Chapter 5 - Everybody Had a Secret
Daniel did not run.
That almost made it worse.
He walked to our table and sat beside me.
“Tell her,” Grant said.
Daniel ignored him.
“Claire, the video is real.”
My stomach tightened.
“What were you doing?”
“Looking for a ledger.”
“The one Natalie sent me?”
“No.”
Grant laughed bitterly.
“Of course there’s another ledger.”
Daniel finally looked at him.
“The original.”
I wanted to scream.
Instead, I whispered, “Start at the beginning.”
The story took forty minutes.
Eight years earlier, Michael Vale had invested heavily in a Manhattan development Grant was assembling.
Daniel, then a young financial consultant, advised Michael against overleveraging.
Michael ignored him.
When financing collapsed, Michael lost millions.
But Daniel later discovered that somebody had manipulated the timing of several loans.
He suspected Grant.
Grant suspected Michael.
Both men believed the other had attempted to seize control of Bennett Development’s land position.
My father had been caught between them.
“What does this have to do with my marriage?”
Grant answered.
“Your father asked me to protect the trust.”
I stared at him.
“Why you?”
“Because he knew my company needed the land. That gave me a financial reason to keep anyone else from stealing it.”
It was strangely logical.
“My father trusted your greed?”
A painful smile touched Grant’s mouth.
“Thomas was practical.”
Daniel leaned forward.
“But Thomas later suspected somebody inside Grant’s company was falsifying transactions.”
“Who?”
“We never proved it.”
Grant looked at Daniel.
“You disappeared before we could.”
“You framed me.”
“I thought you did it.”
“You needed a scapegoat.”
“And you looked guilty.”
I pressed both palms against the table.
“Stop.”
They did.
“Where is the original ledger?”
Daniel looked at me.
“I think Natalie has it.”
Grant shook his head.
“No. She has copies.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I bought the original Friday night.”
Everything stopped.
“The bracelet,” I said.
Grant nodded.
The $38,600 purchase had been partly theater.
Natalie arranged a meeting with a former accountant who claimed to possess documents belonging to Michael.
Grant used the jewelry outing as cover because he suspected someone was tracking his movements.
“You were sleeping with Natalie while using her to recover financial evidence?”
Grant looked ashamed.
“Yes.”
There was no excuse.
No romantic justification.
No misunderstanding.
He had betrayed me.
But not for the simple reason I had believed.
“Did you love her?”
“No.”
“Did she love you?”
Natalie answered from behind me.
“No.”
I turned.
She stood near the entrance.
Her eyes were red.
Daniel had apparently asked her to come.
Natalie approached slowly.
“I hated him before I met him.”
Grant said nothing.
“I thought he killed my father.”
“Your father died of a heart attack,” Grant said.
“You destroyed everything first.”
“I did not manipulate those loans.”
“You benefited.”
“So did someone else.”
Natalie dropped a folder onto the table.
Inside were photocopies of Michael’s records.
One name appeared repeatedly.
Whitmore Capital Advisory.
Not Whitmore Urban Holdings.
“Who owns this?” I asked.
Grant’s face drained of color.
“My mother.”
Margaret Whitmore.
Suddenly I remembered every time Margaret had defended Grant.
Every time she dismissed his behavior.
Every time she treated our marriage as an arrangement she had personally approved.
Grant stood.
“No.”
Natalie pushed another page toward him.
A signature.
Margaret Whitmore.
Grant stared at it.
“My mother financed Michael’s position?”
Daniel nodded.
“And called the loan when he couldn’t cover it.”
“Why?”
Daniel looked at me.
“To obtain Bennett Development.”
My father had blocked the transfer.
Michael lost everything.
Margaret got nothing.
And years later, her son married Thomas Bennett’s daughter.
I looked at Grant.
“Did your mother encourage you to date me?”
His silence answered.
“Grant.”
“Yes.”
The word barely came out.
Something inside me finally broke.
“So maybe you didn’t marry me for the land.”
“I didn’t.”
“But she wanted you to.”
“Yes.”
“And you knew.”
“Yes.”
I stood.
“Claire—”
“Don’t.”
Grant reached for me.
I stepped backward.
The movement stopped him more effectively than shouting could have.
“I loved you,” I said. “Do you understand that? I loved you when you had your first office above a laundromat. I loved you before the magazine covers and drivers and houses.”
“I know.”
“You let me spend eight years inside a story where everyone except me knew the first page.”
His eyes filled.
“I know.”
“No, Grant. You don’t.”
Then pain ripped across my abdomen.
Sharp.
Sudden.
I grabbed the table.
Grant moved first.
“Claire?”
Another pain.
Then warmth.
I looked down.
Water spread across the fabric of my dress.
Daniel stood.
Natalie covered her mouth.
I was only thirty-one weeks pregnant.
Grant’s face turned white.
“Call 911.”
The room exploded into motion.
Grant caught me before my knees hit the floor.
I gripped his jacket.
“Our baby.”
“I’ve got you.”
“She’s too early.”
“Look at me.”
For once, his voice contained no polish.
No calculation.
Only terror.
“You’re not losing her.”
Sirens sounded somewhere outside.
Grant held me against his chest.
And as another contraction tore through me, Natalie suddenly looked toward the hotel windows.
A black sedan was pulling away.
She whispered:
“Grant.”
May you like
“What?”
“That’s your mother’s car.”
