Chapter 6

Chapter 6: Vengeful Sisterhood

I've always hated prison visiting rooms. The fluorescent lights that make everyone look sickly. The scratched plexiglass barriers. The phones that never quite work right, forcing you to press the grimy receiver hard against your ear. Most of all, I hate the smell—industrial disinfectant barely masking desperation.

Yet here I was, voluntarily back in one, sitting across from Shane Donovan.

He looked terrible. Designer stubble had given way to an unkempt beard. His bespoke suits replaced by orange prison scrubs that hung from his frame. Three weeks in Metropolitan Detention Center had hollowed his cheeks and darkened the circles under his eyes.

"You have some nerve showing up here," he growled into the receiver.

I smiled, placing a tall cup on the counter between us. "I brought you coffee. Eighty-five degrees, with three ice cubes. Just how you like it."

Shane's eyes narrowed. "Is this a joke to you?"

"No," I replied, watching condensation form on the plastic cup. "This is justice."

"Justice?" He laughed bitterly. "Your sister sold us out. Made deals with prosecutors to save herself while throwing us to the wolves."

"Half-sister," I corrected automatically. The DNA test results had arrived just yesterday, confirming what the childhood photo had suggested. "And yes, Ainsley plays her own game. Always has."

Shane leaned forward, pressing his palm against the plexiglass. "We can still make a deal, Maxine. I have offshore accounts the feds don't know about. Help me, and I'll make you rich."

I tilted my head. "Like you helped my father? Before or after you framed him for your embezzlement?"

His expression hardened. "Your father was weak. He was going to confess everything, expose all of us. We did what was necessary."

"Necessary," I repeated, the word bitter on my tongue. "Was it necessary to pay off the prison guards? To make sure he had access to the belt he used to hang himself?"

Shane had the decency to look away. "That wasn't part of the plan."

"But it was convenient," I said quietly. "A dead man can't defend himself."

Advertisement

The guard announced five minutes remaining for visits. I stood, straightening my designer skirt—another gift from Ainsley, who had insisted I "dress the part" now that I was officially her Chief Security Officer.

"Enjoy your coffee, Shane. It's the last luxury you'll have for about twenty years."

---

Malcolm's holding cell was in a different facility—a minimum-security arrangement befitting his cooperation with authorities. He looked up when I entered, his actor's instincts immediately composing his features into a rueful smile.

"The prodigal maid returns," he said, gesturing to the chair across from him. No plexiglass here. "Come to gloat?"

I placed a small package on the table between us. "I brought you something."

He unwrapped it cautiously, then laughed when he saw the contents. "Rose-scented underwear? You shouldn't have."

"I also had your publicist issue a statement about your 'brave decision to assist authorities in uncovering corporate fraud.'" I crossed my legs, watching his reaction. "Your Instagram followers are up twelve percent. Apparently, redemption stories sell."

Malcolm's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Always thinking three moves ahead. That's why I liked you."

"You liked me because I was naïve enough to believe your lies," I corrected him. "At least initially."

He leaned back in his chair. "So what happens now? Ainsley gets our companies, you get your revenge, and I get...what? A reduced sentence and damaged reputation?"

"You get a second chance," I replied. "Which is more than you gave my father."

Malcolm had the grace to look ashamed. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry about your father. It wasn't personal."

"It was to me."

We sat in silence for a moment.

"Ainsley's using you," he finally said. "Just like she used us. Just like she uses everyone."

"I know," I admitted. "The question is whether she knows I'm using her too."

Malcolm raised an eyebrow. "Double-crossing Ainsley Bates? That's a dangerous game."

"So was hiring your ex-girlfriend as your maid," I countered. "Yet here we are."

As I stood to leave, Malcolm caught my wrist. "The tattoo on your shoulder—what is it really?"

I smiled enigmatically. "Insurance policy."

"Against Ainsley?"

I gently removed his hand. "Against everyone."

---

Professor Freddie Henderson was being held in administrative segregation—his own request, according to the guards. When I entered the small conference room, he was hunched over a legal pad, writing frantically.

"Maxine," he acknowledged without looking up. "I've been expecting you."

"Have you now?" I placed a thick document on top of his writing. "Your lawsuit. Twelve-point font, as requested."

He finally looked up, adjusting his glasses. "You're suing me? After everything else?"

"Not me. The parents of the students whose careers you destroyed with false plagiarism accusations. They're quite grateful for the evidence I provided."

Freddie removed his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "We all make compromises in academia. Sacrifices for the greater good."

