Karen reaches into her bag and pulls out a thin manila folder. She sets it on my desk like she’s placing a bomb down carefully so it doesn’t go off prematurely.
“I have documents,” she says, “that imply coercion.”
The word hits the room like a gunshot. My body stills. “There was no coercion.”
“Is that what you’ll say?” she asks. “Because it won’t matter. It will matter what people believe.”
I don’t reach for the folder. I refuse to give her the satisfaction of watching me flinch.
“You release anything defamatory,” I say calmly, “and I will bury you in litigation so deep your grandchildren will still be paying for it.”
Karen’s smile returns, and it’s the smile of someone who’s already done the math. “You can try,” she says. “But you won’t. Not if it risks dragging every detail of your arrangement with April Swan into discovery.”
A chill runs down my spine. She knows. Not just the photo. Not just the pregnancy. Not just gossip. She knows there was a contract. An agreement. Terms. Money. Language that, out of context, could be twisted into a headline that destroys her and me in one stroke.
The manila envelope seems less mysterious now.
“You’ve been digging,” I say.
“I’ve been preparing,” she corrects.
My hands stay relaxed on the desk, but I can feel my pulse in my fingertips. “Why?” I ask, and my voice is quieter now, sharper. “Why are you doing this? It can’t just be because you want my seat, or because of your sister.”
Karen’s eyes flicker at the mention of her sister, then harden again, annoyed that I’ve reduced her motives to family politics. “It isn’t,” she says.
I watch her closely. The confidence. The certainty. The way she doesn’t fear me in my own office.
She takes a step closer. “It’s because you’re making a mistake,” she says, voice lower. “And I’m giving you one last chance to correct it.”
My mouth tightens. “I’m not interested in your charity.”
Karen’s gaze locks onto mine with startling intensity. “I’ve always loved you,” she says, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world.
The words hang in the air, wrong and invasive, like smoke in a clean room.
For a moment, I just stare at her, waiting for the punchline, waiting for her to pivot back to power plays and board votes and legal leverage.
She doesn’t.
Her face softens into something that might be genuine or might be the most dangerous performance I’ve ever seen from her.
“I’ve watched you for years,” Karen continues. “Watched you build this. Watched you harden into something untouchable. And I’ve been patient. I’ve been useful. I’ve been loyal. I’ve done everything right.”
Disgust rises in my throat, bitter. “This is what you call love?”
“Yes,” she says, unflinching. “Because I understand you. I understand what you need. I’ve known you for half your life.”
“I don’t need you,” I say.
Her lips press together briefly, annoyance flashing. “You need a wife,” she says, like it’s a fact carved into stone. “You need legitimacy. You need a mother for your heir. And you need someone who can stand beside you without becoming a liability.”
I hold very still. “Say what you mean.”
Karen’s eyes gleam. “I mean,” she says softly, “this is your last chance to choose correctly.”
A cold emptiness opens in my chest. “You’re offering yourself,” I say, and it comes out like an accusation. “When I already turned you down?”
“I’m offering you stability,” she counters. “A real partnership. A woman who knows how to play this game. Someone who won’t run the moment she gets frightened.”
