Chapter 6 - CLOVER’S OFFER
Clover asked to meet.
Through attorneys.
I almost refused.
Then Marcus said:
“She may have evidence.”
So I agreed.
Neutral law office.
Clover entered without the silver dresses, jewelry, or victorious smile.
Plain trousers.
No Isaac.
No Wendy.
She looked twenty-nine instead of ageless.
“You hate me.”
“Yes.”
She nodded.
Fair.
“I didn’t know he was going to do that.”
“I know.”
Her eyes lifted.
“You believe me?”
“The videos show surprise when he ordered the ropes.”
Then:
“You still stayed.”
She looked down.
“Yes.”
“You still smiled.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Her face changed.
“Because I was afraid of losing him.”
I almost laughed.
Then stopped.
That was pathetic.
Also human.
Clover continued.
“Isaac told me you were going to divorce him.”
“He lied.”
“I know.”
“He said your marriage was financial.”
“It wasn’t.”
“I know.”
“He said you hated the Vances.”
“I don’t.”
“Not then.”
She closed her eyes.
“I know.”
Again.
Then she slid a flash drive across the table.
I did not touch it.
Marcus’s forensic counsel collected it.
“What is that?”
“Emails.”
“Contracts.”
“Messages between Isaac and my brother.”
“About Hartwell?”
“Yes.”
“Why give them to me?”
“Because Isaac is blaming everything on us.”
Of course.
Clover’s brother, Evan Hart, had participated in inflated bidding.
But emails suggested Isaac pressured procurement staff to structure the bids.
One message:
Need H material in at 23% margin. We recover through change orders. Arthur signed off conceptually.
Another:
Silver Oak covers C separately. Keep Flora outside distributions.
Keep Flora outside distributions.
My chest tightened.
Clover said:
“He used your investment relationships to get projects.”
“Then moved profits into entities you couldn’t see.”
Marcus later confirmed parts.
Not all.
Enough.
Then Clover said:
“I want immunity.”
I almost laughed.
“You’re talking to the wrong woman.”
“I know.”
She looked toward her attorney.
“I’m cooperating.”
That was her choice.
Not mine.
Before leaving, Clover stopped.
“I’m sorry.”
I looked at her.
“For the affair?”
“Yes.”
“For watching?”
Her face crumpled.
“Yes.”
I nodded once.
“I believe you’re sorry.”
Hope appeared.
Then I finished:
“That doesn’t make you part of my life.”
She looked down.
“I know.”
Good.
Forgiveness was not access.
May you like
Regret was not restoration.
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