Chapter 3
A week later, one sentence in Northline's anniversary media package stopped me cold.
Ethan Cole built Northline Brands from the ground up after the collapse of his first company.
I scrolled down.
His wife, Claire Morgan, supported him through the company's early years.
Supported.
I opened the document history.
The first draft was still there:
Northline Brands was founded by Ethan Cole and Claire Morgan, who built the company together after Cole's first venture failed.
The replacement had one editor attached to it.
Ethan Cole.
I took my laptop to his office.
The communications team stood near the windows with him. Lydia was there too.
"I need the room," I said.
Ethan sent the team out.
Lydia stayed.
I turned the laptop toward him. "Why did you remove co-founder?"
He glanced at the screen. "The profile works better with one founder at the center."
"I founded Northline with you."
"No one said you didn't."
I tapped the new line. "This does."
His jaw tightened. "It's a media piece. The story is cleaner this way. I lose the first company, rebuild, create Northline. One central figure."
"And I become the wife who supported you."
Lydia stepped closer to the desk.
"I think it reads well," she said.
I kept my eyes on Ethan.
She smiled at him. "You were always supposed to be the one out front."
He smiled back.
I closed the laptop.
"Publish it."
"Claire—"
"You already edited me out. Finish the job."
I left.
That night, Ethan and I had a dinner reservation at seven-thirty. No clients. No board. No company.
At six-thirty, while I was dressed and waiting in our kitchen, my phone buzzed.
Running late. Lydia's partnership numbers changed. Need to handle it tonight.
The tablet beside me lit up a second later. Ethan had left it on the counter, still linked to his phone.
Lydia's message appeared in the preview.
If I hadn't left back then, do you think we would have gotten married?
I did not touch the tablet.
A minute later, it lit again.
Sometimes I've wondered too.
Ethan's reply.
My hand closed around the back of a dining chair.
Another message arrived.
That's a dangerous answer.
No reply followed.
On my phone, the reservation reminder appeared.
7:30 p.m. Table for two.
I canceled it.
Ethan came home after ten, loosening his tie as he walked into the kitchen.
"Sorry about dinner."
"Busy with the partnership?"
His hand paused on the knot of his tie.
"It took longer than I expected."
"Did it?"
He looked at me for a second, then went upstairs.
I stayed in the kitchen with the dark tablet between my hands.
At 10:18 p.m., another message flashed across the screen.
Lydia: We should talk about what you said.