Chapter 4 - Thirty-Seven Alerts
Alexander’s first real mistake was believing the thirty-seven charges would make me look reckless. By Thursday morning, his attorneys had sent Rebecca a letter describing my spending as “financially destabilizing conduct” and suggesting that I had experienced an “emotional episode” after learning he had dinner with an old friend.
Rebecca read it twice and laughed.
“Keep every receipt.”
“I already did.”
“Excellent.”
Every item was still boxed. I had not even removed the tags. Rebecca’s plan was simple: photograph everything, document that the purchases had been made after Alexander explicitly gave me unrestricted use of the card, then return most of them.
“Most?”
She pointed at my red coat.
“Keep that. It suits the case.”
I smiled for the first time in days.
Alexander had expected a hysterical wife. Instead, his thirty-seven payment alerts had created a timestamped record showing precisely when he abandoned our anniversary, when he began monitoring me, when he attempted to control my spending after granting permission, and when Sophia contacted me.
More importantly, the transactions proved I was nowhere near him when he later claimed we had discussed the trust documents at home that evening.
His arrogance had accidentally built my timeline.
By noon, another surprise arrived.
Bellamy & Rowe called about the antique desk.
“We can cancel delivery if you prefer,” the manager said.
I almost did.
Then I remembered my grandmother’s desk.
“No. Deliver it to my sister’s apartment.”
Paige’s apartment was too small for it, but she laughed when I told her.
“We’ll eat dinner under it if necessary.”
That afternoon, Rebecca’s investigator, Marcus Dale, discovered that Thomas Bell—the supposedly independent attorney who represented me before my wedding—had received consulting payments from a subsidiary controlled by Victoria Grant.
Not illegal by itself.
Potentially catastrophic when combined with the forged signature.
Rebecca asked whether I remembered signing documents at Victoria’s house.
“One stack. Prenup revisions, insurance forms, foundation paperwork.”
“Did anyone leave blank signature pages?”
I thought carefully.
Then a memory surfaced.
Victoria’s assistant, Celia, had brought me a replacement page because I had signed “in the wrong place.”
“What happened to the first one?”
“I don’t know.”
Rebecca and Marcus exchanged a look.
That evening Alexander appeared at Paige’s building.
He did not call first.
Paige opened the door, saw him, and immediately blocked the entrance.
“She doesn’t want to see you.”
“I’m not here to speak to you.”
“Convenient, because I don’t enjoy speaking to you either.”
I stepped into the hallway.
Alexander looked exhausted. His tie was gone, his shirt collar open.
For two years, that appearance would have activated every caretaking instinct I had.
Not anymore.
“What do you want?”
“To talk without lawyers.”
“No.”
His eyes flicked toward Paige.
“Five minutes.”
“Three.”
We went downstairs to the lobby.
He stood beside the windows while rain streaked the glass.
“I didn’t forge anything.”
“I didn’t accuse you.”
“You hired a forensic attorney.”
“Divorce attorney.”
“Rebecca Sloan handles financial fraud.”
Interesting.
“How do you know who I hired?”
He realized the mistake.
I folded my arms.
“Are you having me followed?”
“No.”
“Then how?”
“My attorneys know her.”
“Of course they do.”
He rubbed his face.
“Erin, the document is legitimate.”
“I didn’t sign it.”
“You signed a package before the wedding.”
“Not that.”
“You may not remember.”
There it was.
The old trick.
My memory against his certainty.
Except this time I had evidence.
“I remember my own signature.”
His expression shifted.
I continued. “Whoever forged it used Erin Claire Grant.”
Alexander went still.
“My legal signature has been Erin C. Grant for nine years.”
Silence.
“Whoever did it copied something old.”
His eyes dropped.
That was all I needed.
“You know.”
“No.”
“You know who did it.”
“I said no.”
“Your mother?”
His jaw tightened.
There.
Tiny.
Almost invisible.
But I saw it.
“Alexander.”
He looked toward the rain.
“What did Victoria do?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then why are you scared?”
He turned sharply. “I’m not scared.”
“You should be.”
For the first time, anger broke through.
“You have no idea what’s at stake.”
“There it is again. Your company. Your voting rights. Your inheritance.”
“Thousands of employees depend on stability.”
“And therefore someone gets to forge my signature?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
He stepped closer.
“I married you because I loved you.”
I stared at him.
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“Then why Sophia?”
His expression softened painfully.
“I loved her once.”
“And now?”
A long pause.
Too long.
“I don’t know.”
It hurt.
But not the way I expected.
The answer did not break me.
It freed me.
“Thank you.”
His brow furrowed. “For what?”
“For finally saying something true.”
I turned toward the elevator.
“Erin.”
I stopped.
He reached into his coat and held out the small silver anniversary box.
I had left it behind.
“I opened it.”
I looked at the restored cuff link in his palm.
His voice lowered.
“You fixed it.”
“Yes.”
“My grandfather wore this when he married my grandmother.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Because I listened when you talked.”
Something changed in his face.
Perhaps he finally understood the cruelty of handing money to a woman who had spent months repairing a memory for him.
“I’m sorry.”
Two words I had waited years to hear.
They arrived too late.
I stepped into the elevator.
As the doors began closing, Alexander said, “My mother is hosting the Grant Foundation gala Saturday.”
“I know.”
“She expects us both there.”
“I’m not pretending anymore.”
“That’s not why I’m telling you.”
The doors nearly met.
Then he said, “Sophia will be there.”
I pressed the open button.
May you like
Alexander looked directly at me.
“And my mother is planning to announce something that involves you.”
