Page 114 of This Life of Mine

“I should have,” I admit. “And if I could go back, I’d do parts of this differently. But I never used you. I protected you while I hunted the people who think lives are line items.”

She turns her eyes toward me. Searching and measuring my truth.

“And now?” she asks.

“Now you’re informed,” I say. “And that means you get a choice. You’re not a passenger in this anymore.”

She exhales, anger giving way to exhaustion.

“I hate that this makes sense,” she mutters, simmering with anger, but resolve is kicking in.

“I’m sorry, Lina. I truly am.”

The room eases into a fragile calm, not peace, not forgiveness, but understanding beginning to take root.

And I know this isn’t over.

It feels like we’re standing together now, on the same side of the truth.

She shakes her head, pacing again, but the edge is gone now—replaced by confusion.

“I don’t understand,” Lina says. “Why would Cole’s family want me dead?” She gestures helplessly. “Do they want the money Cole’s grandmother left me? I’ve had the money for years now. Half of it went straight into the business. What could they possibly get from my death?

She turns to me, eyes searching. “What do they want from me?”

This is the moment.

The weight of the thing I’ve been holding back because once it’s said, it can’t be taken back.

“They don’t want something fromyou,“ I say, careful with my words.

She frowns. “Then why—“

“They want it to stop.” I say.

Her breath catches. “What to stop?”

I take a slow breath, making sure my voice stays even. Calm. Steady. She deserves that much.

“The five million you received wasn’t a one-time payout,” I tell her.

She blinks. Once. Twice. “What do you mean?”

I hold her gaze. “There’s more. A lot more.”

Her expression tightens, instinctively bracing.

“The trust your ex-husband’s grandmother set up,” I continue, “has a secondary provision. One that wasn’t widely disclosed. Not to Cole. And, apparently, not to you.”

I watch the realization begin to creep in, even before I say the words.

“You receive five million dollars,” I say carefully, “every five years.”

The room goes very still.

“For the rest of your life.”

She stares at me like I’ve spoken another language. “That’s…that’s not possible.”