John looked down, visibly reaching for control, and Alex saw the moment when he realized what he was looking at. Alex was careful not to drop his gaze—he had no desire to see the faces of the women John—and through him, Keane Industries—had betrayed. If it took him fifty years, every one of those women would be found. They would be compensated, cared for, and protected from the men who had abused them. Alex couldn’t make up for what had happened—no one could—but if he had a snowball’s chance in hell of ever sleeping again, even with Cailin beside him, he had to prove to them that he would never let it happen again.
One woman at a time.
John was slowly thumbing through the evidence. “Where in God’s name did you get all this?” he growled.
Alex couldn’t hold back his smirk. “Not God, John. You should know by now: a woman scorned isn’t the only kind of woman you should fear.”
The look John threw him could’ve steamed water. “There’s no way—” Then his taut cheekbones paled. “Corinne.”
Alex nodded. “She was a start.”
“That sanctimonious bitch! She—” John’s fists clenched, and his voice lowered to a register somewhere below mean. “You really think you can get away with this? I’ll make her life a living hell.”
As if I’m not smart enough to guess that. “It’s too late, John.” Thank God. “She’s already here, under my protection—and you can’t do anything about it. Not if you want to keep your secrets…secret.” Carefully Alex reached out, thumbing aside the majority of the papers. At the bottom, where John had not yet ventured, lay the most damning evidence of all.
“Trina Marlowe.” Alex picked up the woman’s picture, studying it carefully. She’d taken the photo herself, it seemed, the night John hit her. Her pale image was a little blurred, but the black eye came through distinctly. Lord only knew what else the man had done.
Laying the picture directly in front of John, he picked up another. “Clarissa Johnson.” The photo was set on top of the first, followed by a transfer order. A demotion.
The next picture was a redhead, her face holding a sickening resemblance to Sara Beth. “Mary Pantell.”
On and on, the women John had had personal contact with came to light, in pictures and orders, lawyers’ summaries for dropped lawsuits, bills from private detectives—“muscle,” Corinne had called them. And the most damning evidence, witnessed testimonies, both from each woman and the people around them: coworkers, friends, health-care professionals, even spouses. Every sheet of paper built the ball of rage inside Alex until he was certain he could no longer contain it, until the probability that John wouldn’t be leaving this building in one piece forced him to stop.
“Should I go on?” he asked, his voice a deep, dangerous threat.
“No.”
With that single word, the man sitting across from him deflated, becoming in an instant the broken, powerless puppet he would remain from now on.
“There’s nothing you can do, John. Give it up.”
John tugged at the heavy knot of his tie as he cleared his throat. “What exactly do you want?”
“We want it all.” No way would he leave John with any means of hurting a single soul more: not Sara Beth, not Cailin, not another woman, any woman. Period. He rose and crossed to his desk to retrieve another file, this one with paperwork from his lawyers. “You are going to retire.” When John opened his mouth, protest imminent, Alex cut him off. “You will sign over your majority shares to Sara Beth, no caveats, no questions asked. Your friends will be stepping down, one by one, from the board, and their replacements will be chosen by a council headed by myself and appointed by Sara Beth and me.”
“You can’t—”
Using the new folder to nudge the old one, he pointed to the rest of the information, pages that held the stories of women hurt by John’s cronies, men John had protected with Keane Industries resources. “I can.”
“You bastard.”
Alex’s smirk was back. “I learned from the best, John.” What goes around comes around.
John ranted and raved, and Alex let him, but in the end, they both knew the conclusion to this story. By the time John left, Alex had what he wanted, signed and sealed, witnessed and delivered. The nightmare was over.
The future was looking much, much brighter.
Chapter Fourteen
Ian planted a firm butt cheek on the edge of Cailin’s desk and leaned down, his perfect blond curls framing a model-perfect face and perfectly green eyes. The man was sinful. After working as his secretary for almost five months, she’d thought she would get used to his good looks. Instead she’d marveled even more, especially as his resemblance to the little devil who sat on a cartoon character’s shoulders became clearer and clearer. His personality had something to do with that, though, she figured.