Chapter 8 - What the Camera Saw
The police did not immediately call it attempted murder.
Neither did I.
The damaged bolts could have been sabotage intended to delay Harbor House.
Insurance fraud.
Union pressure.
Corporate retaliation.
There were too many possibilities.
But Nathan was certain of one thing.
I had been scheduled to photograph that section of the building at 7:30 that morning.
Nathan arrived early because he wanted to inspect a drainage problem.
He stood where I would have stood.
At 7:41, the support collapsed.
I would have been there eleven minutes earlier if my alarm had not failed.
Elliot became intensely protective.
So did Nathan.
That created an atmosphere so awkward Sophie described it as “a divorced-woman hostage situation involving two developers.”
I was less amused.
Someone had tampered with my project.
I wanted to know who.
The answer came from the thing I understood best.
A photograph.
For months, I had installed time-lapse cameras around Harbor House to document construction.
Most captured one frame every five minutes.
One camera faced the damaged structure.
At 2:15 a.m., a figure entered the frame.
At 2:20, he appeared beneath the support.
At 2:25, gone.
His face was invisible.
But his truck was not.
Rebecca enlarged the image.
Elliot stared.
Nathan stared.
I recognized the logo.
Hayes Development Services.
Elliot’s company.
He immediately turned over employee records.
The truck had been assigned to site superintendent Caleb Morrison.
Police brought Caleb in.
He denied everything.
Then they found $75,000 in his account.
Transferred through a shell company.
The shell company traced back to—
Meridian Capital.
Not the corporation itself.
Graham Voss.
The former CEO.
The man suspended after Martin’s forged-document scandal.
Graham had lost his position, millions in compensation, and his reputation when the failed Carter transaction became public.
Apparently, he blamed me.
But the story became stranger.
Graham had not paid Caleb to hurt me.
He paid him to sabotage Harbor House repeatedly until investors abandoned it.
Caleb claimed he loosened the support only enough to trigger an inspection.
He insisted he never intended collapse.
Investigators would decide whether they believed him.
Either way, Graham was arrested on charges related to bribery, conspiracy, and property sabotage.
Nathan came home from the hospital three days later.
I drove him.
Not because we were reconciling.
Because he couldn’t comfortably fasten his own seat belt and had nobody nearby except an assistant he was too proud to ask.
His house looked different.
The enormous modern place we had once shared was gone.
Nathan had sold it.
Now he lived in a modest restored Charleston townhouse.
“You downsized.”
“I discovered I only used four rooms.”
I looked around.
There were photographs on the wall.
Not professional prints.
Mine.
Pictures I had taken during our marriage.
Savannah.
The Blue Ridge Mountains.
My father laughing beside a fishing boat.
Me, reflected accidentally in a shop window.
“You kept them.”
Nathan looked embarrassed.
“They’re good photographs.”
I turned.
“You never hung my work when we were married.”
“I know.”
That hurt.
“I was an idiot.”
“Yes.”
He smiled faintly.
“I walked into that.”
“You usually do.”
I made coffee.
Nathan watched from the kitchen island.
Then he said, “I owe Elliot an apology.”
That surprised me.
“For?”
“I accused him of being careless after the accident.”
“He understood.”
“I also disliked him because he was dating my ex-wife.”
I stopped.
“We weren’t dating.”
Nathan’s eyebrows lifted.
“You kissed him.”
“How do you know that?”
“Charleston is a small city populated entirely by people who enjoy gossip.”
Despite myself, I laughed.
Nathan smiled.
It was the first time we had laughed together since before Victoria.
The realization silenced us.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“For which part?”
“Today? Being jealous.”
He looked at his coffee.
“I forfeited the right.”
That word stayed with me.
Forfeited.
Not lost.
Not stolen.
He understood that his choices had consequences.
I left an hour later.
Elliot was waiting outside.
He leaned against his car.
“How’s Romeo?”
“Elliot.”
“Sorry. Too soon?”
“Approximately forever too soon.”
He grinned.
Then his expression softened.
“You still love him.”
I opened my mouth.
Nothing came.
Elliot nodded.
“I thought so.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m going back.”
“I know.”
“Love isn’t enough.”
“I know that too.”
I studied him.
“Why are you being so reasonable?”
“Because I like you enough not to turn your confusion into my opportunity.”
I kissed his cheek.
“You’re annoyingly decent.”
“It’s terrible for business.”
We ended whatever we had before it became something either of us would regret.
Six weeks later, Harbor House opened its first completed building.
The neighborhood came alive.
Children ran through the courtyard.
The bakery moved into its renovated storefront.
Artists opened their studios.
My photographs lined the main hall.
One image stopped Nathan.
It was from our anniversary night.
Not of him.
Not of the restaurant.
The waterfront after I left.
I had apparently taken it from inside my car before driving home.
Rain on glass.
Streetlights blurred.
A woman’s reflection barely visible.
Me.
The title beneath it read:
The Night I Left.
Nathan stood there for a long time.
Then he found me.
“I’m glad you left.”
I stared at him.
He continued.
“I hate why you had to. But if you had stayed, I think I would have kept hurting you while telling myself I was trying to fix things.”
I swallowed.
“You’re probably right.”
He nodded.
Then handed me a small envelope.
“What’s this?”
“Something I should have given you a year ago.”
Inside was a check.
$186,000.
My original investment.
Plus interest calculated over six years.
I looked up.
“I don’t need this.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
“Because you believed in me before I deserved it.”
His voice lowered.
“And I spent years acting like I built everything alone.”
I pushed the check back.
Nathan refused it.
“Do whatever you want with it.”
So I did.
Three months later, I used the money to create the Thomas Bennett Community Arts Fund.
Nathan attended the opening.
He stayed in the back.
He didn’t approach me.
He didn’t try to make himself part of the moment.
That was when I realized something had changed.
For the first time since our divorce, I wondered whether the man standing across the room might actually be becoming different.
Then Sophie appeared beside me.
“Don’t look now.”
“Why does everyone say that immediately before making someone look?”
“Nathan brought a woman.”
My stomach dropped.
I turned.
A beautiful brunette stood beside him.
And before I could stop myself, jealousy burned through me.
Sophie smiled slowly.
“Oh.”
“Don’t.”
“You’re jealous.”
“I am not.”
The brunette suddenly threw her arms around Nathan.
My heart sank.
Then a teenage boy ran over shouting:
“Mom! Uncle Nathan!”
I closed my eyes.
Sophie burst out laughing.
“His sister?”
“Apparently.”
“You’re terrible at this.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
Across the room, Nathan caught my eye.
He saw my expression.
And somehow, infuriatingly, he understood.
A tiny smile appeared.
May you like
I looked away.
But I was smiling too.
