Chapter 3 - The Facade Cracks
By 10:00 AM, Preston walked into Landon’s room in the pediatric wing.
He was carrying a large, overpriced stuffed bear from the hospital gift shop and a commercial cup of artisanal coffee. He looked fresh, relaxed, and completely undisturbed, wearing a sharp silver tie that matched his polished demeanor.
"Mallory," he said warmly, stepping into the room as if nothing had happened. He placed the coffee on the tray table and set the bear at the foot of Landon’s bed. "How is he doing? I checked the system updates earlier; it looks like his numbers are back up."
Landon was sleeping peacefully, his tiny chest rising and falling rhythmically under the blanket.
I was sitting in the armchair beside the bed, holding an iPad. I didn't look up right away. I let the silence stretch between us until the smile on his face began to stiffen.
"He’s alive, Preston," I said quietly, setting the tablet down. "No thanks to you."
Preston sighed, rolling his eyes as he unbuttoned his suit jacket and sat on the edge of the visitor sofa. "Mallory, please. Let’s not do this today. Last night was a high-stress situation. I had to make a tactical call as the COO. Sloane’s boy was severely hysterical, and as a representative of executive management, handling her situation quickly was a matter of internal protocol."
"Internal protocol?" I repeated, turning my head to look him dead in the eye. "Giving our son’s sterile isolation room to your mistress’s child is internal protocol?"
Preston’s face hardened. The warmth vanished, replaced by the sharp, authoritative sneer he usually reserved for failing department heads. "Watch your mouth, Mallory. Sloane is a colleague. You’re being paranoid, hysterical, and ungrateful. Do you have any idea how hard I work to provide this life for you and Landon? The house in Upper Arlington, the country club membership, the status—you live comfortably because I make tough decisions!"
"I live comfortably because I sacrificed my career seven years ago so you could climb the corporate ladder," I corrected him calmly. "And last night, you proved that your status means more to you than your own son’s life."
"That’s enough!" Preston snapped, standing up and pointing a finger at me. "I am tired of your passive-aggressive drama. Landon is fine! He’s sitting in a warm bed, getting top-notch care! Stop acting like a victim. You’re going to drop this absurd attitude right now, take Landon home when he’s discharged this afternoon, and act like a supportive wife."
"And what if I don't?" I asked smoothly.
Preston leaned over my chair, lowering his voice into a chilling threat. "If you make a scene about last night—if you say one word to anyone on the board or spread vicious rumors about me and Sloane—I will cut off your access to the family accounts. I hold the keys to everything, Mallory. The house, the cars, the money. Without me, you’re a unemployed former accountant with zero leverage. Don't forget who holds the power here."
I looked at his angry, arrogant face, and for the first time in ten years, I felt absolutely no fear. I felt nothing for him at all.
"You're right, Preston," I said softly, giving him a gentle, hollow smile. "You hold all the power."
His expression softened, satisfied that he had cowed me back into submission. "Good. I’m glad we understand each other. I have a board budget meeting at two o'clock. I’ll have my assistant send a car to take you and Landon home at three."
He turned on his heel, adjusted his tie, and walked out of the room, completely convinced that he had won.
The moment the door clicked shut, I picked up my phone and dialed the number Dr. Thorne had given me.
"Arthur Vance’s office," a professional voice answered on the second ring.
"My name is Mallory Keene," I said, my voice as hard as diamond. "I am the wife of COO Preston Keene. I need an urgent, private meeting with Mr. Vance and the Chairman of the Board of Trustees before two o'clock today. I have evidence of severe executive fraud, conflict of interest, and medical endangerment."
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There was a brief pause on the line, followed by the sharp rustle of papers. "Mrs. Keene... Mr. Vance can see you at one fifteen in the Executive Legal Conference Room."
"I'll be there," I said. "And please ensure the hospital’s chief legal counsel is present. They're going to want to see this."
