Chapter 6 - The Friend I Wanted to Hate
Blake chose an unfinished condominium tower near Lake Michigan.
His project.
Of course.
Half-built luxury units overlooking frozen water.
Concrete floors.
Plastic sheeting.
No residents.
Enough entrances to make law enforcement miserable.
He instructed me to come alone.
I arrived wearing a wire with twelve officers positioned around the site.
Apparently none of us had become particularly obedient.
The deed in my bag was fake.
The transfer agreement was real but unsigned.
Ryan hated that I went in.
I hated that he stayed outside.
Healthy relationships, I was discovering, still involved fear.
They simply removed the illusion that fear gave you ownership over another person.
The elevator was not operational.
I climbed six floors.
Blake waited inside what would eventually become a penthouse.
Olivia sat in a chair.
Hands bound.
Lip split.
Alive.
Relief nearly dropped me.
“Emma.”
Her voice broke.
I looked at her.
Twenty-two years.
Sleepovers.
College apartments.
My wedding.
Her failed wedding.
My father’s funeral.
My miscarriage.
Money.
Resentment.
Love.
Lies.
All of it sat between us.
“Hi.”
She started crying.
I couldn’t yet.
Blake stepped forward.
“Documents.”
I held the folder.
“Olivia first.”
“You’re not in a position to negotiate.”
“Neither are you.”
His face changed.
“You don’t own a clean property anymore.”
“I own enough.”
“The state knows about the contamination.”
“I know.”
“My father’s tape is with police.”
“I know.”
“Price is cooperating.”
That landed.
Blake’s expression tightened.
“You’re lying.”
“No.”
Olivia stared at me.
I continued.
“He told them what you did to my father.”
Blake looked genuinely angry for the first time.
“Daniel Price is a coward.”
“He learned from you.”
He crossed the space between us.
“Give me the transfer.”
“No.”
He hit me.
Hard.
I fell.
Olivia screamed.
Pain exploded across my cheek.
Blake grabbed the folder.
Opened it.
Saw the unsigned document.
His face transformed.
“You stupid—”
Olivia kicked the chair backward into him.
He stumbled.
I moved.
Not heroically.
Not gracefully.
I grabbed the nearest object.
A metal level.
Swung.
It struck his forearm.
He shouted.
A gun appeared in his hand.
Everything stopped.
Olivia went silent.
I dropped the level.
Blake breathed hard.
“Enough.”
Outside, police could hear everything.
But entering too early risked Olivia.
I needed time.
“So this is how my father died?”
Blake froze.
I saw it.
Ego.
Always ego.
“He fought harder than you.”
“Did he?”
“Yes.”
“Did he know you were going to poison him?”
His eyes changed.
Olivia stared.
Blake smiled.
“By the time he understood, it didn’t matter.”
There.
Confession.
Not enough alone.
But something.
“You watched?”
“I gave him a choice.”
My stomach turned.
“What choice?”
“Sign the warehouse over or wait for help.”
Olivia made a sound.
Horror.
I forced myself to keep him talking.
“He refused.”
“Of course.”
“Then you waited.”
“He made a principle out of dirt and old concrete.”
“No.”
My voice steadied.
“He made a principle out of not letting you own him.”
Blake’s hand tightened around the gun.
“He died.”
“Yes.”
“And I’m still here.”
“For now.”
The gun moved toward me.
Then Olivia screamed.
“Blake!”
He turned.
She stood.
Somehow she had loosened one wrist.
She launched herself at him.
The gun fired.
Police entered.
Noise.
Shouting.
Ryan’s voice somewhere.
Blake fell beneath three officers.
Olivia hit the floor.
I crawled toward her.
Blood.
Her shoulder.
“Olivia.”
She looked at me.
“I’m sorry.”
“Shut up.”
“I mean it.”
“Save it.”
“Emma—”
“You are not dying after twenty-two years just to avoid the conversation we need to have.”
She laughed once.
Then cried.
Paramedics arrived.
The bullet passed through soft tissue.
No major artery.
Olivia survived.
Blake Warren was arrested.
For attempted murder.
Kidnapping.
Fraud.
Extortion.
And, eventually, the murder of Daniel Mercer.
The story should have ended there.
It didn’t.
Because surviving danger is not the same as surviving truth.
Olivia spent four days in the hospital.
Police guarded her room.
She agreed to cooperate.
Her attorney advised silence.
She ignored him when I arrived.
“You came.”
“I haven’t decided whether that was smart.”
She smiled weakly.
“I deserve that.”
I sat.
For several seconds, we looked at each other.
No Blake.
No Ryan.
No crisis.
Just us.
