Chapter 528

Chapter 528:

Easing my own mind was harder.

I sat on a bench in a park and called Yvaine.

I heard the wind howling in the background and asked, “Where are you p>

“Courchevel!” she shouted over the wind. “Skiing with Cade p>

“Want to come to Paris? I’ll be your tour guide p>

“No thanks for the tour. I’ve been there too many times. But I’ll come, since you’re my bestie. Want to show me your wedding dress? Don’t tell me you still haven’t picked one p>

“I have. Sort of. That’s part of why I want you to come. You have impeccable taste p>

“I do. What’s the other part p>

I told her briefly about Valmont & Cie’s crisis and said I needed her advice. “Sure, I’ll come and offer my two cents’ worth. But you know business isn’t my thing. That’s my brother’s forte. I can ask him to join the consult if you want. But the person you should really ask is Ashton. He’s your partner in more than one sense p>

“I know.” I sighed.

After ending the call, I rang Ashton.

I still didn’t know how to face him, knowing that Franklin had died in prison.

Yes, it was suicide, but he wouldn’t have been there if not for Ashton.

Was it unfair to blame him, though?

He’d done it for me, after all.

Franklin had tried to cheat me out of my inheritance, and he had committed those crimes.

And after seeing how Ashton had dealt with his own father and stepmother, who were far more scheming than Franklin, I knew he’d actually been lenient.

He’d only wanted to protect me.

Still, Franklin was my father. I couldn’t help but lay part of the blame for his death on Ashton.

𝗟𝗲𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝙙𝗶𝙨𝗰𝗼𝙫𝗲𝗿𝙮 𝗯𝗲𝗴𝗶𝗻: gⱯ𝗅𝗇𝗈ν𝖊𝗅𝘀⩷⪻𝖼𝗈𝗺

Those thoughts swirled in my head as I waited for the call to connect. The ringing went on and on, until a robotic voice interrupted, telling me to leave a message.

I frowned at the phone.

Why wasn’t Ashton picking up?

“Hey, you, stop p>

I turned and saw Antoine Marchand charging down the court steps, his face tight with anger.

To produce a man-child like Pierre Marchand, he must have had parents who spoiled him rotten. It turned out the indulgent parent wasn’t his mother, but his father.

An hour earlier, Antoine had burst into the courtroom with an entourage of lawyers. It was absurd overkill for a simple assault case. Thanks to their wrangling, and as Lea whispered to me, a bit of grease on the right palms, Pierre had walked away with barely a slap on the wrist.

Antoine wasn’t happy. He wanted me locked up for aggravated assault, criminal damage, resisting arrest, and every other offense his legal team could dream up.

When the prosecutor let me off with a warning and a fine, Antoine went spare. He was angrier than his son, the one I had actually hit.

“Don’t you think you should at least apologize?” Antoine panted as he stopped in front of me.

The tailored suit did nothing to hide his bulging midriff. He was out of shape and out of breath.