Chapter 18 - The Choice Declan Morrow Makes
The investigation lasted seven months.
Real investigations are less cinematic than people imagine.
No dramatic confessions every afternoon.
No shocking arrests every Friday.
Mostly paperwork.
Interviews.
Subpoenas.
Bank records.
Arguments between attorneys.
People saying, “I don't recall,” with remarkable consistency.
Marcus Vale was charged with conspiracy, obstruction, corruption-related offenses, financial crimes, and offenses connected to my attack and my father's death.
The two men who attacked me accepted plea agreements.
Walter Reed became a cooperating witness.
Elena Farris resigned her law license voluntarily before disciplinary proceedings began and entered an agreement with prosecutors.
Sheldon also cooperated.
His future remained uncertain.
Daniel Morrow officially came back from the dead.
That created surprisingly complicated tax problems.
I enjoyed those more than I should have.
Victoria stepped down from the Morrow Foundation.
Catherine remained in Chicago long enough to give investigators everything she had.
Then she disappeared to Maine.
Not secretly.
She bought a cottage.
Apparently after forty years of conspiracy, family betrayal, and criminal networks, she wanted to grow tomatoes.
I respected that.
Morrow Holdings suffered.
Stocks fell.
Partners left.
Banks froze certain accounts.
Three subsidiaries closed.
But the company survived.
Mostly because Declan did something nobody expected.
He cooperated.
Fully.
No bribes.
No threats.
No quiet favors.
When investigators found evidence of wrongdoing committed under his leadership, he didn't hide behind Patrick.
He accepted responsibility.
Some fines were enormous.
He paid them.
Several operations were permanently shut down.
He closed others himself before anyone ordered him to.
Thousands of employees were moved into legitimate divisions.
It wasn't clean.
Redemption rarely is.
One Tuesday afternoon, seven months after the night I arrived fifty-three minutes late, I returned to the penthouse.
No crutches.
No boot.
Small limp when tired.
Otherwise healed.
Declan stood beside the windows.
Same place.
Same city.
Different man.
He wore a navy suit instead of black.
I noticed.
“Rebranding?”
He looked down.
“What?”
“The suit.”
“It's blue.”
“I can see.”
“You're criticizing blue?”
“I'm assessing.”
“Dangerous.”
I placed a folder on his desk.
He looked suspicious.
“What is that?”
“Final audit.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Gemma.”
“You asked for it.”
“I asked seven months ago when I was emotionally compromised.”
“Contracts remain valid during emotional compromise.”
He opened the report.
Three hundred eighty-two pages.
His face fell.
“You enjoyed this.”
“Immensely.”
“How bad?”
“Better.”
“That isn't an answer.”
“Page twelve.”
He opened it.
The legitimate divisions were profitable.
Actually more profitable than expected.
Without Atlas-related side arrangements and hidden expenses, Morrow Holdings had become smaller but cleaner.
More stable.
“You're solvent,” I said.
“I was always solvent.”
“You were criminally solvent.”
“Different category.”
“Very.”
He kept reading.
Then stopped.
“There is a resignation letter.”
“Yes.”
He looked up.
“You're resigning.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
I smiled.
“That isn't how resignations work.”
“Why?”
“Because my job is finished.”
“The company still needs a CFO.”
“I wasn't your CFO.”
“You've been acting like one.”
“Without the salary.”
“We can fix that.”
“No.”
His expression changed.
“This is about what happened?”
“Partly.”
“Gemma—”
“Declan.”
He stopped.
“I need a life where nobody breaks my leg over accounting.”
“Reasonable.”
“I want to build my own firm.”
He blinked.
“Audit?”
“Forensic consulting.”
“You truly learned nothing.”
“I learned to charge more.”
That got a laugh.
Then silence.
He looked at the resignation again.
“When?”
“End of month.”
“That soon?”
“Yes.”
He nodded.
Too easily.
That annoyed me.
“That's all?”
“What do you want?”
“I don't know.”
“Should I lock the elevator?”
“No.”
“Refuse?”
“No.”
“Threaten competitors?”
“Definitely no.”
“Then yes. That's all.”
I hated being disappointed.
He saw it.
