The Quiet Room
Two Hundred Guests

Choosing Sides

August 25, 2026 · Part 9 of 10 · 2 min

The papers named Yolanda as a defendant in a civil suit — filed, it turned out, that very morning, by Hale Group's own outside counsel, on Roderick's instruction, before anyone in the study had finished breakfast. Breach of a nondisclosure agreement. Twenty-five million dollars.

He'd moved fast. He'd moved to make sure that whatever else came out today, the person who paid for it would be her.

"You can't," Anneliese said, when Roderick tried to explain it as simply protecting the family's interests. "You forged legal documents. You coerced a grieving new mother into a fraudulent birth record. And your plan, this morning, was to sue her for twenty-five million dollars for the crime of being the mother my husband stole a child from."

"It's not about blame," Roderick started. "It's about containment—"

"It's about who takes the fall," Anneliese said. "And it isn't going to be her."

Corwin, by the window, hadn't spoken in almost a minute. When he did, his voice had none of the boardroom polish left in it. "Anneliese. Think about what this does to us. To Beckett. If this goes to court—"

"Beckett already knows the truth," Anneliese said. "You made sure of that yourself, the day you handed him a secret phone and told him love was conditional. The only thing left to decide is whether the rest of us keep lying to match him."

She turned to Yolanda for the first time since the study had emptied of everyone but the four of them and a boy asleep, finally, on the study sofa under someone's coat.

"I'm not going to fight you for him," Anneliese said. "I don't think I even have the right to, legally or otherwise. But I'm not going to let this man make you disappear either, just to keep his name out of the papers a little longer. Drop nothing. Sign nothing. Whatever you decide to do about Beckett, I'll back it — publicly, if it comes to that."

It was, Yolanda thought, the single most surprising sentence anyone had said to her in six years.

Corwin crossed the room fast — toward the sofa, toward his sleeping son, not toward either woman. His hand closed around Beckett's arm, gentle but sure, already lifting him.

"We're leaving," he said. "Right now. Before the lawyers, before the press, before either of you decides anything else about my son."

Beckett stirred, confused, half-asleep, already being pulled toward the door.

Continue the story Part 10: Two Mothers →

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