“Forget it. I don’t bargain with bullies.”

“Then you’d better introduce those kids to their new daddy.”

A chill crawled over her skin. “Seriously—what will make you go away?”

“Everything all right in here?” Will appeared in the doorway, his gaze locked onto Caroline.

“Who are you?” Mick blustered with bravado. “This is a private conversation. Get the hell out.”

“Oh, buddy.” Will spoke softly. His stance was relaxed, yet his voice thrummed with menace. “You do not want to fuck with me.”

Caroline had no doubt that Will could go full-on Navy SEAL in the blink of an eye.

Which would be gratifying. But not helpful.

“Mick is going to surrender his parental rights,” she said, fixing him with an unwavering stare.

He glared back at her. “I told you what I want. Take it or leave it.”

She felt a spike of panic. If she allowed the tentative deal with Eau Sauvage to fall apart, C-Shell Rainwear would sink like a stone. Far worse, if she failed to report the part about him being an abuser, it would betray everything the Oysterville Sewing Circle stood for—believing women, making them feel seen and heard.

He narrowed his eyes and repeated, “Take it or leave it.”

He wanted her to surrender her reputation to save his. He wanted to destroy her integrity along with everything she had built—her business, her livelihood, the chance to help the women who had helped her build C-Shell. He wanted to strip her of everything, the way he had before, when he’d stolen her designs. He was suggesting that the way to keep the children was to excuse the actions of a violent sexual predator who had victimized Angelique and set off the chain of events that had led to her death.

Go fuck yourself. That was what she wanted to say to him. To this smug, sexist, misogynistic man. This man who had violated her by taking her power from her.

Then she thought of Addie, peeing herself at the very sight of Mick. She could speak out and risk losing the children, or make a deal right here and now. It was a horrible, wrenching dilemma, choosing safety while bottling up what she knew to be true.

She looked at Will, then back at Mick. “Get your lawyers in here. We’re settling this now.”

Caroline couldn’t breathe. Will brought her outside the courthouse, finding a private area facing Willapa Bay and its surrounding marshes, spiked with forested atolls and abandoned docks. She pressed herself against the pale yellow stone of the building, trying to catch her breath.

“I have to settle,” she said to Will, nearly choking on her own words. “I have to do whatever it takes to protect my kids.”

He put his arms around her and she pressed her cheek against his chest. “Easy, baby. You’re not going to lose them,” he murmured.

“My lawyer said no judge would ever take away the rights of the natural parent just because he steals designs and he’s unethical. She said bringing up the abuse would work against me because it’s nothing more than hearsay.” Her throat was clogged with bitterness.

“We’ll fix this,” Will said. “We’ll find a way.”

“What way? The judge has to rule on the facts. In order to make Mick back off, I have to annihilate my own career and deny what I know he did to Angelique. But when it comes to Flick and Addie, I’m willing to throw myself under a speeding bus.”

“The guy isn’t interested in those kids,” Will said.

“You’re absolutely right. Mick Taylor doesn’t want to be a parent. That was never his goal. I ought to call his bluff. I could say, ‘Take them, they’re yours, good luck.’” She pulled back and looked up at Will, drawing strength from his steady gaze. “There’s no way I’d ever do that to my kids. I’d never use my children to make a deal. Because in every way that matters, they’re my children. My family. They’re not bargaining chips on the negotiating table.”

If her business, her career, her reputation had to go down in flames, so be it. The old Caroline would never tear down everything she’d built, the idealized trust and belief. But she wasn’t that person anymore. She was a mother.

There were few things, she’d learned, more precious than one’s integrity, but one of them was surely the need to love and protect a child.

Leaving Will’s embrace, she found her mother with Addie and Flick in the courthouse garden. Gathering them into her arms, she held them close.

“You’re my kids. You’re mine forever,” she told them. “You’re safe. You’ll always, always be safe.”

“Can we go home now?” asked Flick.

