Chapter 10
“That might be wise.”
His expression tightened again.
Every calm answer seemed to make him more uncomfortable.
“You really have nothing else to say?”
“What do you want me to say, Nathan?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then we have the same problem.”
I walked inside.
My phone vibrated before I reached the kitchen.
Evan.
“Bait opened.”
I didn’t stop walking.
“Downloaded?”
“Not yet.”
I poured myself water.
Nathan entered behind me.
“Can we please talk like normal people?”
My phone buzzed again.
“Downloaded.”
I looked at my husband.
“About what?”
His face changed.
For a second, I wondered if he could somehow see what was on my screen.
Then he said, “Us.”
The fake Crescent Harbor file had been stolen less than three hours after we created it.
I put my phone away.
“What about us?”
“Do you want a divorce?”
That was the first time either of us had said the word.
“Yes.”
The answer came so easily that it surprised both of us.
Nathan’s face went still.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
He sat down slowly.
“You decided in two days?”
“No.”
That was true in a way he didn’t understand.
I had spent years deciding what I believed marriage meant.
He had simply supplied the final information.
“What happens with the house?”
“Attorneys can discuss that.”
“And everything else?”
“Attorneys.”
His eyes narrowed.
“You already called one.”
It wasn’t a question.
I drank my water.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
He looked genuinely angry for the first time.
“You said you weren’t going to make this ugly.”
“I never said that.”
“Brynn said—”
He stopped.
I almost thanked him.
Instead, I waited.
“What did Brynn say?”
“Nothing.”
“You keep having conversations with Brynn about what I’m going to do.”
“She’s worried.”
“About me?”
“About everyone.”
I almost laughed again.
“How generous.”
Nathan stood.
“I’m going to the hotel.”
He carried the suitcases upstairs.
At 4:15, he left the house.
At 4:22, Brynn texted me.
“I heard you’re getting divorced.”
I stared at the seven-minute gap.
Then she sent another message.
“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
This time I replied.
“For which part?”
The typing bubble appeared almost immediately.
Then vanished.
It returned.
“You know what I mean.”
“No, Brynn. I don’t.”
She didn’t answer.
Forty minutes later, Evan called.
“The bait file moved.”
“Where?”
“That collaboration domain.”
“Rowe & Vale?”
“Same infrastructure.”
My heart pounded.
“How fast?”
“Thirty-seven minutes after it was downloaded.”
I closed my eyes.
Nathan left my house.
Seven minutes later Brynn knew about the divorce.
Thirty-seven minutes after the theft, the file moved toward the competitor’s environment.
Whatever relationship existed among them was active.
Coordinated.
And careless because they thought I was distracted by my marriage.
Monday morning was the final Crescent Harbor presentation.
It was scheduled at ten in a private conference suite inside a hotel near North Hills.
Whitmore Studio presented first.
Rowe & Vale followed after lunch.
Normally the competing firms would never hear each other’s presentations.
That morning, I wore a navy suit and walked into the room with three members of my leadership team.
Nobody knew what had happened at home.
They didn’t need to.
Our presentation was the real one.
The genuine pricing.
The genuine strategy.
No fake reduction.
No fictional vendor concessions.
No 7.4 percent.
I spoke for forty-two minutes.
The client asked questions for another thirty.
When I walked out, Crescent Harbor’s chief development officer, Malcolm Reed, shook my hand.
“Strong work.”
“Thank you.”
Then he added something unexpected.
May you like
“I’m sorry about the confusion this morning.”
“What confusion?”
