Chapter 9 - The Fall of Preston Reed
Emergency lights flickered red along the hallway.
Graham pulled me behind a stone column.
Another gunshot sounded.
Marcus's voice came through the darkness.
“Stay down!”
I heard running.
A crash.
Then silence.
Graham had one arm around me.
I could feel his heart hammering.
“Are you hurt?” I whispered.
“No.”
“Marcus?”
“No idea.”
Footsteps moved across the lower floor.
Someone was inside.
Graham pushed his phone into my hand.
“Take the service stairs.”
“What about you?”
“I'll follow.”
“No.”
“Avery.”
“We already discussed your habit of making decisions for me.”
“This is not the time.”
“It never seems to be.”
Despite the terror, his expression looked almost offended.
Then a voice came from downstairs.
“Graham!”
Preston.
I had heard that smooth voice on television.
At family dinners.
At the gala.
Now it echoed through the dark penthouse.
“This didn't have to happen.”
Graham moved toward the stairs.
I caught him.
“Don't.”
“He came here for me.”
“No. He came here because he's cornered.”
Preston continued.
“Miles is lying! You know what men like him do when they're desperate.”
Graham said nothing.
“You think that woman loves you?” Preston called.
My grip tightened.
“She loved your money before she knew she had your shares!”
Graham looked at me.
I whispered, “If you believe that, I really will divorce you.”
His mouth almost twitched.
Then police sirens sounded below.
Preston heard them too.
He ran.
Marcus appeared from the opposite hallway, blood on his forehead but otherwise standing.
“Service elevator!”
Federal agents and Chicago police were already entering the building.
Preston never made it downstairs.
They arrested him in the parking garage.
The gun had been carried by a private contractor Preston hired.
Preston himself was unarmed.
Naturally.
Men like him preferred fingerprints belonging to other people.
At 9:00 a.m., the Department of Justice announced arrests connected to a long-running corporate fraud investigation involving Reed Global Infrastructure.
Miles Voss surrendered.
Preston Reed was charged with conspiracy, financial fraud, obstruction and other offenses.
The investigation into Nathan Reed's death was reopened.
By lunchtime, every financial network in America was telling the story.
By afternoon, Reed Global's board scheduled an emergency meeting.
I entered beside Graham.
The same directors who had suspended him now avoided his eyes.
Preston's chair was empty.
Graham remained standing.
“I won't make this easier for anyone by pretending the last two weeks didn't happen.”
Nobody moved.
“You suspended me because evidence appeared to show misconduct. That was your responsibility.”
Several directors looked surprised.
“But Reed Global created an environment where power mattered more than truth. My grandfather did it. My father suffered because of it. My brother suffered because of it. And I continued parts of it because control was easier than trust.”
I watched him.
This wasn't the Graham who would have entered this room two weeks earlier.
That man would have demanded victory.
This one demanded change.
“I will return as CEO only if this board approves independent compliance oversight, whistleblower protection, external financial audits and term limits for family-appointed directors.”
One director frowned.
“You're giving away control.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Graham glanced at me.
“Because I've learned control and safety aren't the same thing.”
The reforms passed.
Unanimously.
Then came my shares.
Samuel sat beside me at the shareholder meeting three days later.
With Thomas's seven percent and Graham's trust shares, Preston's remaining allies had no chance of removing him.
The vote restored Graham permanently.
Reporters waited outside.
One shouted:
“Mrs. Reed, did you marry Graham to gain control of the company?”
I stopped.
Graham murmured, “You don't have to answer.”
“I know.”
I turned toward the cameras.
“No.”
Another reporter shouted, “Then why did you marry him?”
I smiled.
“That's a very complicated story involving terrible champagne and worse corporate governance.”
Laughter moved through the crowd.
“Are you staying married?”
That question silenced everything.
I looked at Graham.
He did not answer for me.
That mattered.
“We haven't decided.”
His expression remained calm.
Only I noticed the flicker of pain.
That night, I packed a suitcase.
Graham found me in the bedroom doorway.
“You're leaving.”
“For a while.”
His face became unreadable.
“The guest apartment is available if you want space.”
“I need somewhere that isn't yours.”
He nodded.
I hated how easily he did it.
“Avery?”
“Yes?”
“Whatever happens, you saved my family from repeating the same mistake again.”
“No.”
He frowned.
“We did that together.”
Something broke through his composure.
He walked toward me.
“I don't want you to stay because you think I owe you.”
“I know.”
“I don't want you staying because the newspapers already call us husband and wife.”
“I know.”
“And I don't want you staying because you think leaving will hurt me.”
I looked at him.
“Would it?”
His answer came immediately.
“Yes.”
My throat tightened.
“But that's mine to survive,” he said.
I almost cried.
This infuriating man had finally learned the lesson I had been shouting at him for weeks.
I touched his cheek.
“I'm leaving because I need to know whether I want this marriage when there's no enemy forcing us together.”
He nodded.
“How long?”
“I don't know.”
His hand covered mine.
“Then I'll wait.”
I kissed him once.
Softly.
And walked away.
For six weeks, I lived in my old apartment.
I resigned from Reed Global.
Not because Graham asked.
Because I could never know what our relationship meant while he signed my performance reviews.
Using part of the dividends from Thomas's shares, I founded Collins Strategic Consulting.
My first clients were small infrastructure firms Reed Global had ignored.
I worked twelve-hour days.
I ate terrible takeout.
I missed Graham constantly.
He never pressured me.
He texted sometimes.
Saw your interview. You were terrifying. Congratulations.
Or:
Your father informed me my new drill is overpriced.
Apparently he had become friends with Dad.
Traitor.
Then one rainy Friday evening, someone knocked on my apartment door.
Graham stood outside.
No security.
No suit.
No driver waiting.
Just Graham wearing jeans, a dark coat, and the expression of a man who had never been more uncertain.
“What are you doing here?”
He held up an envelope.
My heart dropped.
“Annulment papers?”
“No.”
“Divorce?”
“No.”
“What?”
He handed me the envelope.
Inside was our original Las Vegas marriage certificate.
Beneath it was a reservation confirmation.
A tiny chapel outside Chicago.
No reporters.
No family.
Tomorrow afternoon.
I looked at him.
“I don't understand.”
“The first wedding was for the company.”
His voice softened.
“I'd like another one.”
My eyes burned.
“Why?”
May you like
He stepped closer.
“Because this time, Avery, I want you to choose me when nothing is burning.”
