Chapter 8
One of the three was Raymond’s older brother, Samuel Cole.
Another was my father’s cousin Adrian Ashford.
The third surprised me.
Thomas Vale.
My childhood godfather.
That hurt.
He had held me at my mother’s funeral.
Now he had agreed to use my first weeks as a mother against me.
I looked at him.
“Why?”
Thomas Vale rubbed one thumb against his ring.
“You’ve changed.”
“After childbirth?”
“Before.”
I waited.
“You don’t listen to the old table.”
“There it is.”
He frowned.
I continued.
“You mean I don’t obey it.”
Victor interrupted.
“Bianca, stop reducing everything to control.”
I looked at him.
“You destroyed a crib to create video.”
Silence.
“Control seems relevant.”
One of the neutral capos almost smiled.
Victor hated that.
Good.
Thomas Vale continued.
“You removed three senior men last year.”
“They sold our routes.”
“You embarrassed them.”
“They embarrassed themselves.”
“You cut the old families out of labor decisions.”
“Because old families were taking money from people who couldn’t refuse.”
There.
The room tightened.
This was older than Ruby.
Older than Logan.
I had spent three years changing how Ashford worked.
Victor wanted the old structure back.
My pregnancy gave him an opening.
Motherhood gave him a narrative.
A woman is emotional.
A new mother is distracted.
A daughter is vulnerable.
A husband feels overlooked.
An assistant wants elevation.
He had collected human weakness and built a machine.
Dad finally spoke.
“You could have challenged Bianca directly.”
Victor looked at his brother.
“And lose?”
Honest.
He knew he did not have enough support on policy.
So he attacked perception.
Dad stared at him.
“That’s cowardice.”
Victor smiled bitterly.
“No. That’s politics.”
I stepped closer.
“No.”
My voice stayed calm.
“It’s what people call politics when they’re ashamed to say manipulation.”
That landed.
Then Savannah entered.
Everyone turned.
May you like
Victor’s expression changed for the first time.
He had not expected his prop to walk into the room.
