Abigail showed her a drawing where Blake appeared wearing a superhero cape and holding a giant inhaler.
“He fixes absolutely everything,” the girl insisted.
Darlene gazed at the page for a long time.
“He does not fix everything, but this time we are going to try to do it together.”
The inhaler Preston had shown was the same brand prescribed by Abigail’s private clinic.
Someone had clearly consulted her private medical file.
Among the very few people with access to such records was Mason, the assistant who coordinated Darlene’s travel routes, appointments, and vehicles.
“Mason knew exactly which road I would take the night of the accident,” Darlene murmured.
They decided not to confront him openly.
Blake reviewed records, shop orders, and financial invoices for days.
He discovered that three days before the crash, a shell company called Lerma Services had paid for an extraordinary repair to the shop in charge of Darlene’s vehicle.
The same company deposited a large sum into Mason’s account forty eight hours later.
Its legal representative was a former driver of Preston’s.
With the help of an outside lawyer, they located the mechanic.
At first, he denied everything, but later, he confessed before a notary public.
“They ordered me to loosen a steering component,” the mechanic admitted.
“They told me the car would malfunction at low speeds and that they just wanted to scare her into quitting.”
“When I saw the news, I finally understood what I had actually done.”
The signed statement and supporting documents were handed over to the local prosecutor’s office.
However, they still needed to prove that Preston had given the direct order.
The gala was scheduled to begin in less than twelve hours.
Darlene could simply cancel, but that would trigger an immediate emergency board vote.
Preston had perfectly set the stage for this outcome.
If she was absent, he would claim she was medically incapacitated; if she attended and collapsed, he would demonstrate her weakness to all the investors and the press.
“He thinks I only have two options,” Darlene said as Blake carefully adjusted the corset straps under her elegant evening gown.
“I can either flee or I can fall.”
“Then let us do something that he never planned for,” Blake suggested.
The gala was held at a grand hotel in the Polanco district, where more than three hundred guests filled the ballroom.
Darlene appeared in a dark blue dress with a flawless, practiced smile.
No one in the room would have guessed that the metal frame was pressing sharply against her injured ribs.
Preston greeted her with a hug, leaning in close for the press cameras.
“I am glad you came, little sister,” he whispered.
