would cooperate.
Dad laughed bitterly.
"Of course."
Thomas came to the penthouse under federal supervision.
He looked twenty years older.
Dad refused to hug him.
Thomas smiled.
There it was.
That angry smile.
"William."
"Thomas."
"You've made this theatrical."
"You helped a fugitive."
"Allegedly."
Dad's face hardened.
"Don't insult me."
The smile vanished.
Thomas sat down.
For the next hour, he told us the truth.
Four years earlier, Richard approached him with a proposal.
Prescott Development wanted access to a Vance logistics property near a major rail corridor.
Dad refused the sale.
Thomas disagreed.
Richard began cultivating him.
Dinners.
Investments.
Promises.
Eventually, Richard discovered that I was dating Caleb.
Thomas told him who I really was.
I felt physically sick.
"You told them?"
Thomas wouldn't meet my eyes.
"I didn't think—"
"No."
I slammed my hand against the table.
"You absolutely thought."
He looked up.
"You knew I was hiding my identity."
"Yes."
"You knew why."
"Yes."
"And you told Richard anyway."
"Savannah—"
"How much?"
He blinked.
"What?"
"How much did my privacy cost?"
His face reddened.
"It wasn't like that."
"How much?"
"Twelve million wasn't for that."
"I didn't ask about twelve million."
Silence.
Then:
"Two hundred thousand."
My father stood so quickly his chair nearly overturned.
"You sold information about my daughter for two hundred thousand dollars?"
Thomas looked defensive.
"It was business."
Dad moved toward him.
Marcus stepped between them.
Not because Dad intended violence.
Because sometimes rage needs a wall.
Thomas continued.
"Richard said Caleb genuinely loved her."
I laughed.
"You knew enough to sell my secret but not enough to protect me?"
His shoulders dropped.
"No."
That one answer was perhaps the first honest thing he'd said.
Then came the worst revelation.
Thomas had not merely introduced Richard to the truth.
He had helped authenticate samples of my signature.
Old birthday cards.
Corporate holiday notes.
Documents from family foundations.
Richard used them to create the forgery.
My own uncle had provided the handwriting that Caleb practiced.
Dad walked out of the room.
I couldn't blame him.
I wanted to.
Thomas stared at the table.
"I never thought Caleb would hurt you."
"Everybody keeps saying that."
"I mean it."
"So?"
He looked at me.
"So what?"
"So why do people keep acting like not predicting the worst consequence absolves them of choosing every step that led there?"
Thomas had no answer.
By afternoon, he agreed to provide testimony against Richard.
But he still didn't know where Richard was.
At least, that's what he claimed.
Then Evelyn remembered something.
Years earlier, Richard bought a small hunting property near the Canadian border.
Not through a company.
Through an old college roommate.
Agents checked.
The property had electricity usage.
Fresh tire tracks.
And one outgoing satellite-phone transmission.
They moved immediately.
Richard was arrested at 4:36 the next morning.
No dramatic shootout.
No hostage situation.
No final escape.
He was found sitting at a kitchen table eating scrambled eggs.
Apparently, even villains need breakfast.
When agents entered, Richard asked for his lawyer.
Then he smiled.
And said:
"You think this ends anything?"
It did not end everything.
It began the longest year of my life.
Criminal charges.
Civil suits.
Depositions.
Divorce filings.
News stories.
Shareholder meetings.
Therapy.
Nightmares.
Days when I felt powerful.
Days when I couldn't get out of bed.
Days when a slamming door made my entire body freeze.
Healing wasn't cinematic.
It was repetitive.
Boring.
Frustrating.
And worth it.
Three months after Richard's arrest, my divorce hearing finally began.
Caleb entered the courtroom in a gray suit.
No expensive watch.
No entourage.
No confidence.
He looked at me once.
I looked back.
And realized something.
I no longer hated him.
Hate required too much connection.
He was simply a man who had hurt me.
A man whose consequences were now his responsibility.
The judge asked whether reconciliation was possible.
Caleb's attorney said no.
Mine said no.
Then Caleb unexpectedly stood.
"Your Honor, may I say something?"
The judge hesitated.
Then allowed it.
Caleb turned toward me.
The courtroom became completely silent.
May you like
And what he said next shocked everyone.
Especially his father.