"Is that what you told yourself when you falsified my father's research data? That it was for some greater good?"

He had the decency to look ashamed. "Your father's theories were brilliant but controversial. The board wanted safer investments."

"So you destroyed him," I concluded. "And now I've destroyed you."

Freddie placed his glasses back on, studying me with his academic detachment. "You've changed, Maxine. There's a coldness to you now."

"I learned from the best," I replied. "Three master manipulators and one corporate puppetmaster."

"Ainsley," he nodded. "She's the one who orchestrated everything from the beginning, isn't she? Even your father's downfall."

This was new information. "What do you mean?"

Freddie's eyes widened slightly. "You don't know? It was Ainsley who brought us the initial evidence against your father. Said she found discrepancies in his research that could tank the company if revealed improperly."

My heart pounded. "You're lying."

"Why would I lie now?" He pushed his legal pad toward me. "I've been documenting everything for my memoir. Names, dates, meetings. Including the day Ainsley Bates walked into my office with a flash drive containing modified versions of your father's research."

I scanned his meticulous notes, my hands growing cold. The dates matched. The conversations rang true. And most damning of all—a reference to a birthmark on Ainsley's wrist that few people knew about.

"She's your half-sister, isn't she?" Freddie asked gently. "I suspected as much when I saw how similar your research methodologies were. Your father had a very distinctive approach to data analysis."

I stood abruptly, gathering his notes. "I need to borrow these."

"Keep them," he said. "Consider it my penance."

At the door, I paused. "Why tell me this now?"

Freddie's smile was sad. "Because unlike Shane and Malcolm, I actually loved you, Maxine. Not well, and not enough to do the right thing when it mattered. But enough to tell you the truth now."

---

The executive offices of Bates Industries occupied the top three floors of a gleaming skyscraper in Midtown. My new office—directly adjacent to Ainsley's—offered panoramic views of Central Park and a security clearance that gave me access to virtually every file in the company.

Ainsley was on a video call when I entered her office without knocking. She held up one perfectly manicured finger, signaling me to wait, then smoothly wrapped up her conversation.

"Maxine," she greeted me, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. "How were our disgraced businessmen?"

I placed a tablet on her desk, displaying prison visitor logs. "Surprised to see you beat me to it. You visited all three last night."

If she was caught off guard, she didn't show it. "Tying up loose ends. Making sure our stories align."

"Like you aligned stories with them five years ago?" I asked, dropping Freddie's notes on her desk. "When you framed our father?"

There it was—a momentary flicker of something in her eyes. Surprise? Concern? It was gone too quickly to identify.

"Half-sister," she corrected, echoing my earlier words. "And yes, I see Freddie's finally found his conscience. How convenient for him."

"Did you do it?" I demanded. "Did you set up our father?"

Ainsley sighed, leaning back in her chair. "It's complicated, Maxine."

"Un-complicate it."

She stood, moving to the floor-to-ceiling windows. "Harrison Chasey was brilliant but reckless. His research into algorithmic trading would have destabilized markets worldwide. Someone had to control it."

"So you destroyed him?" My voice broke despite my efforts to remain calm. "Your own father?"

"To protect his legacy," she insisted, turning back to face me. "His work is still the foundation of everything we do here. But controlled, regulated, safe."

"He killed himself!" I shouted. "While you built an empire on his ideas!"

Ainsley's expression softened slightly. "And I've spent five years setting up the perfect revenge against those who directly caused his death. I gave you Shane, Malcolm, and Freddie. They're ruined, just as you wanted."

"But you're the one who started it all," I realized aloud. "You gave them the ammunition."

"I underestimated their cruelty," she admitted. "I never intended for Harrison to be prosecuted, much less imprisoned. That was their deviation from the plan."

I laughed bitterly. "And now you've used me to clean up your mess. To eliminate the three men who could expose your original betrayal."

"I've used you," Ainsley acknowledged, moving closer, "to complete what our father started. Look around you, Maxine. This company, this power—it's our inheritance. Yours and mine."

She reached out, her fingers brushing against my shoulder where the tattoo lay hidden beneath my blouse. "And with the evidence encoded here, we're untouchable."

I stepped back from her touch. "What happens now?"

"Now?" Ainsley smiled. "Now we bail out our three scapegoats, as planned. They work for us, under strict supervision. Their knowledge is still valuable."

"And if I refuse to play along?"

Her smile didn't waver. "You won't. You're too much like me—like our father. Pragmatic when it matters."

