Chapter 5 - His Mistress Wasn't The Only Other WomanNatalie Cross looked nothing like the villain I had imagined.
That irritated me.
It would have been easier if she'd swept into the conference room in designer sunglasses and arrogance.
Instead, she looked exhausted.
No makeup.
Hair in a loose knot.
Dark circles under her eyes.
She carried a leather folder against her chest like a shield.
Daniel sat beside me.
I had insisted he be present.
Natalie glanced at him.
“I thought this would be just us.”
“No.”
She nodded.
“Fair.”
I waited.
She took the chair opposite me but didn't open the folder.
“First,” she said, “I'm sorry.”
I said nothing.
“I know that doesn't mean much.”
“It doesn't.”
Her eyes dropped.
“I didn't know the truth when it started.”
“Which truth?”
“That he was still married in any meaningful sense.”
I almost laughed.
“Meaningful sense.”
“I know how that sounds.”
“Do you?”
“He said you were separated privately. That you were staying legally married because of your father's trust and business.”
Daniel shifted slightly.
I kept my eyes on her.
“And you believed him?”
“For a while.”
“How long?”
“Six months.”
“And after that?”
Her face tightened.
“I found out he was lying.”
“But you stayed.”
“Yes.”
I appreciated that she didn't manufacture excuses.
“Why?”
She looked embarrassed.
“Because by then I loved him.”
I leaned back.
There it was.
The sentence women are expected to understand because love supposedly explains stupidity.
I knew better.
Love could explain choices.
It didn't erase responsibility.
“You helped him buy the Aspen condo.”
“I did.”
“With money stolen from my company.”
“I didn't know that part.”
“Can you prove it?”
She opened the folder.
“Yes.”
Emails.
Texts.
Loan documents.
Vance had told Natalie that his share of the down payment came from a distribution from a family investment fund.
He even sent her a fabricated financial summary.
Daniel read silently.
“This document is false.”
Natalie nodded.
“I know that now.”
I studied her.
“Why come to me?”
“Because three days ago, I discovered I'm not the only one.”
My stomach dropped.
“What?”
She slid her phone across the table.
A photograph showed Vance at a rooftop bar.
His hand rested against the back of a blonde woman's waist.
Not Natalie.
The timestamp was six weeks earlier.
“That could be anything.”
Natalie swiped.
Another photo.
Kissing.
My disgust surprised me.
Not jealousy.
Disgust.
“Who is she?”
“Her name is Brynn Caldwell. She's twenty-eight. Works in commercial insurance.”
Daniel took notes.
Natalie continued.
“I confronted him Sunday.”
That meant two days before the rice dinner.
“What did he say?”
“That it was nothing.”
“Classic.”
“He promised he would end it. Then Tuesday morning I got an email from the Aspen condo management office about changing ownership documents.”
My attention sharpened.
“What ownership documents?”
“He wanted me to sign my interest in Pierce Holdings over to him.”
“Why?”
“He said it was necessary for refinancing.”
Daniel leaned forward.
“Did you sign?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Natalie gave a humorless laugh.
“That's when I started going through everything.”
She showed us messages going back months.
Vance had promised her they would move to Aspen after our divorce.
He told her the Blackridge Heights house would be sold and he would receive half.
He estimated his share at nearly $1.4 million.
That was impossible.
The house belonged to the trust.
Natalie hadn't known that.
He also claimed he owned substantial Hartwell stock through our marriage.
Also false.
My father's shares were separately held.
“He thought he'd get rich divorcing me,” I said.
Daniel answered carefully.
“He may still make claims. But what he told her is wildly misleading.”
Natalie looked at me.
“There is more.”
I almost laughed.
“There always is.”
She pulled out printed screenshots.
They were messages between Vance and Loretta.
Apparently Vance had forgotten his mother's tablet was still linked to his messaging account when Natalie visited the Aspen condo.
One exchange took place eight months earlier.
LORETTA: How much do you think Claire will give you to avoid embarrassment?
VANCE: Depends what Daniel tells her.
LORETTA: She hates scandal. Push emotional neglect. Say she chose work over marriage.
My hands tightened.
Another message:
VANCE: House should be easiest.
LORETTA: Gerald said the same thing before he tried to leave me. Never assume they'll play fair.
Another:
VANCE: Nat wants me to move faster.
LORETTA: Don't until the company transfer is complete.
Daniel stopped reading.
“What company transfer?”
Natalie shook her head.
“I don't know.”
We searched the remaining screenshots.
Then found it.
Three months earlier:
VANCE: Once Claire signs the spousal restructuring papers, I'll have voting rights.
