The Woman He Erased

I used to think the worst thing Damian Cross ever did to me was believing his mother over his wife. I was wrong. It was the ease with which he did it. Five years later, I'm standing outside a glass boardroom on the fortieth floor of Cross Tower, and my hands aren't shaking. The last time I stood in a place like this, waiting to find out if there wasn't a more permanent job opening after all, I'd thrown up in a bathroom sink and cried into a towel so no one would hear me through the walls. Today I get to do the choosing. "Ms. Voss." Priya, my assistant, fusses with my sleeve as she comes to my side. "They're ready for you." Not Voss. Not anymore. Technically. I buried the other name five years ago, the same week I buried everything else. The doors opened and twelve executives turned their heads as if expecting to see something formal, a customary courtesy for the new majority shareholder in the room, before they returned to whatever it was they were discussing before my arrival. I recognize some of the faces, but none of them seem to know who I am. save one. Damian is at the head of the table, and for an instant, before he sees me, I see the ghost of a man who walked away from me in daylight five years ago. His jaw doesn't move, but his hands tighten slightly on the edge of the table, so subtly that it almost seemed involuntary. He looks at me, then past me, at some point just behind my left shoulder, his eyes going very far away for half a second. As if he expects the floor to open up and swallow him whole. "Elena." His voice is odd, unfamiliar to me, like an old language he once spoke better than he does now. "Mr. Cross," I say, my voice even and cool, as if we're meeting for the first time. "I believe congratulations are in order. Or perhaps condolences? I'm still trying to decide which." Some of the older men in the room clear their throats, but no one seems ready to ask the obvious question as to what I'm talking about. "Voss Holdings officially finalized the purchase of eighteen percent of Cross Industries shares this morning at six a.m.," I say, sliding the folder file across the table, not because anyone is likely to spend that much time reading it, but for effect, and because the man who made me his best friend deserves a little show. "Combined with the other shares I've quietly purchased over the last five years, it seems I'm now your largest shareholder." His composure finally fails him, and for the first time, a real emotion crosses his face, though it's carefully masked. "You've been buying shares. For how long?" "Right after the divorce," I say simply, letting the unspoken words hang between us, the words that weren't said five years ago, because he left me with nothing. "I had plenty of free time while your mother made sure no one in this city would give me a second chance." The room falls completely silent, save for the hum of the air conditioner. "This is not about the company," Damian finally says quietly. I smile at that, a slow, unpleasant twist of my lips that makes no one want to ask what's really on my mind. "Everything is about the company, Damian. You taught me that." I gathered my folder and turned to leave, and with my parting shot, I delivered the one thing I came prepared to say: the only reason I came here in the first place, the words I practiced in the mirror until I thought I'd gone mad. "I'll see you at the shareholder meeting next month. Say hello to your mother. I've missed her." And I leave him to it, alone in the conference room, because now it's his turn to wait. It isn't until I'm standing in the elevator alone, the doors pressing tight against their seals, that my hands begin to shake.