She was right. I had come too far, sacrificed too much, to walk away now. But I wasn't about to let her maintain complete control either.

"I want to see him," I said firmly. "All three of them. Together. I want to tell them myself what happens next."

Ainsley considered this, then nodded. "I'll arrange it. Tomorrow morning."

---

The private meeting room at the federal building was small but elegant. Shane, Malcolm, and Freddie sat on one side of the table, each man looking diminished in different ways. Ainsley and I entered together, a united front despite the fractures between us.

"Gentlemen," Ainsley began, "your legal situations have been... reevaluated."

"Meaning?" Shane demanded.

I placed three folders on the table. "Meaning you're being released into our custody. Your assets remain frozen, your reputations remain tarnished, but you'll avoid long-term incarceration."

"In exchange for?" Malcolm asked, ever the pragmatist.

"Your complete loyalty," Ainsley replied. "You'll work for Bates Industries as special consultants. Your expertise without your authority."

Freddie adjusted his glasses. "And if we decline?"

I smiled coldly. "Then the evidence encoded in my tattoo goes public, and you spend the next twenty years sharing a cell with people who don't appreciate financial criminals."

The three exchanged glances. They had no choice and they knew it.

"Fine," Shane finally said. "We accept your terms."

"Excellent," Ainsley responded, sliding papers toward them. "Sign here."

As they signed away what remained of their freedom, I caught Freddie watching me intently. He alone seemed to understand what was happening—that this arrangement was temporary, that the real endgame was still unfolding.

Once the papers were signed, I leaned forward. "One last thing, gentlemen. A personal message from Harrison Chasey's daughter."

I met each of their eyes in turn. "For the next year, you don't work for Bates Industries. You work for me. Personally. Every coffee, every piece of laundry, every document I need prepared—you'll handle it. Just as I did for you."

Shane's face reddened. "This is absurd!"

"This is justice," I corrected him. "Poetic, don't you think?"

As we left the room, Ainsley glanced at me with something like respect. "That wasn't part of our agreement."

"Consider it a sister's prerogative," I replied smoothly.

Her hand slipped into mine as we walked toward the exit, cameras waiting outside to capture the moment. "We make quite a team, don't we?"

I squeezed her hand, feeling the surprising softness of her palm against mine. "We're just getting started."

---

Three months later, I stood in the observation room, watching the surveillance feeds from throughout the Bates mansion. On one screen, Shane meticulously prepared coffee, measuring the temperature with the same thermometer he'd once used to torment me. On another, Malcolm carefully ironed silk garments, his once-proud posture now bent in service. A third showed Freddie organizing research papers, his academic precision now directed toward our projects.

Ainsley entered, closing the door behind her. "Enjoying the view?"

"Immensely," I admitted.

She moved beside me, close enough that I could smell her signature perfume. "The board approved our new trading algorithm this morning. Our father's work, finally recognized."

"With your improvements," I acknowledged. "And my security protocols."

"The Chasey sisters," she mused, "changing the financial world. Just as he would have wanted."

I turned to face her. "Is that what this was all about? Finishing his work?"

"That," she said, reaching up to trace the line of my jaw with one finger, "and finding the only person who could truly understand me."

The surveillance screens flickered briefly as her lips met mine—tentative at first, then with growing confidence. I knew the cameras were recording everything. I knew this might be another one of her manipulations.

But as her arms encircled me, I also knew that for all her calculations and schemes, this moment contained something genuine—a connection between two women who'd lost everything and rebuilt themselves from the ashes.

When we finally separated, I gestured toward the monitors. "They'll see."

"Let them," she whispered against my lips. "Let the whole world see."

As if on cue, the door opened. Shane stood there, coffee tray in hand, his expression shifting from professional detachment to shock as he registered our embrace.

"Your coffee, Ms. Chasey," he managed to say. "Eighty-five degrees. Three ice cubes."

"Thank you, Shane," I replied calmly. "You can leave it on the table."

After he'd gone, closing the door behind him with trembling hands, Ainsley laughed softly. "I think we broke him."

"Good," I said, turning back to the surveillance screens where our three former tormentors now moved like puppets on strings. "That was always the plan."

What I didn't say—what I kept hidden like the encrypted data in my tattoo—was that my plan was still unfolding. Ainsley had her secrets, and I had mine. Including the silent countdown to the day when all the evidence would automatically release unless I entered a specific code.

Insurance against everyone. Even my newfound sister.

Because if there's one thing I learned from being the revenge babysitter, it's that you should never fully trust anyone—especially family.

But that's a story for another day.