Page 59 of Cruel Lies

What I willnotdo is keep circling the drain of a man who makes me feelseenone minute andstrung alongthe next.

I'm proud of myself, honestly. This is growth. Old Cali would never have been this brave.

I'm still congratulating myself when I climb the steps to the brownstone. The kids will be getting dropped off via carpool from summer camp in an hour or so, so I have time to make a nutritious dinner, clean up, run a load of laundry, and get some work done.

I'm still congratulating myself when I finish all that with minutes to spare and I crack my laptop open purely to check whether that one client from Denver signed the contract yet?—

—just in time for the notification to pop up.

COMPANY FORMATION PORTAL: A filing has been submitted associated with your entity. Review recommended.

I frown. Click.

And just like that, all my bravery disappears.

I don't understand all of it, but I get the gist. There's been some kind of filing, couched in phrases revolving around afounder's interestand anofficer's option,which I half-recognize from the DocuSign envelopes I found in Todd's email three lifetimes ago. Bottom line is, someone is poking at my cap table. Whoever that someone is, they're trying toexercisesome old provision buried in the papers I signed without reading. Some right that aregistered agent or an officer might have to force equity out from under the founder.

The founder being me.

The equity being mine.

Bottom line:Someone's trying to steal my company.

The answer is obvious.

Todd.

Of course it's him. Who else?Men like your husband don't quit,said the man I was about to mail aPlease fuck off forevernapkin to.They lose, but then they regroup.I called him a fearmonger in my head, cursed him for cursing me, marched into his office to yell at him for beingright—and here it is, exactly as he promised.

Which leaves me, to put it simply, screwed.

Every good lawyer in this city costs fifty thousand dollars I don't have and/or won't return my calls.

I know exactly one powerful man. One singular man who understands the system and might be able to do something about this.

Oh, goddammit.

He answers on the second ring. "Ms. Meadows."

"I need the second date," I say. "Right now."

"Is everything okay?"

"There's a bar two blocks from my house. The Woozy Tiger, on Hudson. I…"

I consider pouring out everything that's happening, but I don't like how wobbly and teary I'm sounding, so I decide to take the fifteen-minute trek there as my chance to pull myself together and come across as a woman in charge when I sit down with Ronan. Yeah. That's a better plan.

"Is that a yes or no?" I demand.

I hear him breathing. "I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

Click.

The Woozy Tiger is dim on purpose. It's a classic New York City corner bar, mostly for the locals, quaint and subdued and unpretentious. Not the kind of place where lives change, typically, but it felt like a safe space for this conversation.

Ronan is already there when I arrive. He's still in the shirtsleeves from this afternoon, no tie, the collar open one more button than it was in his office. He rises from the corner booth when I arrive, but I wave him right back down.

"None of that," I say. "I don't have the bandwidth to deal with all your confusing signals right now."