Chapter 6 - The Wedding That Never Happened
The location was an abandoned printing warehouse near the river.
Of course it was.
Men like Alister seemed incapable of threatening people anywhere with decent lighting.
Marissa wanted a tactical team.
Gideon wanted speed.
I wanted Victor alive.
In the end, we used all three.
The ledger Gideon carried was fake.
A near-perfect duplicate created from scans.
The real one sat in federal custody.
Alister did not know that.
Neither did Marcus.
I stood behind the armored SUV while Marissa secured my vest.
“You stay in the vehicle.”
“I’m the person he demanded.”
“You’re also a civilian.”
“I’m going inside.”
“No.”
Gideon, standing nearby, looked at Marissa.
“Now you know how I feel.”
She glared at him.
“Do not bond with me.”
Rafe hid a smile.
The plan was simple.
Which meant, Gideon said, something would go wrong.
I walked toward the warehouse with him.
No visible weapons.
Ledger in my hands.
The main doors opened.
Marcus waited inside.
Four men stood along the walls.
Victor sat tied to a chair.
Alister stood beside him.
His tuxedo was gone.
Dark suit.
No tie.
He looked exhausted.
For the first time since I had known him, he did not look polished.
He looked desperate.
“Emery.”
“Let Victor go.”
“The ledger.”
“Victor first.”
Alister laughed.
“You’ve spent too much time with Ferris.”
“Probably.”
Gideon glanced at me.
I ignored him.
Marcus stepped forward.
“Give it to me.”
Gideon held the ledger.
“You betrayed me for Pemberton?”
Marcus shrugged.
“You were going legitimate.”
I looked at Gideon.
He did not react.
Marcus continued.
“You sold docks. Closed routes. Cut half the operations.”
“Because they were poison.”
“They were profitable.”
“They were poison.”
Marcus smiled.
“Same thing sometimes.”
I understood then.
Gideon’s empire had been changing.
Quietly.
I had seen legitimate acquisitions increase.
Real estate.
Logistics.
Technology.
I had assumed Ferris Group was simply expanding.
He had actually been dismantling the darker half.
Marcus had not forgiven him.
Alister gestured.
“The ledger.”
Gideon tossed it onto a table.
Marcus opened it.
Flipped pages.
Nodded.
Then Alister looked at me.
“You should have stayed out of this.”
“You brought my brother into it.”
“I saved your brother.”
“You destroyed his financing.”
“My father made a strategic decision.”
“There was nothing strategic about threatening him.”
“You don’t understand.”
“That sentence seems to be your favorite.”
His expression tightened.
“You could have had everything.”
“What?”
“A home. Position. Security.”
“A schedule?”
He frowned.
“A wardrobe?”
“Emery.”
“A list of acceptable friends?”
His face hardened.
“Marriage involves expectations.”
“No. Ownership does.”
Silence.
Victor looked at me.
Despite the bruising, he smiled faintly.
Alister took one step closer.
“I loved you.”
I believed him.
That was the tragedy.
Not enough.
Never in a way that allowed me to remain myself.
“I think you did,” I said.
His face softened.
Then I finished.
“But you loved control more.”
He looked away.
Marcus closed the ledger.
“Enough.”
He pulled a pistol.
Everything changed.
Gideon moved in front of me.
Marcus aimed at him.
“Don’t.”
Gideon stopped.
“Let Victor go.”
“No.”
“You have the ledger.”
Marcus smiled.
“We have the only copy.”
“No.”
The voice came from behind us.
Marissa.
Federal agents entered from both sides.
Weapons raised.
“Drop it!”
Chaos exploded.
Marcus grabbed Victor.
Alister froze.
Gideon shoved me behind a concrete pillar.
A shot cracked.
Then another.
I dropped.
“Gideon!”
“I’m fine.”
He wasn’t.
Blood spread across his upper arm.
I felt something inside me snap.
Marcus dragged Victor toward a side exit.
Rafe tackled one of the guards.
Agents surrounded Alister.
He did not resist.
Maybe because he understood the game was over.
Marcus fired again.
Gideon moved.
Marissa shouted.
Then Victor did something nobody expected.
He kicked backward.
The chair legs slammed into Marcus’s knees.
Marcus stumbled.
His pistol hit the floor.
Rafe reached him first.
Three seconds later, Marcus was facedown in handcuffs.
Victor looked at us.
“I’ve wanted to do that for eighteen months.”
Despite the blood, Gideon laughed.
The sound shocked me.
Alister stood between two agents.
He looked at me.
“Emery.”
I turned.
“This doesn’t have to be the end.”
I stared at him.
Federal agents surrounding him.
His father’s network collapsing.
Victor alive.
