Chapter 5: The Man Who Built the Empire
Reginald Vance arrived at seven the next morning.
I knew it was him before he knocked because the nurse outside my room went quiet in the particular way people go quiet around men who expect silence.
He was seventy-one years old and looked sixty.
Silver-haired, straight-backed, wearing a charcoal overcoat that had been made for him sometime in the last decade and had not aged a day.
He knocked once, then opened the door without waiting for an answer.
That was where Flynn had learned it.
"Mabel," he said.
"Reginald."
He looked at the baby first.
Something moved across his face that I couldn't fully read — not softness exactly, but recognition.
Then he looked at me.
"May I sit?"
"You can stand," I said.
"This won't take long."
He sat anyway.
In the chair where Phoebe had been.
He rested both hands on his knees and studied me the way a man studies a contract he didn't draft himself.
"Flynn called me," he said.
"I assumed."
"He told me what you've done with the trust."
"Then he told you accurately."
Reginald was quiet for a moment.
"He also told me what he did in this room two days ago."
I didn't respond.
"I want you to know," he said, "that I did not know about the boy.
Not until Flynn told me last night."
"With respect," I said, "that's between you and Flynn."
"It is," he agreed.
"But I'm here because of you, not him." He leaned forward slightly.
"Mabel, I came to ask you to slow down.
Not to stop.
Not to forgive.
To slow down.
Give the lawyers sixty days to find a structure that protects everyone — including that child."
"My daughter is already protected," I said.
"I mean Selina's boy."
The room went quiet.
"His name," Reginald said carefully, "is Oliver.
He is fifteen months old.
He did not choose any of this either."
I looked at him for a long moment.
"I know that."
"Then you understand why I'm asking for sixty days.
A negotiated settlement.
Something that doesn't require the courts to pull apart four years of trust architecture in public, in front of journalists who will make it a story."
"It's already a story," I said.
"Flynn made it one when he walked Selina into my delivery room."
Reginald's jaw tightened.
"He was wrong to do that."
"Yes."
"Profoundly wrong."
"Yes."
"And he will hear that from me directly." His voice had an edge now that I suspected Flynn had heard many times and never fully recovered from.
"But what I'm asking you — separately, as a matter of business and of protecting two children who are both innocent — is sixty days."
I looked at my daughter.
Then back at him.
"Tell me something honestly," I said.
"If I can."
"Did you know about Selina before the wedding?"
The silence lasted four seconds.
I counted.
"No," he said.
"Did you know Flynn had been unfaithful during our marriage?"
Another silence.
Shorter.
"I suspected," he said.
"I did not know."
"And you said nothing to me."
"No," he said.
"I did not."
He held my gaze when he said it.
That was something, at least — he didn't look away.
"Then I'll tell you something honestly in return," I said.
"I am not doing this to punish Flynn.
I am doing this because my daughter needs to be protected by someone who will actually protect her.
And the only person in this room I trust to do that is me."
Reginald was quiet.
"Sixty days," he said again.
But it was softer now.
Less a demand than a question.
"Call Phoebe," I said.
"If you want to talk structure, talk to her.
But I won't slow down the filing, and I won't unfreeze the assets.
Those are not on the table."
He stood.
Buttoned his coat.
Looked at the baby one more time.
"She looks like him," he said quietly.
"I know," I said.
"She has my name."
He nodded once.
Walked to the door.
Stopped with his hand on the frame.
"Mabel.
For what it's worth — Flynn married you because you were the smartest person he had ever met." He paused.
"He simply forgot that applied to him too."
He left without waiting for a response.
I sat with that for a moment.
Then I picked up my phone and called Phoebe.
"Reginald just left," I said.
"I know.
He called my office twelve minutes ago."
"What did he say?"
"He wants to negotiate," Phoebe said.
"He's offering to remove Flynn from the board voluntarily in exchange for a partial asset release and a co-parenting framework."
I went still.
"He's offering to remove his own son from the board?"
"Yes."
"That's not a negotiation," I said slowly.
"That's a signal."
"That's what I thought too," Phoebe said.
"It means he's already decided Flynn made a catastrophic mistake.
He's not here to save Flynn.
He's here to save the company."
I looked out the window.
"Then we have more leverage than I thought."
"Significantly more," Phoebe said.
Then: "There's one more thing.
Dana Reyes called me an hour ago."
I sat up straighter.
"She's ready to talk," Phoebe said.
May you like
"And Mabel — she has records going back further than I found.
A lot further."
