Almost.
My father tried a different approach.
“Kairen,” he said, and for the first time in years my name in his mouth sounded uncertain. “Whatever this is, you’ve made your point.”
I looked at him.
“No,” I said. “I haven’t.”
Jace barked a laugh like he could still dominate the scene if he got loud enough. “What point? That you know somebody important? That you borrowed a car and hired a lawyer for a tantrum?”
Helena took off her sunglasses completely then, folded them once, and slid them into her jacket pocket.
“Borrowed?” she said.
Jace’s face shifted.
He knew who she was. Of course he did. Everyone who wanted money badly enough recognized Helena Vale.
He just hadn’t figured out where he belonged in relation to her yet.
My father swallowed. “Ms. Vale, if there’s some misunderstanding—”
“There is,” Helena said. “You’ve had one for quite some time.”
Arthur Wexley, who had stayed far too long for a sane man, spoke carefully from the side. “Helena… is there an issue we should be aware of before the board call?”
My father turned toward him so fast you could almost hear the desperation.
“Board call?” he repeated again, weaker now.
Helena glanced at me.
It was the glance of someone asking permission.
I gave the smallest nod.
She turned back to the assembled audience on my parents’ lawn and said, “Since this appears to have become public much earlier than intended, I see no reason to preserve timing for the sake of theatrics.”
She paused.
My mother’s mouth actually parted.
“Harbor Meridian Holdings,” Helena said, “completed its controlling acquisition of Intrepid Tech two weeks ago. Today’s board call formalizes structural changes already underway. The principal behind Harbor Meridian is Mr. Kairen Soryn.”
Silence.
Then the kind of silence that is not absence of sound but the collapse of one reality before another has fully formed.
My father stared at me.
He was trying to recognize me and failing.
That was the true violence of it for him, I think. Not merely that I had money, but that he had never actually looked closely enough to imagine I was capable of becoming consequential in a language he respected.
Arthur Wexley made a sound under his breath that might have been, “Holy hell.”
