“Do you forgive me?”
I thought.
“No.”
Her face fell.
I continued.
“I understand you better.”
“That is not forgiveness.”
“It is what I have.”
She nodded.
“Okay.”
No argument.
That helped.
At the end of the meeting, she stood.
Then stopped.
“Marian.”
“Yes?”
“Thank you for not firing Grant.”
My expression changed.
“That was never yours to thank me for.”
She froze.
“He kept his job because the evidence supported keeping it.”
“Not because I spared him.”
“Important difference.”
She nodded slowly.
“Yes.”
Then left.
By the fifth week, Paige’s consulting relationship with Northstar was formally terminated by mutual agreement.
The repayment amount was finalized.
Some expenses remained legitimately business-related.
Others did not.
Paige signed a schedule to reimburse the confirmed personal and duplicate charges.
The unfinished consulting advance was partially offset against documented work.
The rest would be repaid.
No dramatic judgment.
No public scandal.
No press.
Northstar tightened access controls.
Every related-party payment now required independent review.
Every executive vendor relationship had to be disclosed annually.
Celeste looked almost cheerful when she showed me the new policy.
“You enjoy this too much.”
“I enjoy controls that exist before disaster.”
“Fair.”
Grant read the policy too.
Then said:
“I deserved that.”
Celeste answered:
“The policy is not about what you deserve.”
I smiled.
Apparently everyone was learning the language.
At six weeks, Grant moved back home.
Not because everything was fixed.
Because he and Paige decided to try.
Counseling.
Separate professional lives.
Clear finances.
No consulting relationship with Northstar.
No family money conversations outside scheduled contexts.
That last rule made me laugh.
Grant did not.
“I’m serious.”
“Good.”
“If succession comes up, it happens in a meeting.”
“Excellent.”
“With counsel.”
“Even better.”
“And if Paige asks you anything about shares privately—”
“I tell her no.”
He smiled.