Of course.
He walked around the desk.
“Gemma.”
“What?”
“I want you to stay.”
My heart moved.
“But not because I need an accountant.”
I looked up.
He was close.
Not too close.
“Then why?”
He took a breath.
Declan Morrow hesitating was rarer than snow in July.
“I've spent seventeen months trying not to say something.”
“Sounds inefficient.”
“It has been.”
“What?”
“I don't know how to do this.”
“Do what?”
“Ask for something without making it sound like an order.”
I smiled despite myself.
“Try.”
He looked almost irritated by the challenge.
“Have dinner with me.”
“We've had dinner.”
“Not meetings.”
“Oh.”
“Not files.”
“Okay.”
“Not Sheldon.”
“Definitely not Sheldon.”
“Not an investigation.”
I let him suffer for several seconds.
“What kind of dinner?”
His eyes narrowed.
“Food.”
“Excellent clarification.”
“Gemma.”
I smiled.
“Yes.”
He froze.
“Yes?”
“Yes.”
For a man feared across Chicago, he looked absurdly relieved.
“But.”
His face fell.
“Of course there's a but.”
“You don't get to control where I go.”
“Fine.”
“You don't have people follow me.”
“For security—”
“No.”
He struggled.
“Fine.”
“No private investigation of anyone I date.”
His jaw tightened.
“Hypothetically?”
“Declan.”
“Fine.”
“And if dinner is terrible, I'm leaving.”
“It won't be.”
“Confidence is attractive. Arrogance less so.”
“I'll risk it.”
Then his expression softened.
“There's something else.”
“What?”
He reached into his desk.
A small box.
I stared.
“No.”
His eyes widened.
“It's not—”
“If that's a ring after one dinner that hasn't happened, I'm pushing you through the window.”
“It's not a ring.”
“Oh.”
He opened it.
My father's old silver money clip.
The one I remembered from childhood.
My breath caught.
“Where?”
“Daniel had it.”
I touched the initials.
T.C.
“He thought you should have it.”
I couldn't speak.
Declan handed it to me.
Inside was a folded scrap of paper.
Dad's handwriting.
One sentence.
GEMMA WILL FIGURE IT OUT.
I laughed and cried simultaneously.
“Arrogant man.”
“Your father?”
“Yes.”
Declan smiled.
“Runs in the family.”
I looked at him.
“Careful.”
“Sorry.”
“No, you're not.”
“No.”
I folded the note again.
For months I'd believed solving my father's mystery would give me closure.
It didn't.
Closure was a word people used because grief didn't have a finish line.
What I had instead was truth.
Messy.
Painful.
Incomplete.
But real.
I looked toward Chicago.
“So where is dinner?”
Declan named one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city.
I shook my head.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Too expensive.”
“I own part of it.”
“Exactly.”
“Gemma.”
“I want pizza.”
He stared.
“You're joking.”
“No.”
“After everything we've survived, our first actual date is pizza?”
“Good pizza.”
He considered.
“Fine.”
“And you're paying.”
“That was never in question.”
“And no security table beside us.”
His face tightened.
“We'll discuss it.”
“No.”
“We'll discuss it.”
I smiled.
Progress had limits.
Before leaving, he stopped beside the elevator.
“Gemma.”
“Yes?”
“Why did you come to me that night?”
“What?”
“You were injured. Frightened. You could have gone anywhere.”
I thought about it.
The answer surprised me with its simplicity.
“Because I trusted you.”
His expression changed.
“Even after your father's warning?”
“I didn't know about it.”
“No. I mean now.”
I looked at him.
“Trust isn't believing someone never did anything wrong.”
“Then what is it?”
“Believing what they'll choose when the truth becomes expensive.”
He didn't speak.
I pressed the elevator button.
The doors opened.
“Seven o'clock,” I said.
“Seven.”
“Don't be late.”
His mouth curved.
“Wouldn't dream of it.”
The doors closed.
And for the first time, fifty-three minutes no longer felt like the worst number in my life.
Because being late that night had uncovered everything.
The lies.
The betrayal.
My father's truth.
And maybe something neither Declan nor I had planned to find.
May you like
A future.
---
