Chapter 3 - The Money
Michael did not deny it.
That frightened me more than Rachel's accusation.
We left the hotel within minutes and drove to Michael's condo overlooking Lake Michigan. Nobody spoke during the ride.
Once inside, Michael poured water instead of whiskey.
That detail somehow reassured me.
“Start talking,” I said.
He did.
Michael was chief operating officer of Morgan Development, a Chicago real-estate company founded by his grandfather. Daniel's consulting firm had spent eighteen months advising Morgan Development on a hotel acquisition.
Rachel knew about the project through Michael.
Daniel knew through work.
Three days before they disappeared, $1.8 million had been transferred from an escrow account into a company registered in Delaware.
Michael discovered it the morning Rachel vanished.
“You thought Daniel stole it?”
“I didn't know.”
“And you didn't tell me?”
“I had no proof.”
“You asked me to fake-date you while investigating my husband for theft?”
Michael's face hardened.
“I asked you because I was angry and humiliated. The money wasn't why.”
“That doesn't make it better.”
“I know.”
For the first time since our arrangement began, I wanted him gone.
Then Michael placed documents on the counter.
Daniel's electronic authorization appeared on the transfer.
But so did something else.
My name.
CLAIRE BENNETT.
My signature had supposedly approved consulting amendments related to the transfer.
I stared at it.
“I never signed this.”
“I believe you.”
“You better.”
I called a lawyer the next morning.
By noon, revenge was no longer funny.
If investigators believed the documents, I could become part of a financial fraud investigation.
Daniel had not merely betrayed me.
Someone had used me.
My lawyer, Naomi Feldman, told me not to contact him privately.
So naturally Daniel appeared outside my office at five thirty.
“Claire.”
I kept walking.
“Claire, please.”
He caught up.
“You need to hear me.”
“My lawyer disagrees.”
“I didn't forge your signature.”
That stopped me.
“Then who did?”
Daniel looked around.
“Rachel.”
I laughed in disbelief.
“My best friend forged my signature while sleeping with my husband?”
“I didn't know until afterward.”
“How convenient.”
“Claire, listen.”
He stepped closer.
Michael's SUV pulled to the curb at that exact moment.
Daniel saw him.
“You called him?”
“No.”
Michael got out.
His expression was controlled, but I could see anger beneath it.
Daniel smiled bitterly.
“Your replacement arrived.”
“You don't get to be jealous.”
“I'm not jealous.”
“Then stop looking like you want to punch him.”
Michael approached.
Daniel squared his shoulders.
For one ridiculous second, I thought they might actually fight.
I stepped between them.
“No.”
Both men stopped.
I looked at Daniel.
“If you have evidence Rachel forged my signature, send it to my lawyer.”
Then I got into Michael's car.
We drove three blocks before I spoke.
“Why were you there?”
Michael glanced at me.
“Your mother called.”
That was unexpected.
“What?”
“She had my number from when Rachel and I helped with your father's anniversary party. Your dad had another episode.”
Everything inside me dropped.
The hospital became a blur.
Dad was stable, but doctors wanted to keep him overnight.
Mom sat beside his bed.
Michael stayed in the hallway.
He never came inside until my mother asked him to.
Dad looked at Michael, confused.
“Where's Daniel?”
There it was.
The lie I had been protecting.
I couldn't do it anymore.
“Dad, Daniel left.”
My father's smile faded.
“With Rachel.”
Mom closed her eyes.
She already knew.
Dad looked devastated.
Not because of Daniel.
Because of me.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
I started crying.
Then Dad held out his hand.
“You should have told me.”
“I didn't want to hurt you.”
“I'm seventy-one, Claire. My heart may be unreliable, but I'm not made of glass.”
I laughed through my tears.
His gaze shifted toward Michael.
“And you?”
Michael looked suddenly uncomfortable.
“It's complicated, sir.”
Dad studied our faces.
Then smiled faintly.
“I've been married forty-three years. Complicated is usually another word for interesting.”
Later, Michael drove me home.
Outside my apartment, neither of us moved.
“I should apologize,” he said.
“For what?”
“The money. I should have told you immediately.”
“Yes.”
“I was afraid you'd think I was using you.”
“Were you?”
“No.”
I believed him.
That was becoming dangerous.
He looked at me.
“Claire, whatever happens with Daniel and Rachel, I'll make sure your name is cleared.”
“I don't need you to save me.”
“I know.”
The answer surprised me.
“Then why?”
“Because somebody dragged you into my company's mess.”
He paused.
“And because I care what happens to you.”
There it was.
The first crack in Rule Five.
We stared at each other.
No audience.
No cameras.
No reason to pretend.
Michael lifted his hand as though he wanted to touch my face.
Then stopped.
I should have been relieved.
Instead, I was disappointed.
“Goodnight, Claire.”
“Goodnight.”
I went upstairs.
At midnight, my phone buzzed.
Daniel.
A photograph appeared.
It showed Michael and Rachel at a restaurant.
The timestamp was from three months earlier.
They were sitting close together.
Rachel's hand rested over Michael's.
May you like
Beneath the photograph Daniel had written:
Before you trust him, ask Michael what he and Rachel were planning before she ever slept with me.
