"I need to call Richard from legal and Karen from PR," he says. "We need to be prepared for what happens when the press finds out."
I frown as I look at him, stunned at how he’s reacting. Or underreacting, I guess. "Your father just died."
"Fuck, Julie," he snaps, "I know." He presses the phone to his ear. "But if we don't control the narrative, someone else will. And stock prices plummeting isn't going to help anyone."
The call connects. Asher's voice shifts into something professional, detached. "Richard, it's Asher. The police were just here. My father died tonight in a car accident. Caroline too. I need you to draft a statement and have it ready to go out first thing in the morning. Keep it simple. Tragic accident, family requests privacy, the company will continue operations without interruption."
He listens for a moment, then continues. "No, I don't have all the details yet. Just say it's under investigation. And make sure the board knows before they hear it from someone else. I'll call them individually tomorrow, but I need you to give them a heads-up tonight."
I watch him pace the living room, his free hand gesturing as he talks. He shifted into business mode.
"The funeral will be massive," he's saying. "This is going to be a media circus."
He's talking about logistics. About optics. About managing the fallout. He hasn't cried. He hasn't mentioned Devon. Shit. Devon. I forgot her between telling the police about her and now. Jesus. I’m a mess.
"Asher," I say, my voice firm.
He holds up a finger, still listening to Richard on the other end.
"No. Listen to me. We need to tell Devon,now," I say.
He glances at me, distracted. "What?"
"Devon. We need to go get her. She can't be alone right now."
He blinks, like he's just remembered she exists. "Right. Yeah. Devon."
"Asher, her mother just died. She's a teenage girl who has now lost both of her parents and her stepfather. She's all alone. We need to go."
"I know. Just—give me a second." He turns back to the phone. "Richard, I need to go. We need to deal with Caroline's fucking teenager. Just get that statement ready and I'll call you in a bit."
Calling her a fucking teenager doesn't sit well with me, but it's not like I'm going to start something about it now. He ends the call and sets the phone down on the coffee table. Then he just stands there, staring at nothing.
"Are you okay?" I ask.
"I'm fine."
"Honey, your father just died."
"I know."
"You don't seem?—"
He turns his head and glares at me, his expression venomous. "What do you want me to do, Julie? Fall apart? That's not me, and it’s not going to help anyone." His voice is sharp now, cutting. "Someone has to handle this. Someone has to make sure the company doesn't implode and the press doesn't turn this into a spectacle. You knew what you were getting into when you married me. We're not an average family."
Jesus. What the hell? "I get that. But Devon?—"
"I fucking heard you, goddammit. I understand. We'll go get her." He runs a hand through his hair. "Where is she? At the house?"
"I would assume so."
He picks up his phone again and scrolls to her number. The call goes to voicemail. He tries again. Voicemail.
"She's probably asleep," I say. "We need to just go."
Asher nods. He looks around the room like he's trying to remember what he's supposed to do next. Then he grabs his keys from the table by the door. "Let's just fucking go," he says.
I follow him out to the garage, my mind spinning. Dean is dead. Caroline is dead. And Asher is acting like an asshole. There's no doubt in my mind he's spiraling, and I'm worried. In the car, he's silent. His hands grip the steering wheel, his eyes on the road. I watch him, trying to understand what's happening behind that blank expression.
