Chapter 2 - THE NAME ON THE DEED|
At 7:15 the next morning, I walked into the headquarters of Ellery Holdings through the private entrance on Madison Avenue.
The receptionist, a young woman named Sophie, stood so quickly that her chair rolled backward.
"Good morning, Mrs. Ellery."
"Good morning, Sophie."
She looked at my face, then at the empty space behind me.
"Is Mr. Ellery coming in today?"
"Which one?"
Her cheeks flushed.
"I'm sorry. I meant Ethan."
"I know what you meant."
I continued toward the elevators.
My office occupied the entire thirty-second floor. It had belonged to my grandfather before me, and the brass nameplate outside still carried the family name. Inside, the city stretched beyond the windows, gray and enormous beneath a November sky.
Daniel Mercer was waiting beside my desk with two thick folders.
He was sixty-one, silver-haired, and had been my family's attorney for almost three decades. He had known my father, my grandfather, and every secret the Ellery family had tried to bury beneath expensive furniture.
"Good morning," he said.
"Is everything ready?"
"Almost. But before we discuss the divorce, there's something you should see."
He opened the first folder.
Inside were copies of emails between Ethan and a lawyer named Preston Cole. The subject line read: Preliminary Asset Separation Strategy.
I read the first page.
Then the second.
By the third, my hands had gone cold.
"They're planning to claim the house?"
"More than that. They intend to argue that the Ellery estate was effectively transferred to Ethan during your marriage."
"It wasn't."
"No. But someone has been collecting documents to create that impression."
I looked up.
"Who?"
Daniel hesitated.
"Margaret."
I leaned back.
Of course.
Margaret had spent years telling relatives that she had rescued the family after Gerald's death. She liked to describe herself as the woman who had held the house together while I hid behind spreadsheets and corporate meetings.
The truth was considerably less glamorous.
My grandfather had established a private trust decades before I was born. When my father died, the controlling shares of Ellery Holdings passed to that trust, with me as its sole beneficiary and managing trustee. The estate, the family home, the land, the art collection, and several investment properties were also held through separate legal entities.
Ethan had inherited nothing from me simply by marrying me.
He had been given a senior executive position because I believed he was capable. He had been trusted with access because I loved him. And he had been allowed to use the family name because I thought we were building something together.
None of those things made him an owner.
"Has he been signing anything?" I asked.
"That's what concerns me. Three months ago, Ethan requested copies of several corporate documents. He told the legal department he needed them for an estate-planning review."
"Did he receive them?"
"Only public filings and documents he was already authorized to access. But he also requested a copy of the original property schedule."
I stared at the folder.
"Why?"
"Because the house is the most valuable visible asset. Whoever controls the narrative about the house can influence how the family understands the rest."
I thought of Margaret sitting in my father's chair.
"She told everyone I would have to leave."
Daniel nodded.
"She may have believed that."
"Or she wanted everyone else to believe it."
He placed a second folder on my desk.
"There's another matter. Laya Hayes."
I looked at the name.
"Have you found something?"
"She was employed by the Westbridge Hotel until nine months ago. Ethan met her at a corporate event. After that, he arranged a consulting contract for her through a company called Hayes Lifestyle Group."
"Does that company exist?"
"It does. Barely. It was registered four months ago."
"And what does it do?"
"According to the paperwork, executive image consulting."
I almost smiled.
"How much has it received?"
"Approximately two hundred and eighty thousand dollars."
The number sat between us.
"From Ellery Holdings?"
"From a subsidiary. The invoices were approved by Ethan."
I stood and walked to the windows.
I had once believed the most painful thing a husband could do was fall in love with someone else. I was beginning to understand that betrayal had layers. Some were emotional. Others were measured in invoices and signatures.
"Do you think Laya knows?"
"I don't know."
"Find out. Quietly. No accusations."
Daniel closed the folder.
"And the divorce?"
"Let their attorney send the first formal notice. I want everything preserved. Emails, payment records, board minutes, property filings. No one deletes anything."
He nodded.
Then he paused.
"Naomi, there's something else."
I turned.
"Margaret called the property manager last night."
"What did she want?"
"She instructed him to prepare the east wing for renovations. She said Ethan had approved a change in ownership and that the house would soon be his."
For the first time that morning, I laughed.
"She is redecorating a house she doesn't own."
"Apparently."
I picked up my phone.
"Call the property manager. Tell him no work is authorized without written approval from the trust."
"Of course."
"And Daniel?"
"Yes?"
"Don't tell Ethan we've seen the emails."
Daniel studied me.
"Why not?"
"Because I want to know how far he'll go when he thinks no one is watching."
At 9:02, Ethan's assistant called.
"Mrs. Ellery, Mr. Ellery is asking whether you're available for a meeting."
"Tell him I'm busy."
"He says it's urgent."
I looked at the city.
"Then he can send an email."
Two minutes later, a message appeared on my screen.
We need to talk about the house. Margaret says you're making this unnecessarily difficult.
I read it twice.
Then I forwarded it to Daniel.
Because the next message Ethan sent was even more revealing.
May you like
You know the family expects me to take control now.
And beneath it, he had attached a document bearing my forged signature.
