Thomas Reed summoned us three weeks later.
Not to a boardroom.
To the family library.
He sat beside the fireplace with a cane resting against his chair.
His speech had improved dramatically.
Evelyn sat beside him.
Natalie occupied the sofa.
Graham and I entered together.
Our hands weren’t touching.
Thomas noticed anyway.
His eyes dropped toward our rings.
Then he smiled.
“Interesting.”
Graham frowned.
“What?”
Thomas waved him toward a chair.
“Sit.”
We did.
An old leather folder rested on his lap.
“I owe both of you an apology.”
Graham became alert.
“For what?”
Thomas looked at me.
“For a rule my father wrote forty-three years ago.”
“The marriage clause?”
He nodded.
“I always hated it.”
“Could’ve mentioned that,” I said.
Thomas laughed weakly.
“I tried to remove it.”
Graham leaned forward.
“When?”
“Six months ago.”
Silence.
Thomas opened the folder.
“Marcus blocked the amendment.”
Everything clicked.
Marcus hadn’t simply reacted to my discovery in Vegas.
His plan began months earlier.
Thomas had recognized the trust clause as dangerous.
Marcus realized it created an opportunity.
If Thomas became incapacitated while Graham remained unmarried, Conrad’s committee could temporarily control the voting shares.
So Marcus had preserved the clause.
Waited.
Moved money.
Built alliances.
Then Thomas suffered the stroke.
The perfect moment.
Except for me.
Thomas looked ashamed.
“I trusted Marcus completely.”
“So did I,” Graham said.
“You learned that from me.”
“No.”
Graham’s voice softened.
“I learned loyalty from you. Marcus abused it.”
Thomas’s eyes glistened.
For two men supposedly famous for emotional restraint, Reed men carried an absurd amount of emotion beneath the surface.
Thomas handed me another document.
“What is this?”
“A revised trust agreement.”
I read.
The spouse clause was gone.
So was the family committee mechanism.
Independent directors would oversee transition.
No future heir would ever need marriage to protect control.
“Good,” I said.
Thomas smiled.
“There is one issue.”
Of course there was.
“Your current marriage is no longer required.”
I looked at Graham.
His expression revealed nothing.
Thomas continued.
“Therefore, I believe the two of you should decide whether it exists because of this family or because you want it.”
My stomach tightened.
Graham said, “We’ve discussed it.”
“Have you?”
Neither of us answered.
Thomas’s eyebrows lifted.
Evelyn smiled knowingly.
Natalie looked delighted.
I suddenly wanted the floor to open.
Thomas leaned back.
“Then perhaps you should.”
That night, Graham took me downtown.
Not to a restaurant.
Not to a gala.
Not somewhere photographers might find us.
He drove himself.
I had never seen Graham drive.
“You own a car?”
“I own several.”
“Why?”
“Because people generally use cars to travel.”
“Thank you, Wikipedia.”
He glanced at me.
That almost-smile.
We stopped outside Reed Global headquarters.
The building was dark except for security lights.
“Why are we here?”
“You’ll see.”
We took the elevator to the thirty-second floor.
My department.
The office where I had worked long nights for four years.
Graham led me to my desk.
A small cardboard box sat on top.
I stared.
“Are you firing me?”
“Yes.”
I turned.
“What?”
His face remained serious.
“For approximately seven seconds.”
“Graham!”
Then he smiled.
“I’m promoting you.”
I hit his arm.
Hard.
He laughed.
Actually laughed.
I had never heard that sound in the office.
“What is wrong with you?”
“Several things.”
He handed me a document.
I read the title.
REED GLOBAL – DIRECTOR OF CORPORATE INTEGRITY AND STRATEGIC OVERSIGHT
I looked up.
“This position doesn’t exist.”
“It does now.”
“Reporting to?”
“The independent audit committee.”
“Not you?”
“Not me.”
I understood.
He was giving me something more valuable than a promotion.
Independence.
No accusations that my marriage bought my career.
No boss controlling his wife’s employment.
“I recommended you,” he said. “The independent directors approved unanimously.”
My throat tightened.
“You didn’t have to do this.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Why?”
“Because you were good at your job before you married me.”
I smiled.
“And because you terrify dishonest executives.”
“That too.”
He walked toward the windows.
