Chapter 3 - THE WOMAN BEFORE MY WIFE
Corinne stopped pretending the following morning. Her attorney called Rachel at 8:12 and requested a meeting. Not at our house. Not alone. A conference room downtown with lawyers sitting between us as if sixteen feet of polished wood could make the woman across from me less dangerous. Corinne walked in wearing cream trousers and a dark blazer. No makeup. The faint mark from where I had slapped her remained along one cheek. Seeing it forced me to remember my own part in that night. I had hit her. I would answer for that if I had to. But then I pictured her fist tangled in Maisie’s hair and the bruise beneath her fingers. Whatever guilt I felt did not erase what I had seen.
“How did you know Laura?” I asked.
Corinne glanced at her lawyer. “I worked for her.”
The room went silent.
“For how long?”
“Three years.”
I almost laughed because the alternative was putting my fist through the table. “You worked for my wife for three years.”
“Before you married her.”
“And when you met me at the St. Matthew’s charity gala, you told me you’d never met Laura.”
“I said I didn’t really know her.”
“You worked for her for three years.”
“It wasn’t personal.”
“Then why did she need a protective order against you?”
Corinne’s face hardened. “Because Laura became paranoid.”
There was the first crack.
Rachel leaned forward. “Paranoid about what?”
“Money.”
Corinne told the story slowly, as if she had rehearsed it overnight. Laura’s design consultancy had been sold years earlier. Corinne had been operations manager. During the sale, several accounts did not reconcile. Laura believed nearly half a million dollars had disappeared. She blamed Corinne. Corinne claimed the money had gone to legitimate contractors. There had been no completed lawsuit. No criminal conviction. Eventually the issue went quiet.
“Until shortly before Laura died,” Rachel said.
Corinne’s eyes flicked toward her.
“What happened then?”
“Laura found old records.”
“And contacted you?”
“Yes.”
“What did she want?”
“To destroy me.”
I felt anger rise. “What did she want, Corinne?”
“She wanted money returned.”
“How much?”
Corinne hesitated. “Around four hundred eighty thousand.”
My stomach tightened. “And nine days before she died?”
“She sent a demand letter.”
“Where is it?”
“I threw it away.”
Rachel actually closed her eyes for a second.
I leaned across the table. “Why did you go looking for me after she died?”
Corinne froze.
Her lawyer said, “Ethan—”
“No. She answers.”
Corinne looked at me. For the first time since I met her, I saw something beneath the controlled expression. Shame, maybe. Or simply the realization that the lie was no longer useful.
“I knew you would be at the gala.”
The words hit harder than I expected.
Our first meeting returned to me with nauseating clarity. Her standing beside the auction table. Her laughing when I spilled champagne. Her saying, You look familiar. Her asking about Maisie with exactly enough sympathy to make me feel safe.
“You planned it.”
“I wanted to speak to you.”
“About Laura?”
“At first.”
“At first?”
Corinne swallowed. “Then I liked you.”
I stared at her.
She whispered, “I didn’t expect that.”
I stood. Rachel quietly put a hand on my arm, not restraining me, just reminding me where we were.
“You studied my schedule. You went somewhere you knew I would be. You introduced yourself as a stranger. You let me tell you how Laura died. You let me tell you I blamed myself. You let me cry in front of you about a woman you had threatened.”
“Ethan—”
“And then you married me.”
Her voice broke. “I loved you.”
“No.” I shook my head. “You may have felt something. But you don’t get to build a relationship inside a lie and call the lie love.”
Corinne’s eyes filled, but I felt nothing when I saw the tears.
Rachel slid a document across the table. “Northcrest Solutions.”
Corinne’s tears disappeared.
There.
Fear.
Rachel continued. “Laura’s draft affidavit states that approximately $482,600 in company money was routed through Northcrest Solutions. Registered agent: Daniel Vale.”
I looked at Corinne.
“Your brother.”
“That proves nothing.”
“Laura wrote that you approved the invoices.”
“I approved hundreds of invoices.”
“Were they legitimate?”
“Yes.”
Rachel placed another page down.
One invoice billed 1,200 consulting hours in thirty days.
Another billed for a server migration completed by a different company.
A third billed Laura’s company for work that never occurred.
Corinne didn’t touch the papers.
I watched her face instead.
“Did your brother steal Laura’s money?”
“No.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Then why did Laura write that you threatened her?”
“I was angry.”
“What did you say?”
Corinne looked down.
Rachel read from the recovered email.
“You’ll regret turning this into something bigger than it is.”
I felt the air leave my chest.
Laura died eleven days after seeking protection.
That sentence was not proof of murder.
But it was no longer something I could ignore.
Then Rachel turned over the final page.
“This is where it gets worse.”
A draft affidavit from Laura listed payments to Northcrest, Daniel’s role, and a note about a brokerage account.
Next to the account reference, Laura had written one initial.
C.
Corinne stared at it.
I watched the blood drain from her face.
“You told me you never benefited from Northcrest,” I said.
She said nothing.
“Corinne.”
Nothing.
I leaned closer.
“Whose brokerage account was it?”
Her lawyer immediately said, “This meeting is over.”
Corinne stood.
But before she reached the door, Rachel spoke.
“We already know the account holder.”
May you like
Corinne stopped walking.
And for the first time since this began, she looked genuinely terrified.
