Three Years' Farewell

Chapter 4: Money Gone, Trust Broken

For the next few days, life looked almost normal from the outside.

Olivia still woke early to make breakfast. She still ironed Anderson's shirts and packed him a lunch on the days he said he would be too busy to eat out. From a distance, they were simply a quiet married couple.

Only Olivia knew how much effort it took to act as if nothing had changed.

On the third morning after her father's surgery, Anderson came out of the bedroom fastening his cuffs. She set a plate of toast and eggs on the table and poured coffee into his mug.

“Coffee?" she asked.

“Mm." He sat, eyes already on his phone.

“Did your finance team look at my father's company?" she asked, keeping her tone light.

“They're still going through everything," he replied without looking up. “It takes time."

Olivia wrapped her hands around her own mug. “These past few days the suppliers have been calling nonstop," she said quietly. “Banks, small creditors… everyone wants their money. I keep telling them we're arranging funds, but they don't really believe me."

“Then stop answering every call," Anderson said. “Let the staff handle it."

“It's Dad's company," she murmured. “They trust him. They're scared."

He took a bite of toast. His calm tone should have reassured her, but it slid over her like oil on water. The knot in her chest only tightened.

If he really transfers the money, she thought, Dad's company might survive this storm. Her mother could breathe again. The creditors would back off. Her father would not wake from surgery only to watch his life's work collapse in front of him.

And if Anderson chose Ava after that… if he wanted to go back to the girl he had never truly let go of… then so be it.

As long as he pulled her father out of the fire, she told herself, she would have no right to hold on to him. That could be her repayment to her father, and his repayment to hers. After the debt between the two men was finally balanced, she would let Anderson walk away if that was what he wanted.

But none of this could be said out loud.

“Anderson," she said instead, forcing a small smile, “about the funds… do you have an idea when they might be transferred? The suppliers keep asking for a date. If I could tell them something concrete, it would calm them down."

He finally looked up from his phone. “Why are you in such a rush?" he asked. “I already said I'd help. Do you think I'm lying to you?"

“That's not what I meant," Olivia said quickly. “I just… the hospital, the creditors… everything is piling up at once. I'm trying to buy Dad a little peace."

“I'm handling it," Anderson said, his voice flattening. “Don't hover over me like this. I have a company to run. I can't drop everything just because your side is panicking."

The words stung, but she swallowed them.

“I'm not trying to pressure you," she said softly. “I just need to know whether we're talking about days or weeks. The difference means a lot to them."

His brows drew together. “You really don't trust me at all, do you? I said I'd arrange it. Can't you wait without asking the same question every five minutes?"

Olivia lowered her eyes. “Sorry," she murmured. “I'll stop asking."

He pushed his chair back and stood, grabbing his jacket. His coffee sat barely touched.

“I've got meetings," he said. “Don't stay up late waiting for me tonight."

The door closed with a solid click.

Olivia sat alone at the table, staring at the empty chair opposite her. The thin steam rising from his untouched mug curled once and disappeared.

If he helps Dad, she thought, that will be enough. After that, I'll let him go.

At the hospital, her father remained in intensive care. Machines beeped steadily beside his bed. Her mother waited outside the ICU doors every day, fingers clenched around paper cups of coffee that always went cold.

“Any news from Anderson?" she asked whenever Olivia arrived.

“He's arranging it," Olivia would answer, forcing a smile. “Don't worry, Mom. I won't let the company fall."

But every night, back in the apartment with the lights off, she opened her banking app.

No new transfers.

At the office, the phones never stopped ringing. Some suppliers were polite, some angry; all of them wanted the same thing.

“We need to see payment this week."

“We've waited long enough, Ms. White."

“We've worked with your father for years, but we have our own bills."

Olivia stood by the window with the receiver pressed to her ear, repeating the same lines over and over.

“We're arranging funds. Please give us a few more days."

“I understand. I'll get back to you as soon as the money comes in."

“I'm truly sorry."

When she hung up, the silence in her office felt heavier than the noise. Outside the glass, traffic crawled past beneath a bright winter sun, as if nothing in the world was wrong.

On Friday morning, another curt email from a major supplier landed in her inbox. As she read the words “final extension," something inside her finally snapped.

Waiting wasn't going to save anyone. If Anderson truly meant to help, he had to act now.