Chicago spread beneath us.
Lights reflected along the river.
“This is where I first noticed you.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“Three years ago.”
“You didn’t know my name three years ago.”
“I knew your name.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“You corrected a forty-eight-page acquisition model during a meeting.”
“That was you?”
“Yes.”
“You were sitting in the corner.”
“I was the CEO.”
“You looked like an accountant.”
He stared at me.
“I was wearing a six-thousand-dollar suit.”
“Very accounting.”
He shook his head.
I laughed.
Then he became serious.
“You told a room full of executives they had missed a municipal tax provision.”
“They had.”
“They were furious.”
“They were wrong.”
“That’s when I noticed you.”
Something warm moved through me.
“You never said anything.”
“I was your boss.”
“And now?”
“Now you’re terrifyingly independent.”
I walked closer.
“And your wife.”
“For the moment.”
There it was.
The question neither of us had dared ask.
For the moment.
Graham reached into his coat.
My breath caught.
But he didn’t produce a ring.
He produced a folded piece of paper.
“What is that?”
“Our Nevada marriage certificate.”
I stared.
“I thought we had copies.”
“We do.”
He held it carefully.
“I want to ask you something without trusts, guns, kidnapped relatives, board votes, sedatives, or sunrise deadlines.”
“Very restrictive.”
“Avery.”
I smiled.
“Sorry.”
He looked nervous.
Graham Reed.
The man who could stare down senators and union negotiators.
Nervous.
“I don’t want to stay married because we were forced into it.”
“Neither do I.”
“I don’t want you wondering whether you owe me anything.”
“I don’t.”
“Good.”
He breathed slowly.
“So I think we should end it.”
My heart cracked.
I had expected a proposal.
Instead—
“What?”
“We should divorce.”
I stepped back.
Graham’s face tightened.
“Then I want to ask you to marry me again.”
Silence.
My heart restarted.
“You absolute psychopath.”
His eyes widened.
“You scared me half to death!”
“I thought—”
“You thought that was romantic?”
“I had a structure.”
“Your structure is terrible.”
He almost looked offended.
“I practiced.”
“That makes it worse.”
He stepped closer.
“Would you like me to start over?”
“Yes.”
“Fine.”
He folded the certificate.
“Avery Morgan.”
I waited.
“I love you.”
Everything inside me went quiet.
No cleverness.
No corporate language.
No complicated explanation.
Just four words.
“I love that you challenge me when everyone else agrees.”
His voice became softer.
“I love that you walked into a war you could have escaped because you believed doing the right thing mattered.”
My eyes filled.
“I love that my mother likes you more than she likes me.”
“She has excellent judgment.”
“She does.”
He smiled.
“I love that you see Graham when everyone else sees Reed.”
A tear slipped down my cheek.
He wiped it gently.
“And I would like one normal chance.”
“At what?”
“At earning you.”
I shook my head.
“You already have me.”
Emotion broke through his face.
“Then let me ask properly.”
He reached into his pocket.
This time, there was a ring.
Not the platinum band from Vegas.
A delicate diamond set between two small sapphires.
“My grandmother’s.”
I stared.
“She wore it for fifty-one years.”
He lowered himself onto one knee.
My hands flew to my mouth.
“Avery Morgan, will you divorce me so I can take you to dinner, court you properly, propose again in approximately six months, and hopefully marry you without federal investigators attending?”
I started laughing through my tears.
“Absolutely not.”
His expression fell.
“What?”
“I’m not divorcing you.”
“Avery—”
“You’ve already wasted enough legal fees.”
He stared.
“So what are you saying?”
I held out my left hand.
“I’m saying replace the emergency ring.”
He stood.
Slowly slid off the plain platinum band.
Then placed his grandmother’s ring on my finger.
It fit perfectly.
“Is that a yes?”
“Yes.”
He kissed me.
This time there was no fear.
No threat.
No corporate deadline.
Just choice.
Outside, Chicago glittered beneath us.
And somewhere inside that enormous building, perhaps my life finally stopped feeling like something that had happened to me.
It became something I had chosen.
But before Graham and I could have our real wedding, one last battle remained.
The public still believed our marriage had been a scandal.
And Graham intended to tell the world exactly what had happened.
I had a better idea.
We would tell them together.
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