Chapter 2: The Money Already Moving
The silence around my bed didn’t last. Claire lifted the folder from the blanket and held it against her side, as if even the paper needed to be kept out of their reach.
“I’m taking this to review,” she said. “No one else handles it.”
Owen’s smile tightened. “You can’t just remove company documents.”
“Then tell me why they’re attached to Jade’s portfolio.”
He looked at Martin. Martin looked at the floor.
Amber rose so quickly her chair scraped backward. “This is getting out of hand.”
“It got out of hand before I arrived,” Claire said.
Indigo’s jaw worked. Bruno stayed by the window, his face turned toward the parking lot. I watched him long enough for him to feel it. He finally looked back, but there was no apology in his eyes—only impatience that I had made the room difficult for him.
Claire came close to my bed. “I need your account while it’s clear in your mind. Before your next dose, if you’re comfortable.”
The nurse had mentioned the medication would make me sleepy. My ribs pulsed under the blanket, and the hand with the IV felt too heavy to lift. Still, the thought of someone else shaping what had happened frightened me more than the pain.
“I’m comfortable,” I said. “Ask me.”
Claire set her phone face down on the bedside table and opened a small notebook. “Start wherever you want.”
So I told her. I told her what time I’d come home, where Amber and Indigo were sitting, and where the papers were. I told her the exact words I remembered, the ones that had turned a demand into a threat. When my voice caught, I stopped, breathed shallowly, and continued.
Bruno listened without moving.
When I finished, Claire closed the notebook. “Thank you.”
The nurse came in to check the IV. Claire used the moment to ask her quietly about my next dose, then stepped into the hall with her phone. Owen and Martin followed, exchanging low words I couldn’t make out. Amber and Indigo went after them.
Bruno stayed.
He waited until the door clicked shut, then pulled the visitor’s chair closer. The scrape made me flinch before I could stop myself.
His mouth hardened. “You don’t have to look at me like I did it.”
“You told me I deserved it.”
“I said the situation didn’t have to get that far.”
“You called what happened a consequence.”
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “You refused to listen to anyone. My parents are under pressure, Jade. You know that.”
I felt the old reflex rise in me—the urge to soften his anger, to explain that I hadn’t meant to make things worse. It rose and passed. I didn’t owe him another version of my refusal that might sound more convenient.
“What did you sign?” I asked.
His eyes dropped to the folder Claire had taken. “What?”
“The authorization. Did you approve it?”
“I signed family paperwork.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
He shifted in the chair. His wedding ring caught the light as his fingers closed around the armrest. “It was a packet. Nothing unusual. They needed documents for the development.”
“What documents?”
“I don’t remember every page.”
“You remember signing.”
His jaw tightened. “I said I signed some paperwork.”
“And you never told me?”
“I didn’t think it involved you.”
“But my portfolio is attached.”
For a moment, he looked genuinely startled. Then he covered it with a shrug that came too late. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I watched him. A year ago, I would have searched his face for the best explanation. Now I noticed the pause, the glance toward the door, the way his answer changed when I named the thing he’d hoped I hadn’t seen.
“You told them to talk to me,” I said. “You knew they wanted something from me.”
“I knew they needed your help.”
“Did you know they were bringing paperwork?”
His silence lasted a beat too long.
“I thought it was a proposal,” he said.
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the answer I have.”
I looked at his hands. “Then don’t give me another one.”
The door opened. Claire came back in, her phone still in her hand. Bruno stood, suddenly restless.
“This is between Jade and me,” he said.
“No,” Claire replied. “It stopped being private when her financial information appeared on a document she refused to sign.”
Bruno glanced at me, as if I were supposed to tell her to ease up. I turned my face toward Claire instead.
“Can you trace the number?”
“I’m working on it.”
She set the folder on the bedside table but kept her palm on the cover. A few minutes later, she had a legal pad out and was comparing the reference on the first page with a string of numbers printed in the smaller text below it. She made a call, gave the number, then listened without speaking.
Bruno began pacing between the window and the foot of my bed.
“Who are you calling?” he asked.
“Someone who can tell me what the reference means.”
“Claire, this is not helping.”
She raised one finger, asking for quiet, and kept listening. The hospital monitor clicked steadily beside me. Bruno stopped pacing. His attention had shifted from Claire to the phone in her hand.
When she ended the call, she didn’t look at him.
“What did you find?” I asked.
“The reference links this document to a pending request against the portfolio.” Claire turned the folder so I could see the number. “It’s not just an internal file label.”
Bruno took a step toward the bed. “That can’t be right.”
Claire’s gaze lifted to his. “You said you signed paperwork.”
“I signed a packet. I didn’t authorize this.”
“Then you should be able to tell us what you did authorize.”
“I don’t remember.”
“Convenient,” I said.
His eyes flashed. “You think I’m trying to take your money?”
I didn’t answer. The words had been designed to make me defend him, to pull me back into the argument where he could say I was unfair. I let the silence stay between us.
Claire turned another page. “The request is substantial enough that if it goes through, it could affect control of the portfolio.”
My stomach tightened. The paper on the bedside table seemed harmless: white pages, black type, a clean line waiting for my name. But someone had already connected it to the money without my permission. Someone had prepared for a yes—or decided they could proceed without one.
“Can you stop it?” I asked.
“I’m trying to find out what stage it’s in.”
Bruno moved toward the door. “This is being blown out of proportion.”
“Then help us establish what you signed,” Claire said.
He paused with his hand on the handle. “I don’t have the packet.”
“Who does?”
“I said I don’t know.”
He left before either of us could ask another question.
Claire waited until his footsteps faded down the hall. Then she closed the folder again, more carefully this time.
“Jade, listen to me. A signature—or a transfer—may already have been represented as authorized.”
I looked at the empty line bearing my name.
May you like
I had refused to sign. I knew that.
But somewhere beyond the hospital room, someone might already be acting as if my answer had been yes.
