Chapter 4 - THE MAN WHO KNEW TOO MUCH
On Monday morning, Evan Mercer walked into my office carrying a bouquet of white roses.
He left twenty-three minutes later threatening to sue me.
The roses never made it past reception.
Natalie intercepted him before he reached the executive floor.
“Claire isn't available.”
Evan looked exhausted.
His hair was uncombed.
His expensive jacket hung awkwardly from his shoulders.
For one foolish second, when I saw him through the security monitor, I felt the old instinct to ask whether he'd eaten.
Then I remembered the ultrasound.
And the company files.
“Send him into conference room B,” I told Natalie.
Julian was already there.
So was Priya.
Evan stopped when he saw them.
“What's this?”
I sat across from him.
“A conversation.”
He glanced at Julian.
“Who are you?”
“Julian Cross. Counsel for Northbridge Capital.”
Evan frowned.
“Why is an investor's attorney here?”
“Because confidential Whitmore House files were transferred through your consulting company.”
His expression changed.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
A flicker in his eyes.
A tightening around his mouth.
Then he laughed.
“What?”
I pushed a printed record toward him.
“Recognize this?”
He looked down.
“I don't know what I'm looking at.”
“Your company's storage account.”
“I barely use that account.”
“Someone did.”
He leaned back.
“Claire, is this what we're doing now?”
“What?”
“Trying to destroy each other?”
I stared at him.
“You're not the victim here.”
“I didn't say I was.”
“Then answer the question.”
He rubbed his forehead.
“Brooke sometimes helped me with administrative work.”
The room became very still.
I looked at Julian.
Then back at Evan.
“Administrative work?”
“Scheduling. Invoices. Things like that.”
“Using your company account?”
“Yes.”
“Did you pay her?”
“Occasionally.”
“How much?”
He frowned.
“Why does that matter?”
“Because I'm trying to establish whether my employee was being paid by another business while handling confidential information.”
Evan shifted.
“Claire, you're making this sound criminal.”
Julian spoke for the first time.
“Mr. Mercer, no one has accused you of a crime. We're asking about documented transfers.”
Evan glared at him.
“I don't appreciate being interrogated.”
“Then you're free to leave,” Julian said.
Evan looked at me.
“You're seriously letting this stranger talk to me like that?”
I felt something almost resembling amusement.
“I'm letting an attorney ask questions about my company.”
He stared.
Then his expression softened.
“Claire, please. We were supposed to be married two days ago.”
I looked at him for a long moment.
“Yes.”
His eyes filled.
“I know I ruined everything.”
“You did.”
“But I would never hurt your business.”
I wanted to believe him.
That was the humiliating part.
After everything, some small, exhausted corner of my heart still wanted the man I'd loved to be innocent of at least one betrayal.
“Then help us,” I said.
He hesitated.
“Help you how?”
“Authorize a forensic review of the relevant files in your consulting account.”
His face hardened.
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
Julian noticed.
So did Priya.
Evan stood.
“I came here to apologize. Not to be ambushed.”
“Then apologize.”
He stared.
“What?”
“Go ahead.”
His mouth opened.
“I already told you I'm sorry.”
“For what?”
“For everything.”
“Be specific.”
His face reddened.
“Claire, this is cruel.”
“No, Evan. Cruel was letting me spend months planning a wedding while you slept with someone who worked for me.”
He grabbed the roses from the chair.
“You've changed.”
I nodded.
“Yes.”
He looked startled.
“I don't recognize you.”
“That's probably because you've never seen me stop protecting you from consequences.”
He walked toward the door.
Then turned.
“Brooke's attorney says you can't fire her because she's pregnant.”
Julian answered before I could.
“Pregnancy is legally protected. It does not prevent an employer from investigating independently documented misconduct or taking lawful action for legitimate reasons. Ms. Whitmore has retained employment counsel to ensure the process is handled appropriately.”
Evan's jaw tightened.
“You people are unbelievable.”
He left.
The roses went with him.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Priya said, “He knows something.”
I looked at her.
“Can you prove it?”
“Not yet.”
That became the phrase of the week.
Not yet.
We couldn't prove who had copied the files.
Not yet.
We couldn't establish whether the altered financial projections had been distributed beyond Northbridge.
Not yet.
We couldn't identify the anonymous source who had submitted the allegations.
Not yet.
But by Wednesday, we had something else.
A financial connection.
Priya had located a series of payments to Mercer Strategic Consulting from a marketing intermediary called Eastbridge Advisory.
Eastbridge was a legitimate company.
Its clients included fashion brands, retail chains, and private investors.
One of those clients was Bellamy Atelier.
The company accusing me of stealing designs.
I stared at the payment records.
“How much?”
“Seventy-five thousand dollars over six months,” Priya said.
I felt sick.
Evan had told me his consulting business barely made enough to cover its expenses.
He'd borrowed twelve thousand dollars from me the previous winter.
For taxes, he'd said.
I had transferred the money without hesitation.
“Can we connect the payments to the file transfer?”
“Not directly.”
Julian folded his arms.
“But the timing warrants investigation.”
I looked at the dates.
The first payment had arrived six months earlier.
Long before Evan's birthday.
Long before Brooke's pregnancy.
Long before the affair supposedly began.
My phone buzzed.
A message from Brooke.
I know you hate me. But you need to understand something about Evan.
I stared at it.
Another message arrived.
He told me you were planning to sell Whitmore House and fire everyone.
I felt a cold wave move through me.
That was a lie.
I had never considered selling the company.
Then a third message appeared.
He said he was protecting the employees.
I handed the phone to Julian.
He read it.
“Don't respond yet.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to know whether she's warning you or creating a record that makes her look innocent.”
My phone rang.
Brooke.
I let it go to voicemail.
A minute later, a recording appeared.
I played it on speaker.
Her voice was shaking.
“Claire, please call me. I know you think I wanted your life, but that's not what happened. Evan told me things. About the company. About you. He said you were going to ruin everything.”
She began crying.
Then whispered, “I didn't know what he was really doing until I found the contracts.”
The recording ended.
Julian looked at me.
“What contracts?”
I called her.
She answered immediately.
“Claire?”
“What contracts, Brooke?”
Silence.
“Where are you?”
“At home.”
“Then tell me.”
She took a shaky breath.
“Evan signed an agreement with someone at Bellamy.”
My heart slammed against my ribs.
“What agreement?”
“He was supposed to help them acquire Whitmore House.”
I gripped the phone.
“Acquire it how?”
Brooke began sobbing.
“He told them he could make you desperate enough to sell.”
For several seconds, I couldn't breathe.
Then she said something worse.
“Claire, there's another reason he waited until the night before your wedding.”
I closed my eyes.
“Tell me.”
“Because someone paid him to make sure you wouldn't be thinking clearly before Monday's investor meeting.”
I looked at Julian.
His face had gone completely still.
May you like
And suddenly, the most humiliating night of my life began to look less like an accident.
And more like a carefully timed operation.
