Page 105 of Six Month Wife
The smile fades by a degree, but he gestures toward the chair across from him like he’s doing me a favor. “Let me guess. Adair?”
I stay standing. “You know why I’m here. The article. The PR stunt. The damage to her name, her business, everything she’s built. Why the fuck did you do that?”
He tips his head back and stares at the ceiling like I’ve disappointed him. “You’re looking at this emotionally. I was protecting you and our family’s legacy. You wouldn't listen to reason, so I had to take it upon myself.”
“No. You did whatyoualways do—control the narrative, no matter who gets crushed in the process.”
“She would have done it to you if you hadn't done it first,” he says. “It was a business transaction, not a real marriage. Surely you understand that.”
“You're a miserable person,” I snap. “You see everything as a win-lose. You keep telling me not to look at things emotionally. You need to try it for a change. You hurt her, and you didn't have to do that to get your rocks off. You have plenty of money and control without inserting yourself into this.”
His gaze sharpens. “So what do you want from me? Did you come here to scold me?”
I step forward. “A full public statement. Not spin. Not damage control.Accountability. You’re going to retract the article. You’re going to take responsibility. And you’re going to clear her name.”
Leeland leans back, eyes narrowing slightly. “And if I don’t?”
My jaw tightens. “Then you lose the one thing you care about more than control—your reputation. I’ll go to the media myself. And trust me, I won’t be as generous with the narrative.”
He leans back in his chair like a king still holding court, but I see the twitch in his jaw. “So, what is this? You come storming in here to lecture me?”
“No,” I say, voice steady. “I came to make you fix what you broke.”
“You mean the article?” he says with that patronizing smirk I’ve hated since I was old enough to recognize what manipulation smells like. “That wasn’t personal. It was strategic.”
“No,” I say again, stepping closer. “It was calculated cruelty. And now, you're going to retract it. Publicly. No spin. No PR bandage. A real statement, admitting it was you.”
His eyes narrow. “And if I don’t?”
I give him a moment. Let the silence build.
“I’ll go public,” I say, calm and low. “With everything.Starting with the fact that you’re sleeping with Judge Marianne Lockhart.”
There it is. The crack. Subtle, but clean. His breath stills. His spine stiffens. The kind of reaction a man gives when he realizes someone touched the live wire he thought was buried deep.
He lets out a low, humorless laugh. “Marianne Lockhart? You have an active imagination, son. I’ve had clients accused of worse in divorce filings. Doesn’t mean it’s true.”
I don't blink. “You’re right. Allegations aren’t proof. But the private townhome in Georgetown you keep under a shell corp, the one listed in her clerk’s name? That's in black and white. And I've got a copy of the shell corp minutes, showing you as the co-director.”
His eyes narrow, but his smile doesn’t falter. “Now you’re reading too many Reddit threads.”
“You’ve been seen entering that townhouse more than a dozen times in the last year. Never with security. Never with staff. Always late. Always alone. Always before or after Judge Lockhart does.”
He doesn’t flinch. Instead, he adjusts the cuff of his shirt like we’re discussing weather patterns. “I do a lot of business off the clock.”
I nod slowly. “So does Marianne. Like scheduling your cases to always fall on her docket. Like pushing those lobbying-friendly settlements through in half the time. Like that cozy little dinner party two weeks ago, the two of you and her husband. Must’ve been awkward.”
His jaw ticks. A muscle jumps beneath his temple.
"It isn't unusual for me to have dinner with Pete Lockhart and his wife. That isn't inappropriate. Stop trying to make something out of nothing."
I put the screws in. “Good 'ol Pete. His companyhandled the PR for your last ethics panel appearance. And he’s the father of your godson, isn’t he?”
Nothing. But his silence is louder than a confession.
“I don’t care who you sleep with, Dad,” I say, voice flat. “But you built your life on the illusion of control. On reputation. That pristine legal veneer? It shatters real fast if this story breaks. And I’ll break it myself if you don’t fix what you did to Adair.”
His expression darkens, but he doesn’t interrupt.