“What did you do?” I asked.
“All of it?”
“Yes.”
She took a breath.
She met Blake eight months earlier.
At a fundraiser.
He pursued her.
Flowers.
Trips.
Dinner.
Attention.
He asked about Northline casually.
She answered casually.
Then he offered to help with Susan’s care costs.
Olivia resisted.
He transferred money anyway through what he called a family foundation.
She accepted.
That decision created leverage.
Then came vendor introductions.
Ridgeway.
Daniel Price.
Mark.
Olivia encouraged Northline to use them.
She believed Blake wanted a legitimate connection to our development work.
Then he asked questions about approval procedures.
Electronic signatures.
My travel schedule.
Ryan’s security habits.
She answered.
Not because she wanted to hurt me.
Because she wanted to impress him.
The difference mattered emotionally.
Not legally.
“When did you know something was wrong?”
“The first fake invoice.”
“You knew?”
“I suspected.”
“And said nothing.”
“I asked Blake.”
“What did he say?”
“That Warren Urban had prepaid Ridgeway and Northline was reimbursing shared work.”
“You believed that?”
“I wanted to.”
There it was.
Most dangerous sentence in the world.
“What did you sign?”
“Three vendor certifications.”
“Knowing the work hadn’t happened?”
“The first one, no.”
“And the others?”
She looked away.
“Yes.”
My chest tightened.
“Why?”
“He said he would expose the trust payment as a kickback.”
“So you committed fraud to hide another thing you were ashamed of.”
“Yes.”
“And then?”
“I found the shell company.”
“How?”
“Mark left paperwork on his desk.”
“You searched his office.”
“Yes.”
“Then Ryan’s.”
“Yes.”
“I can’t defend you from this.”
“I know.”
“I don’t know if I want to.”
“I know.”
Olivia cried.
Not beautifully.
Her face twisted.
Mascara wasn’t relevant because she wasn’t wearing any.
“I hated you sometimes.”
I stared.
She continued.
“I loved you more.”
“What does that even mean?”
“It means every time you saved me, I loved you and hated that I needed saving.”
My eyes filled.
“You could have told me.”
“I didn’t know how.”
“You start with words.”
“I know.”
“You think I never envied you?”
She blinked.
“What?”
“You had no company depending on you.”
“You had money.”
“I had 146 payroll obligations.”
“You had Ryan.”
“I nearly lost him.”
“You had your father.”
“He lied to me for twenty-five years and got murdered because of it.”
Olivia cried harder.
I leaned back.
“I am not saying my life was worse.”
“I know.”
“I’m saying you were comparing the outside of my life to the inside of yours.”
She covered her face.
“So were you.”
That stopped me.
“What?”
“You thought I was carefree because I didn’t have Northline.”
She lowered her hands.
“You thought helping me financially meant you understood how humiliating it was to need it.”
I wanted to argue.
I didn’t.
Because she was right.
Not about everything.
Enough.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
She stared.
“For what?”
“For making help feel like hierarchy.”
Her mouth trembled.
“I’m sorry for using that resentment to justify lying.”
We sat there.
No forgiveness.
Not yet.
Something more difficult.
Accuracy.
Before leaving, I asked the question I had avoided.
“Did you ever want Ryan?”
Olivia closed her eyes.
“Six years ago.”
“He told me.”
“I kissed him.”
“Yes.”
“He stopped me.”
“Yes.”
“I was drunk.”
“That isn’t an excuse.”
“I know.”
“Did anything else happen?”
“No.”
“Did you want it to?”
“At the time?”
“Yes.”
She cried.
“Maybe.”
I looked away.
“Why?”
“Because you had something secure.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Our marriage was terrible that year.”
“I know that now.”
“At the time?”
“You looked secure.”
Again.
Outside versus inside.
“Do you still want him?”
“No.”
“That answer was fast.”
“Because I learned the difference between wanting someone and wanting what their life seems to prove about you.”
I looked at her.
“That was almost wise.”
“I’ve been shot. It improved me.”
I laughed despite myself.
Then immediately hated that I laughed.
She smiled.
For one second, my best friend returned.
Then reality did.
“You may go to prison,” I said.
“I know.”
“I won’t lie for you.”
“I know.”
“I won’t hide what you did.”
“I don’t want you to.”
“And I don’t know whether we can be friends again.”
Her eyes filled.
“I know.”
I stood.
At the door, she called my name.
“Emma.”
I turned.
“When Blake told me to choose between protecting myself and telling you the truth…”
She swallowed.
“I chose myself.”
“I know.”
“I wish I hadn’t.”
I nodded.
May you like
“So do I.”
Then I left.
