I did not know what to do with her apology. It was not the thing I needed most, but it was something.
“Why are you telling me this now?”
“Because I’m afraid I helped him,” she said. “And because when he asked me to lie last night, I realized he wasn’t asking me to protect him from you. He was asking me to become part of what he did to you.”
She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a small keycard.
“I took this from his desk.”
Daniel’s brows drew together. “What is it?”
“Access card. Private office. Not at the company. At the foundation.”
The Mitchell Family Foundation.
The polished charity Evelyn paraded at galas. Medical scholarships. Research grants. Hospital wings named after dead relatives and generous donors. I had attended those events like a quiet shadow, smiling for photographs, shaking hands, letting Jason introduce me as his “inspiration” while keeping my actual work buried beneath his name.
