Sloane wanted to satisfy him.
She manufactured professional incompetence.
Camden avoided questions because the evidence benefited him.
I looked at my husband.
“Did you ask her to build a case against me?”
“Elena—”
“Did you?”
He stayed silent.
His silence answered.
The directors had heard enough.
I hadn’t finished.
“Why before the succession vote?”
Camden rubbed a hand over his face.
For once, he looked weary instead of commanding.
“You were becoming unpredictable.”
I fixed my gaze on him.
“How?”
“You questioned decisions publicly.”
“I disagreed with you twice.”
“You challenged Sloane’s campaign projections.”
“They were inflated.”
Sloane recoiled.
“You contacted August without telling me.”
“He called me after my mother died.”
“You maintained relationships with directors independently.”
“They were my relationships too.”
His voice rose.
“That is exactly what I’m talking about!”
The room fell silent.
Too late, Camden recognized his admission.
I felt no triumph.