The ledger safe.
And somehow he still believed the right words could rearrange reality.
“Yes,” I said.
“It does.”
His face changed.
“Tell them I never threatened you.”
“You did.”
“I never hurt you.”
“Yes, you did.”
“Not physically.”
The words made even Marissa look disgusted.
I shook my head.
“You still don’t understand.”
Agents led him away.
He looked back once.
I didn’t.
The following morning, Senator Charles Pemberton was arrested at his Georgetown residence.
The story broke nationally before breakfast.
Financial conspiracy.
Corporate coercion.
Illegal campaign contributions.
Fraud.
Obstruction.
The Hartwell Gala photograph of Alister and me appeared everywhere.
By noon, every major news network had replayed footage of the engagement ring lying on the marble floor.
I hated that part.
Kyle loved it.
“Iconic,” he said from Gideon’s kitchen.
“Shut up.”
“I’m serious. There are already memes.”
“I hate everyone.”
Gideon sat at the island with his arm in a sling.
“You’re smiling.”
“I am not.”
“You are.”
“Pain medication.”
Kyle looked between us.
“I’m leaving.”
“You just got here.”
“Yes. And suddenly I would rather be anywhere else.”
He grabbed coffee.
At the door, he turned.
“By the way, Gideon?”
“Yes?”
“If you hurt my sister, I own exactly zero weapons, but I know a lot about cellular toxicity.”
Gideon nodded solemnly.
“Understood.”
“Kyle!”
He left laughing.
Then it was just us.
Silence.
The kind we had spent five years perfecting.
Only now the line between us had disappeared.
Gideon looked at his coffee.
“I owe you an apology.”
“For getting shot?”
“For everything.”
“That’s broad.”
“I should have told you earlier.”
“Yes.”
“I should have trusted you with the truth.”
“Yes.”
“I should never have assumed protecting you gave me the right to decide what you knew.”
I stared at him.
“You’re surprisingly good at apologies.”
“I’ve had practice recently.”
A smile tugged at my mouth.
Then faded.
“What happens to Ferris Group?”
“I’m stepping away from the other operations.”
“You already were.”
He looked surprised.
“I noticed.”
“You notice everything.”
“It’s literally my job.”
“That too.”
“What happens to Marcus’s side?”
“Gone.”
“Just like that?”
“No.”
His expression became serious.
“It will take time. Lawyers. Regulators. Deals I won’t enjoy making.”
“But?”
“But I’m done building my life around what I inherited.”
I had never asked what that meant.
Now I did.
“Inherited from whom?”
“My father.”
There was enough pain in those two words that I did not press.
He stood.
Walked toward the windows.
I followed.
Morning light spread across the river.
“What happens to me?” I asked.
He turned.
“At Ferris Group?”
“Maybe.”
His eyes held mine.
“You decide.”
There it was again.
Choice.
“You’re not going to fire me because this got complicated?”
“No.”
“Promote me because you feel guilty?”
“No.”
“Ask me to leave because you have feelings for me?”
His expression changed.
“No.”
I stepped closer.
“Do you?”
His breathing slowed.
“Emery.”
“That wasn’t an answer.”
“You already know.”
“I want to hear it.”
Five years of control stood between us.
Then Gideon Ferris finally let it go.
“Yes.”
My heart kicked.
“For how long?”
He smiled without humor.
“Approximately four years, eleven months, and three weeks.”
I laughed.
“You’re joking.”
“No.”
“You hired me and lasted a week?”
“Less.”
“Then why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because you worked for me.”
“That’s annoyingly responsible.”
“I have occasional weaknesses.”
I stepped closer.
He didn’t move.
“Gideon.”
“Yes?”
“I’m not ready.”
Something in his face softened.
“I know.”
“I ended an engagement three days ago.”
“I know.”
“My brother’s company almost got stolen, a senator got arrested, and you got shot.”
“Technically grazed.”
“You bled on my dress.”
“That was unfortunate.”
I laughed again.
Then I touched his uninjured hand.
“But I don’t want to pretend anymore either.”
His fingers closed gently around mine.
No pulling.
No possession.
Just contact.
Choice.
“Then we don’t pretend,” he said.
“And we don’t rush.”
“Okay.”
“And you stop ordering me around.”
He considered.
“I can attempt significant reduction.”
I stared.
He smiled.
It changed his entire face.
I had worked beside him for five years.
I had never seen that smile.
And for the first time in longer than I could remember, I felt something I had not allowed myself to feel.
Not certainty.
Something better.
Possibility.
But one problem remained.
Because six months from then, there was still a wedding date on every society calendar in the city.
May you like
And I had decided I was not going to let Alister Pemberton be the last man who got to define what that day meant.
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