She grabbed her bag and left the office, barely hearing the greetings from the staff as she passed.

Anderson's company towered over the street, glass and steel catching the pale light. As she walked through the revolving doors, the familiar chill of the lobby air conditioning washed over her.

The receptionist straightened at once.

“Mrs. Gray," the young woman said quickly. “Good morning."

“Morning," Olivia replied, managing a small smile. “Is Anderson in his office?"

The receptionist hesitated. “Mr. Gray… hasn't come in yet today."

Olivia frowned. “What about yesterday?"

“He left early," the receptionist said carefully. “I'm not sure where he went."

Of course you're not, Olivia thought.

She kept her voice even. “Could I speak to his secretary, then?"

“Of course." The receptionist picked up the phone, spoke briefly, then pointed toward the elevators. “Twelfth floor. Ms. Lane is expecting you."

On the twelfth floor, Anderson's glass-walled office stood at the end of the corridor, blinds half-drawn. His secretary, a neat woman in her thirties, stepped out to greet her.

“Mrs. Gray," she said with a professional smile. “How can I help you?"

“I wanted to ask about a transfer," Olivia said. “My father's company is waiting for funds Anderson promised to arrange this week. The creditors are pressing. I need to know when the money will be sent."

Ms. Lane's smile faltered. “I'm not sure about the exact details," she admitted. “But I do know a large sum was withdrawn from the company account two days ago into Mr. Gray's personal account. I assumed he had already discussed it with you."

Into his personal account.

Olivia's fingertips went numb.

“He didn't mention it," she managed.

“I'm sorry," the secretary said quickly. “Maybe he hasn't had time. Mr. Gray has been very busy recently."

Busy.

“Yes," Olivia murmured. “I know."

She thanked Ms. Lane and stepped back into the corridor. The air felt thinner here, as if someone had quietly taken most of the oxygen away.

She moved to the side, out of the flow of passing employees, and pulled out her phone.

The first call rang until it went to voicemail.

So did the second.

And the third.

On the fifth attempt, he finally picked up.

“What now?" Anderson's voice came sharp through the speaker. “I told you I'm in an important meeting."

“Where are you?" Olivia asked.

“I just said," he snapped. “In the conference room. At the office. Why are you calling again and again? Didn't we talk about this?"

“I'm at your office," Olivia said calmly. “Your secretary just told me no one has seen you all day."

There was a brief pause. When he spoke again, his voice was colder.

“So now you're checking my movements?" he asked. “Following me around?"

“I didn't follow you," she said. “I came because the company can't wait anymore. Suppliers and creditors are calling every hour. You promised to help this week. I asked your secretary about the transfer, and she told me a large sum was already moved into your personal account."

“That's my business," Anderson said. “I don't have to report every transaction to you."

“When you gave me your word you would help my father, it stopped being only your business," Olivia replied. Her voice stayed level, though she could hear the faint tremor in it. “I told my parents you would save the company. I've been asking everyone to hold on a little longer because of that promise."

He let out a short, humorless laugh. “You really think because I agreed to help, you can question me like this? Demand to know where I am every second?"

“I only want one thing," she said. “For you to transfer the money you promised. After that, I won't interfere in your life again."

The words came out quieter than she expected, but they landed between them like a stone.

On the other end of the line, his breathing slowed.

“You won't interfere?" he repeated.

“No," Olivia said. “You can go wherever you want. See whoever you want. Do whatever you want. As long as you keep your promise to my father."

Silence stretched, filled only by the faint hum of air conditioning and the murmur of distant voices.

When Anderson spoke again, his tone had lost some of its sharpness.

“Olivia," he said. “About the money for your father's company… I can't give it to him after all."

Her heart seemed to stop. “What do you mean, you can't?"

He hesitated, then exhaled. “Ava wants to come back to the city and start a business," he said slowly. “I've just promised to invest in her company. The funds I could spare have already been committed."

For a moment, Olivia couldn't find her voice.

“So the money you withdrew," she said at last, her throat tight, “the money you were going to use to help my father… you've decided to use it for her instead?"

“I'm not discussing this over the phone," Anderson said. “I've made my decision. We'll talk later."

The line clicked, dropping into a flat, indifferent silence.

Olivia lowered the phone, fingers numb, standing alone in the bright corridor of his building as the world she had been trying so hard to hold together tilted beneath her feet.