Page 42 of Hate To Be Mine

“Good,” I said, unable to keep a note of pride from creeping in. “Really good, actually. I’ve been working with Sebastian to make sure everything is done right.”

“Good?” He muttered. “That’s disappointing.”

I blinked. “What?”

“I was hoping for problems. Issues. Violations we could use to void the policy.”

My stomach dropped. “Dad, there haven’t been any violations. Everyone’s following the safety protocols. Sebastian has been very receptive to my guidelines.”

That was just a little white lie.

“So you haven’t seen anything that would invalidate the policy?” His tone was sharp. “Nothing at all?”

“No. They’re being careful. Professional. We weren’t able to shoot today because it’s raining.”

“Are you sure? Look harder, Bernadette. These fashion people are always cutting corners. Always taking risks they shouldn’t.”

I stood up, pacing across the small living area. “Wait. Are you saying you want me to find a way to invalidate their policy? Even if there’s no legitimate reason?”

“No one’s saying that,” he said quickly. Too quickly. “But it would be really beneficial to the company if you did find something. We keep all the premiums they’ve paid without any risk of having to pay out anything. That’s good business.”

“That’s—” I struggled to find words. “That’s fraud. That’s what you’re describing. Insurance fraud.”

“Don’t be dramatic. It’s perfectly legal to enforce the terms of a contract. If they’re in violation, even technically, we have every right to void the policy.”

“But they’re not in violation!”

“Then find something.” His voice took on that tone that was lethal. All business. Cutthroat. “Look, Bernadette, this is how we make money. We collect premiums and we don’t pay out claims. That’s the model. That’s how insurance works. If you don’t like it, find another line of work.”

“Maybe I will,” I said, anger flaring hot in my chest.

“Don’t threaten me. You work for me because you’re family, but don’t think for a second that I won’t replace you if you’re not willing to do what needs to be done.” He paused. “It’s all legal. Perfectly legal. Morality is for philosophers and clergymen. We’re in business.”

I closed my eyes, feeling sick. “I’ll keep my eyes open for any legitimate violations. But I’m not going to make something up. I’m not going to manufacture a reason to screw these people over when they’re doing everything right.”

“That’s all I’m asking,” he said, but we both knew he was asking for more. “Keep me updated. And Bernadette? Don’t disappoint me.”

He hung up without saying goodbye.

I stood there holding my phone, feeling like I needed a shower. It felt like his words had coated me in something oily and wrong that I couldn’t wash off.

There were parts of my job I liked. The problem-solving. The careful analysis of risk. The satisfaction of preventing disasters before they happened.

But this? This was the part I hated. The part that made me feel complicit in something ugly. The part that made me understand why people hated insurance companies. I wasn’t sure who was hated more, us or lawyers. We were all out to screw people over.

My father wanted me to sabotage good people doing good work. Wanted me to find technicalities and loopholes that would let the company keep millions while leaving Blackwell Couture exposed and vulnerable.

He made sure he didn’t come right out and tell me to screw anyone over because that would be illegal and one of those equally nasty lawyers would come after us.

Briggs Blackwell. Briggs would come for us hard. I did not want to make enemies of the Blackwell family.

I felt tears threatening again and pushed them back. No. I wasn’t going to cry. Not over this. Not over him.

I stepped out onto the porch. The rain was still coming down in heavy sheets, turning the night into a wall of water and sound. It was dark out there—properly dark in the way cities never were, with only the light spilling from bungalow windows to break up the blackness. Thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance.

It was terrifying to think the only thing to protect us was a flimsy bungalow with a flimsier roof. It was exciting and calm all at the same time. Nature was amazing. And I rarely got the chance to truly enjoy it.

I sat in one of the chairs on the porch, protected from the rain by the overhang, and took deep breaths. I closed my eyes and let the sound of the rain drown out my father’s voice in my head. Being in the real deal was a hell of a lot better and louder than my sound machine back home.