“The contract number doesn’t match the appendix,” Caleb said seriously. “There’s a seven where there should be a four.”
Vanessa gave a small laugh.
“Poor thing. He’s so obsessive.”
That word burned deeper than any insult.
Caleb wasn’t broken. He wasn’t slow. He wasn’t less than anyone else. His mind simply worked differently—quiet, exact, brilliant in places where adults were blind. But Nathan had never wanted to see that. To him, a son should run into his arms, yell during football games, smile for cameras, and clap during speeches. Caleb preferred memorizing license plates, light patterns, and number columns.
I closed the folder without signing.
“No.”
Nathan leaned toward me.
“No?”
“I’m not signing today.”
His face changed. He no longer looked like the polished businessman from the magazine covers.
He looked like an angry man whose possession had just disobeyed him.
“Olivia, you have no idea what you’re doing.”
I met his eyes.
“That’s exactly what you said six years ago when I corrected your financial statements.”
Vanessa stopped smiling.
Nathan tightened his jaw.
“You were my wife. Not my business partner.”
“That was your first mistake.”
