Chapter 8 - The Woman in White
Veronica Mercer requested the meeting herself.
She chose the Summit headquarters.
Top floor.
Glass conference room.
Midtown Manhattan spread beneath us like a reminder of everything her family believed it owned.
She wore white.
Of course she did.
Christopher sat across from her.
Daniel sat beside me.
A trustee representing Ethan and Emma joined remotely.
Veronica’s attorney began with polished hostility.
“We are here to resolve a misunderstanding involving Westbridge Holdings.”
Daniel smiled.
“No misunderstanding.”
The trustee displayed the ownership structure.
Margaret’s trust controlled 14.8 percent of Westbridge.
Normally that wouldn’t be enough.
But several major decisions required an 85 percent approval threshold.
Foreclosing on Harbor House was one of them.
Veronica’s expression barely shifted.
“Then we will pursue another route.”
Christopher leaned forward.
“No.”
She finally looked at him.
“You don’t control this meeting.”
“I’m CEO.”
“For now.”
Their marriage had apparently deteriorated far beyond anything I understood.
Veronica smiled at me.
“Do you know why Christopher came to your reunion?”
I said nothing.
“He knew I would be there.”
I looked at Christopher.
He frowned.
“What are you talking about?”
Veronica continued.
“He wanted me to see how little you mattered.”
Christopher stood.
“That is not true.”
“Sit down.”
Something in her tone revealed twenty years of control.
Christopher remained standing.
Veronica looked at me.
“He spent our marriage terrified that you would reappear.”
I almost laughed.
“I didn’t.”
“I know. That made it worse.”
Christopher stared at her.
“Stop.”
She ignored him.
“Every time Summit struggled, every time our marriage struggled, Christopher found a way to mention you.”
My stomach tightened.
“He compared me to you constantly.”
Christopher closed his eyes.
Veronica’s voice sharpened.
“You cooked better. You listened better. You were more loyal. You understood him before he had money.”
“Veronica,” he warned.
“No. She should know.”
She leaned toward me.
“The great tragedy of my marriage is that I got the man who left you and then spent fifteen years resenting me because I wasn’t you.”
The room went silent.
I felt no satisfaction.
Only sadness.
What a waste.
Three adults.
Two marriages.
Ten lost years.
All built around ambition, fear and cowardice.
Veronica gathered her papers.
“You want truth, Samantha?”
“Yes.”
She smiled.
“Christopher knew more than he admits.”
He froze.
She opened her handbag.
Then placed an old envelope on the table.
The front bore my handwriting.
Christopher’s name.
My certified pregnancy notice.
The original.
My breath disappeared.
Christopher stared.
“I never saw that.”
Veronica laughed.
“No.”
She looked directly at him.
“You saw the ultrasound.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
Christopher went pale.
Veronica’s eyes glittered.
“I found it in his coat pocket the night before our wedding.”
I looked at Christopher.
He shook his head.
“No.”
“You don’t remember?”
“I never had an ultrasound.”
“Yes, you did.”
She slid another object across the table.
A photograph.
Bent down the middle.
Two gray shapes.
Two tiny lives.
My original ultrasound.
The one I had been holding when Christopher left.
I stared at it.
“How did you get that?”
Veronica answered.
“He took it.”
I turned toward Christopher.
“No.”
His voice shook.
“I didn’t.”
Then memory hit me.
That evening.
After signing.
I had left the ultrasound on the kitchen counter while I cried in the bathroom.
Christopher had returned briefly because he forgot his watch case.
When I came out, the photograph was gone.
I assumed I misplaced it.
Christopher stared at the image.
“I don’t remember taking this.”
Veronica laughed.
“You were drunk at the rehearsal dinner. You showed it to me.”
His face collapsed.
She continued mercilessly.
“You said, ‘Sam says there are two.’”
I couldn’t breathe.
Christopher gripped the table.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“You told me Leonard said they might not be yours. Then you drank half a bottle of scotch and married me the next afternoon.”
Daniel quietly closed his folder.
Because there was nothing legal to say to that.
The room had become a courtroom of another kind.
I looked at Christopher.
For ten years, I believed he hadn’t known.
Then I learned he knew about the pregnancy.
Now I understood.
He had seen them.
Not babies.
Not yet.
But proof.
Two lives.
And he chose to walk away anyway.
Christopher whispered my name.
“Samantha—”
I stood.
“No.”
One word.
The same word he had spoken when he first saw our children.
Except mine meant something different.
May you like
His meant denial.
Mine meant the end.