LORETTA: Then you don't need to ask permission anymore.**
I stared at the screen.
“Spousal restructuring?”
Daniel's expression darkened.
“Has Vance given you anything to sign recently?”
My mind raced.
Tax documents.
Insurance forms.
Trust updates.
Then I remembered.
Two weeks earlier, Vance had handed me a folder at breakfast.
He said his accountant needed signatures relating to joint estate planning.
I had been late for a meeting.
I signed three places.
Cold moved through my body.
“I signed something.”
Daniel went completely still.
“What?”
“I don't know.”
“Did you read it?”
Shame hit me.
“No.”
He closed his eyes briefly.
“Where is the paperwork?”
“Vance took it.”
Daniel stood.
“I need to call Ethan.”
“What could it be?”
“Probably nothing effective without proper corporate execution.”
“Probably?”
“Claire.”
“What could it be?”
He sighed.
“If he was trying to create spousal voting authority over your Hartwell shares, it likely wouldn't work. Your shares are separately held through the Hale structure.”
“Likely?”
“We need the documents.”
Natalie looked horrified.
“I didn't know about any of this.”
I turned to her.
“What exactly did Vance tell you he was trying to accomplish?”
“He said your father built the company but you were running it badly.”
My jaw clenched.
“He said the board wanted him involved.”
I laughed.
Nobody else did.
The idea of Hartwell's board wanting Vance involved would have been funny under different circumstances.
He had attended one company holiday party and spent half the evening telling our logistics director how “branding could fix supply chain morale.”
“What else?”
“He said once the restructuring happened, he could merge his consulting firm into Hartwell's communications division.”
Now Daniel looked genuinely alarmed.
“That could explain the false invoices.”
The fraud wasn't just theft.
It might have been groundwork.
A fabricated history of legitimate consulting relationships could be used later to justify Vance's involvement.
Poorly.
But enough to cause confusion.
Enough to pressure me.
Enough, perhaps, to argue that his business had value tied to Hartwell.
I felt physically sick.
Natalie whispered, “Claire, I really am sorry.”
I looked at her.
“You slept with my husband after you knew he was lying about our marriage.”
She swallowed.
“Yes.”
“So I'm not going to tell you we're friends.”
“I understand.”
“But if you're giving us genuine evidence, my attorney will make sure your cooperation is documented.”
Daniel nodded.
Natalie's shoulders loosened slightly.
Then she said something unexpected.
“There's one more thing.”
I almost didn't want to ask.
“What?”
“Loretta hates me.”
That surprised me.
“She helped prepare the condo.”
“For herself. Not for me.”
Natalie opened another message.
Loretta to Vance.
Natalie is temporary. Don't make permanent decisions around temporary women.
Then:
You need someone younger eventually if you want children. Claire wasted your best years and Natalie is already thirty-two.
Natalie gave a bitter smile.
“Apparently I was a transitional mistress.”
Despite everything, a laugh escaped me.
Natalie laughed too.
For two seconds, two women betrayed by the same ridiculous man sat across from each other and recognized the absurdity.
Then Daniel's phone rang.
He answered.
Mostly listened.
His expression hardened.
When he hung up, he looked at me.
“Ethan found the papers.”
“How?”
“Vance submitted copies electronically.”
My heart pounded.
“And?”
“They aren't voting-rights documents.”
Relief started.
Then Daniel added:
“They're loan-guarantee documents.”
I froze.
“What loan?”
“A commercial line of credit.”
“How much?”
He looked at me.
“Two million dollars.”
I stopped breathing.
“Guaranteed by what?”
Daniel's answer was quiet.
“According to the application?”
He turned the screen toward me.
“Your Hartwell shares.”
The room went dead silent.
I stared at my signature.
Three neat strokes of a pen.
Signed hurriedly over breakfast.
Trusting my husband.
Daniel pointed to the page.
“The good news is he can't legally pledge assets he doesn't control.”
“And the bad news?”
“The lender apparently funded part of the line before completing verification.”
“How much?”
“Six hundred thousand dollars.”
Natalie whispered, “Oh my God.”
I looked at Daniel.
“Where is the money?”
“We're tracing it.”
My phone vibrated.
Vance.
This time, the message contained no apology.
You want war? Fine. Don't forget we're married. Half of everything is mine.
I looked at it.
Then handed the phone to Daniel.
He smiled for the first time all day.
Not warmly.
“Perfect.”
“What?”
“Let him keep talking.”
And for the first time since I'd left the burnt rice behind, I realized Vance wasn't simply losing control.
He was beginning to panic.
May you like
Panicked people make mistakes.
And my husband had just started making his in writing.
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