Chapter 6: The Investors
My father found them near the terrace doors.
Warren Hargrove was sixty-three, silver-haired, and had the particular stillness of a man who had made a great deal of money by watching other people make mistakes.
Beside him stood Isabelle Delacroix, who ran the Delacroix family office out of Montreal and wore a pale green dress that probably cost more than most people's cars.
My father said something quiet to them.
They both looked toward me.
I walked over.
"Mr.
Hargrove.
Ms.
Delacroix." I shook hands with each of them.
"I'm sorry to pull you aside.
I'll be brief."
Warren Hargrove's expression was carefully neutral.
"Of course."
"The wedding is not going to proceed today."
Isabelle Delacroix's eyes moved to a point just past my shoulder.
I didn't turn around.
I knew Ethan was there.
"I see," Hargrove said.
"I want to be honest with you about why, because you both have significant capital committed to Ethan's Series B and you deserve to make an informed decision about what happens next."
"Claire." Ethan's voice, behind me.
Low and controlled.
"This is not the place."
"Ethan." I didn't turn.
"Please don't interrupt me."
A pause.
He didn't speak again.
Hargrove's eyes moved between us.
Something in his expression sharpened.
"Go ahead," he said.
"I discovered this morning that Ethan staged a situation designed to make me appear unstable in front of witnesses, with the intent of using that footage to protect his position with your groups if the wedding fell apart.
I believe the morality clause in your term sheet was the motivation."
Delacroix set her champagne glass on a nearby table.
"That's a serious allegation," she said.
"I have a witness who was present for the planning of it.
I have the footage Ethan's mother recorded.
And I have my own account of what I found when I walked into the bridal suite twenty minutes ago."
Hargrove looked past me.
"Ethan.
Would you like to respond?"
Ethan stepped forward.
I moved slightly to the side so we were both visible.
"Claire is upset," he said.
"There was a misunderstanding upstairs.
A private matter between family members.
She's reacting emotionally and I think if we give her some space—"
"She's reacting emotionally," Hargrove repeated.
Flat.
Precise.
"Yes."
"On the day of her wedding."
"It's been a stressful morning—"
"Mr.
Cole." Hargrove's voice didn't rise.
It didn't need to.
"I've been in business for thirty-eight years.
I know what it looks like when a man is managing a narrative."
Ethan went very still.
"The morality clause in our term sheet," Hargrove continued, "was not intended to pressure a man into marriage.
It was intended to identify character.
I'm beginning to think it has."
Delacroix picked up her champagne glass again.
She didn't drink from it.
She just held it.
"Ms.
Renner," she said to me.
"What is your intention regarding the bridge loan?"
"I haven't decided yet," I said.
"That depends on what happens in the next twenty-four hours."
"That's fair," she said.
Ethan's voice came out tight and careful.
"You're going to let her hold eighty-six million dollars hostage because of a disagreement on our wedding day."
"I'm going to let her exercise her legal rights," Hargrove said.
"Which she apparently has."
"She's my fiancée—"
"She was your fiancée," Delacroix said quietly.
"I think the situation has changed."
Ethan looked at me.
The calculation was gone now.
What was left was something rawer and less controlled.
"You planned this," he said.
"You came down here specifically to do this."
"You planned yours three days ago," I said.
"I planned mine in the last forty minutes.
I think that's the difference between us."
My phone buzzed in my hand.
I glanced down.
A text from Savannah: *I wrote it all down.
Every word.
What do you want me to do with it?*
I looked up at Ethan.
His eyes dropped to my phone.
He couldn't read it from where he stood.
But he knew from my face that something had just shifted.
"What is that?" he said.
I put the phone in my pocket.
May you like
"Excuse me," I said to Hargrove and Delacroix.
"I need to find my father."