Virginia rushed over to her. “Caroline—you need to come back to the courtroom.”

Caroline couldn’t look at anyone as she approached the long table where Theresa and now Willow sat. We had a deal, she thought, her pulse leaping into overdrive. Our lawyers were supposed to make a deal.

A third attorney joined them at the table. To Caroline’s shock, it was Aisha Franklin, an advocacy lawyer she’d met at the meeting in Atlanta.

“What’s going on?” Caroline whispered, wavering between hope and fear.

Willow touched her arm. “Be still. You’ll find out soon enough.”

There was a wave of silence as the judge returned to the bench. Aisha handed a dossier to Theresa, who approached him along with Mick’s lawyer.

“Your Honor, I would like to submit this exhibit reciting facts pertinent to this proceeding. These are sworn statements made under oath.” She placed one of the dossiers in front of Mick’s attorney and gave the other to the clerk for the judge. “These are from individuals who have direct knowledge of Michael Taylor’s history of violence toward women. There were witnesses who saw him treating Angelique Baptiste in an abusive manner. And there are also others who suffered abuse from him.”

“Your Honor,” Mick’s lawyer said, “you yourself said you don’t like surprises.”

Caroline clutched Willow’s arm. “Isn’t it too late to submit these statements?”

“This is a hearing, not a trial,” Willow reminded her in a low whisper. “It’s up to the judge.”

There was a stir in the back of the courtroom. The judge picked up his gavel and barked an order at the bailiff. Several women entered through the double doors. Caroline recognized models and junior designers she’d met in New York, the ones she and Daria had asked to come forward. They’d demurred, afraid and vulnerable, and Caroline had given up trying to convince them. Now they were here, appearing like a tidal wave through open floodgates.

Despite the judge’s hammering gavel and shouted dismissal, a babble arose in the room.

“This is bullshit,” Mick said, coming up out of his seat as if on fire. “A goddamn witch hunt.”

His lawyers and entourage surrounded him, clearly trying to minimize the damage by hustling him away.

“The hunt is over,” Willow said to Mick as he passed by. “We’ve found the witch.”

Caroline turned to Willow and Aisha. “What just happened?”

“It’s still happening. Let’s go.”

Mick’s accusers had gathered in the domed entryway and on the courthouse steps, talking to the media and pointing the finger at Mick. Holding up cell phone pictures and giving interviews. Women’s voices echoed off the marble walls, and the historic rotunda echoed with the powerful sound of triumph. They spoke of pressure and intimidation, of coercion and threats, economic abuse.

Caroline grabbed Willow’s arm to steady herself. Humility and relief nearly overwhelmed her, washing away the agonizing bitterness of staying silent. “How did everyone get here?” she asked. “Did you know about this?”

“I’ve made it my mission since our trip to New York. Even though they were reluctant to talk about their experience, we persisted and finally persuaded these six. Your friend Daria was instrumental. She said that now that she has a daughter, she can’t let something like this go. And the Sisterhood in Atlanta funded us. The sworn statements are powerful, Caroline. Affidavits. Pictures and videos. At least two women are filing criminal charges. Mick’s got much bigger problems than claiming custody. I don’t think you need to worry about him being willing to sign away his paternal rights now.”

Caroline couldn’t believe it. She should, though, because one thing she had learned from the Sewing Circle was the power in a group of women determined to tell the truth.

“Thank you,” she said. “That sounds so inadequate—”

“Don’t thank us. You started this, Caroline. Now go find your kids.”

Chapter 31

Caroline sat propped against a bank of pillows in Will’s bed, poring over the lengthy investigative article that had come out in the national press with the headline the takedown of a fashion empire.

Early-morning sunlight tracked across the floor. Will had gone to let the dog out for a run, and now he returned with two mugs of coffee. There was nothing quite like the sight of a shirtless man bearing coffee first thing in the morning.

“Bless you,” she whispered, warming her hands around the cup and taking her first sip.

He settled in next to her. “How is it?”