Page 82

“They allowed the initial leak to happen,” I argue, my voice hardening. “If they had done their jobs, we wouldn't be in this mess in the first place. They're already suing us. We just turned the countersuit into a criminal offense. You wanted the truth. This is it.”

“No, it's not!” she explodes. “You don't want to ruin your life, but you're okay ruining someone else's? They'll never be able to get a job again, Sebastian. How are they supposed to support their families? How are they supposed to face their own communities? A slipup doesn't equal a criminal offense. Your father and your brother are the ones who did that, no matter what you make it look like, no matter who you try to pin it on.”

I ignore her and continue typing. She grabs my wrist, her grip surprisingly strong. “Sebastian,” her tone turns pleading, “think about what you're doing. You know they couldn't have stopped your father with all his back doors, power, and inside knowledge. Pinning this crime on two innocent people to save your name and your family is exactly what your father is already doing. That makes you the person you said you were trying not to be, the person you promised me you wouldn't become. Please, think about what you're doing. Think about us.”

I look down at her hand, then up into her eyes. The pain I see there tugs at my heart, but I can't let it stop me. Isabella doesn't see the world the way I do. She doesn't see the possible futures branching off this moment as I do.

“I am doing this for us.”

For a second, I almost believe it, but then I jerk my wrist away. “If the firm goes under, if I lose everything, the future vanishes.”

“You mean you'll have to learn to live on less than billions?” Her tone is biting.

“Stop being dramatic. If the King Corporation goes down, so does your firm, and you'll lose everything, too. Is that what you want?”

“Don't you dare put this on me.” Isabella's voice shakes, her eyes flashing with rage. “Do not use me to justify what you know is wrong. Then again, maybe you don't know. Maybe your mother was right.”

“My mother?” I don't understand the sudden reference.

“I was in love with a man who was fighting for the truth. I don't know who this man in front of me is, a man who is willing to put aside his morals and cover for people who are actually guilty, ruining innocent people's lives just to save his own ass.”

The words sting, but I know there's no other option. I know there's nothing else I can say to make her understand. Instead of replying, I turn back to my computer.

“If you do this,” Isabella says, “you're no better than your father. You're just another King protecting the crown at the expense of his soul.”

“This is bigger than just one person, Isabella. My soul is a small price to pay for the survival of all the employees and their families who depend on us. You think this is comfortable for me? Sometimes you have to sacrifice the few to protect the many.”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it. That's something your father would say. But I don't believe that's who you are. Show me you're the man you told me you were. Prove it to me.”

I look at her. There's grief in her eyes and fear in her words.

“You're hurt, and you’re reacting instead of responding. There’s a difference. You’re not thinking clearly. There is another way. We can fight this legitimately; we have the proof. You don't have to do this.”

“The truth is a luxury, Isabella. It's a luxury we never even had to begin with. I have to stop ignoring the reality of the situation.” I look away and continue typing.

Isabella turns and walks out of the room without another word. She's white as paper as she goes, one hand pressed flat against her stomach like she's holding herself together. Some distant part of me notices. The rest of me is too angry to ask. I expect to find her downstairs waiting, but she's not there. She's not outside either, and I realize her bag isn't in the car.

I text her but after several minutes, she still hasn’t responded.

I stand there in the rain, the weight of the crown feeling heavier than it ever has before. I want to turn back time. I want to redo every step that's brought me to this place. I want to run after Isabella, find her, and beg her to stay with me through this.

But the King in me, the part that was born into this and tempered in the fires of corporate warfare and my father's demands, overrides those wants.

I get into the car and drive away.

31

ISABELLA

The rain hasn’t let up by the time I reach the Bronx.

I don’t know why I tell the cab driver to take me there. Maybe because no one I know would ever see me in a twenty-four-hour pharmacy on Fordham Road at one in the morning. Maybe because some part of me already knows, and I want to be standing on the ground I came from when I find out for sure.

I walk the aisles twice before I make myself stop in front of the shelf. There are so many boxes. Digital. Early result. Two pack, three pack. A girl who can’t be older than nineteen rings me up without looking at my face, and I’m so grateful for her indifference that I almost cry right there at the register.

I buy three.

My apartment is dark and cold when I let myself in. I don’t turn on the lights. I drop my soaked bag on the floor, kick off my ruined heels, and lock myself in the bathroom like someone might come looking for me.