Chapter 1 - The Performance
I let out a slow, trembling breath, forcing my eyes to flutter open as if the fluorescent light was physically hurting me.
"Mark?" I whispered, letting my voice crack perfectly at the edges.
"I'm right here, sweetheart," Mark said, his tone dripping with manufactured relief. He sat on the edge of the narrow cot, squeezing my hand. He looked the part of the terrified, devoted husband to perfection. His tie was loosened. His brow was furrowed in practiced concern. "You gave us quite a scare out there. You just collapsed right in the middle of the ballroom."
"I feel... so dizzy," I murmured, turning my head slightly.
"The EMTs said it was likely exhaustion and severe dehydration," Mark replied smoothly, brushing a strand of hair away from my forehead. "Your blood pressure tanked. They gave you something for the nausea, but they want you to rest here before we take you home. You've been pushing yourself too hard with the board meetings, Diane. I told you it was too much."
I looked at him. Really looked at him.
For sixteen years, I had thought I was looking at a partner. Now, I saw exactly what he was: a parasite disguised as a pillar.
"Rachel is outside," Mark continued, his voice lowering into a gentle, reassuring hum. "She’s handling the donors so you don't have to worry. But honey, with the quarterly vote tomorrow morning... the board needs a signature to authorize the new vendor contracts. Since you’re in no condition to go into the office, I had Rachel print out a temporary medical proxy. Just so I can handle the vote while you recover."
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He reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and produced a folded piece of heavy stock paper and a silver pen.
It was breathtaking. The sheer, unadulterated audacity of it. He had slipped something into my sparkling water, waited for my knees to buckle in front of two hundred people, and now, while the metallic taste of a sedative still coated my tongue, he was handing me the pen to sign away my father's legacy.
