Chapter 15 - The Second Betrayal
Merritt called Sloan.
“Come over.”
Sloan arrived within thirty minutes.
Merritt placed printed screenshots on the table.
Sloan stopped.
“Oh.”
“That’s all?”
“I was going to tell you.”
“When?”
“I don’t know.”
“You told me you thought Dad said I agreed.”
“I wanted that to be true.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“I know.”
“Stop saying you know.”
Sloan flinched.
Merritt tapped the page.
“What does ‘she’ll freak if she finds out’ mean?”
Sloan said nothing.
“Look at me.”
Sloan did.
“You knew I didn’t authorize the venue charge.”
“I knew you didn’t know.”
“That is the same thing.”
“I thought Dad had some arrangement.”
“With my company card?”
“I didn’t know it was your company card.”
Merritt leaned back.
“Then what did you think ‘before her statement’ meant?”
Sloan’s eyes filled.
“I thought he was using one of your accounts.”
Merritt stared.
“You thought our father stole from my personal account, and you were fine with it?”
“No.”
“You kept planning the wedding.”
“I thought he was borrowing.”
“Without asking me.”
Sloan covered her face.
Merritt felt the anger become cleaner.
Less confused.
This was not all Blythe.
Not all Judson.
Sloan had agency.
Privilege had trained her to believe that if someone else absorbed the cost, the cost did not exist.
“You didn’t want to know,” Merritt said.
Sloan lowered her hands.
“No.”
That answer mattered.
Merritt waited.
Sloan cried silently.
“I didn’t want to know because if I knew, I’d have to cancel things.”
There it was.
Not coercion.
Convenience.
Merritt’s voice softened, which somehow made Sloan cry harder.
“You traded my consent for centerpieces.”
“I know.”
“Stop.”
Sloan nodded quickly.
Merritt continued.
“You traded my job for a venue.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You traded my trust for a wedding you couldn’t afford.”
“I’m sorry.”
“And then when my brace made the pictures less perfect, you hit it.”
Sloan’s face collapsed.
“I am sorry.”
Merritt looked at her sister.
She wanted Sloan to suffer enough to balance the pain.
But suffering did not work that way.
There was no amount that restored cartilage, trust, or lost weeks.
“What did Detective Brooks say?”
“That the prosecutor will decide the charge.”
“Are you getting a lawyer?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Sloan looked startled.
Merritt continued.
“You need one. And you need to stop asking me to manage what happens to you.”
“I’m not asking.”
“Not yet.”
Sloan looked down.
Merritt slid the screenshots back into the folder.
“Thatcher?”
“He won’t speak to me.”
“That’s his choice.”
“I know.”
Merritt almost reacted, then saw Sloan catch herself.
Sloan gave a miserable half-smile.
“Sorry.”
They sat quietly.
Then Sloan said, “Mom moved out.”
Merritt looked up.
“From the Bristol house?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“A hotel.”
“Why?”
“She and Dad had a fight after Peter talked.”
Merritt felt no satisfaction.
“What happened?”
“Dad blamed her for keeping too many records.”
Of course.
Not for participating.
For documenting.
“He said if she’d done what he told her, none of this could be proven.”
Merritt’s skin went cold.
“Did she tell you that?”
“Yes.”
“Did you record it?”
Sloan blinked.
“No.”
“Start thinking like someone whose family rewrites conversations.”
Sloan absorbed that.
Then quietly said, “You’ve been doing that for a long time.”
Merritt looked at her.
“Yes.”
“I thought you were paranoid.”
“So did I sometimes.”
Sloan wiped her cheeks.
“I’m beginning to understand why.”
When Sloan left, Merritt did not feel closer to her.
But she felt more accurately distant.
There was relief in that.
False closeness had required constant editing.
Truth allowed space.
That night, Merritt received an email from ArcLight.
Daniel Cho requested a final interview.
Subject line:
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Merritt’s hands shook before she opened it.
