Chapter 5 - The Night Flynn Came to My Mother’s Door
Three nights later, Flynn appeared at the Cambridge townhouse.
It was raining.
Of course.
Apparently major emotional disasters prefer weather.
Clara was asleep upstairs.
I opened the door but did not invite him inside.
He looked older.
Not dramatically.
Just stripped of the polish that money usually gave him.
“Mabel.”
“What happened?”
“I need to talk to you.”
“About the company?”
“No.”
I waited.
“About Clara.”
That changed things.
I stepped aside.
He entered.
We sat in my father’s old study.
Flynn looked around.
Then he saw the blue folder.
His face changed.
“Charles left that?”
“Yes.”
“I wondered.”
“You knew there was something?”
“He told me once that if I ever made you financially dependent on me, he would ‘correct the mistake.’”
Despite myself, I almost smiled.
“That sounds like him.”
Flynn looked at the chair where my father used to sit.
“He never liked me.”
“He liked you at first.”
Flynn looked surprised.
“He did.”
“Then why—”
“Because he noticed things.”
“What things?”
“The way you interrupted me.”
Flynn went quiet.
“The way you took credit for work I helped with.”
Silence.
“The way I started asking permission to buy things with money that used to be mine.”
His face tightened.
“I didn’t realize—”
“No.”
I cut him off.
“That sentence has become your entire personality.”
He accepted it.
That was new.
“I told Clara I’d pick her up tomorrow.”
“Yes.”
“She asked why we aren’t living together.”
“What did you say?”
“That I hurt you.”
I looked at him.
“That’s more honest than I expected.”
“I didn’t tell her about Selina.”
“Good.”
“She asked if I’m coming home.”
My throat tightened.
“What did you say?”
“That home is where you feel safe.”
I looked away.
“She learned that from you.”
Flynn nodded.
“She said you told her.”
We sat quietly.
Then he took out a folder.
My body immediately tensed.
“What is that?”
“Financial disclosures.”
I stared.
“All accounts.”
“Why?”
“Rebecca asked.”
“You could have sent them.”
“I wanted to give them to you.”
“That sounds dangerously close to performance.”
He nodded.
“Maybe.”
At least he admitted it.
I opened the folder.
Bank accounts.
Brokerage.
Real estate.
Deferred compensation.
Private investments.
Much more than I had known.
Then one page stopped me.
Selina-related spending.
Two years.
Total:
$684,390.
I almost felt numb.
Apartment.
Trips.
Jewelry.
Restaurants.
Clothes.
Bonuses.
Private flights.
I thought of soup.
Coupon apps.
Telling Clara we would wait until next month to buy new ballet shoes because her old ones “still had life.”
“Why?”
Flynn looked at his hands.
“There isn’t an answer that makes me look better.”
“Try one that is true.”
He inhaled.
“With you, I felt judged.”
My face hardened.
He continued quickly.
“Not because you judged me.”
That stopped me.
“Because you knew me.”
I stared.
“You knew when I was pretending.”
His voice became quieter.
“You remembered me before Vance Global mattered. Before the money. Before people listened when I walked into rooms.”
“And Selina?”
“She admired everything.”
“Of course.”
“She made me feel successful all the time.”
“And I made you feel accountable.”
“Yes.”
The honesty hurt.
But there was something almost relieving in hearing it.
He had not cheated because I failed to be exciting enough.
He cheated because admiration asked less of him than intimacy.
Flynn continued.
“I controlled money because it was easier than admitting I was afraid you’d realize you were better at parts of my world than I was.”
I stared.
“You gave your wife eighteen hundred dollars a month because you were insecure?”
His eyes filled.
“When you say it like that—”
“How else should I say it?”
“There isn’t another way.”
Good.
I closed the folder.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Therapy.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“I started yesterday.”
That surprised me more than the financial disclosures.
“Why?”
“Because Elaine told me if I spent another meeting blaming everyone else, she would personally recommend the board remove me.”
I laughed.
Flynn almost smiled.
Then became serious.
“And because I don’t want Clara learning this from me.”
“What?”
“That money is how men control women.”
The room went quiet.
That landed.
Clara.
Always the part that made everything real.
Flynn looked toward the stairs.
“I watched my father do it to my mother.”
I knew Flynn’s parents had divorced when he was twelve.
I did not know details.
“He gave her envelopes.”
My skin prickled.
“For groceries?”
“Yes.”
“Exactly like you did to me.”
He closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
“And you hated him.”
“Yes.”
I felt something complicated move through me.
Not forgiveness.
Understanding.
Dangerous if confused with forgiveness.
“Flynn.”
He looked at me.
“You repeating your father’s behavior explains it.”
He nodded.
“It does not excuse it.”
“I know.”
“Good.”
I handed the disclosures back.
“I’m filing for legal separation Monday.”
His face changed.
He looked as though I had struck him.
“I thought—”
“No.”
“What?”
“I need financial boundaries, custody structure, and space that does not depend on your mood.”
He stared at me.
“Divorce?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Hope appeared again.
I hated it.
“Do not build a fantasy around that answer.”
His eyes lowered.
“I won’t.”
“Clara stays primarily with me for now.”
“I want equal time.”
“Then earn reliability.”
His jaw tightened from instinct.
I saw the old Flynn.
Then he exhaled.
“What does that mean?”
“Be where you say.”
“Okay.”
“Do not send assistants.”
“Okay.”
“Do not cancel because of work unless someone is actually dying.”
“Okay.”
“And restore every dollar to Clara’s education account.”
“Already done.”
I looked up.
“When?”
“This morning.”
That mattered.
Not enough.
But something.
Before Flynn left, he stopped beside my father’s desk.
“Charles was right.”
“About what?”
“He should have protected you from me.”
I looked at him.
“No.”
Flynn frowned.
“My father protected my choices.”
He waited.
“I’m the one protecting myself now.”
Flynn nodded.
Then left.
At 11:40 p.m., Rebecca called.
“We have a problem.”
I looked toward the door Flynn had just closed.
“What?”
“Selina disappeared.”
My stomach tightened.
“Where?”
“We don’t know.”
“What about Northstar?”
“Accounts emptied.”
“How much?”
“Just under nineteen million remains unaccounted for.”
I stood.
“Did she leave the country?”
“Possibly.”
Then Rebecca said the part that changed everything.
“And Mabel?”
“Yes?”
“She sent a file to Atherton Equity before disappearing.”
“What file?”
“A whistleblower packet.”
My heart started pounding.
“What does it say?”
“That Flynn personally directed the entire diversion scheme.”
I closed my eyes.
“Evidence?”
“Documents.”
“Real?”
“Some.”
“Some?”
Rebecca’s voice tightened.
“She mixed authentic records with fabricated ones.”
I looked toward the rain.
Selina had not simply stolen money.
She planned to make Flynn carry the criminal liability.
And if investors believed her—
May you like
Vance Global might collapse before we ever proved the truth.
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