Chapter 2
Evan read page eleven twice, as though anger might somehow change the words.
The townhouse was my separate inheritance.
The temporary order granted me exclusive use.
Evan had seventy-two hours to collect his belongings under supervision.
“I renovated this place,” he snapped.
“With Claire’s money,” Daniel said. “The invoices are attached.”
Evan turned toward me.
“You planned this while smiling across the breakfast table?”
“I planned it while you charged hotel suites to Mercer House and told me the business was struggling.”
His eyes moved toward his phone.
Six weeks earlier, our controller, Marisol, had flagged an invoice for lighting that had never arrived.
I still reviewed quarterly finances because my grandmother’s trust had provided Mercer House’s original capital.
When Evan’s reckless expansion nearly pushed the company into bankruptcy, I paid the tax debt—but only after he signed an amended agreement making my trust the sixty-two-percent member.
He loved telling people he was the founder and chief executive.
He rarely mentioned that he managed a company I controlled.
“You can’t touch the restaurants,” he said, though his voice had weakened.
Daniel slid another packet across the table.
“Notice of an emergency member meeting. Tomorrow, nine o’clock.”
The doorbell rang again.
Vanessa entered without waiting, dressed in a fitted scarlet cocktail dress and carrying an overnight bag.
“Traffic was a nightmare,” she said.
Then she noticed Daniel, the papers, and Evan’s pale face.
“What happened?”
“My wife has lost her mind.”
“No,” I said. “Your employer has found her records.”
Vanessa’s confidence slipped.
She wasn’t only Evan’s mistress.
As procurement director, she had approved payments to North Harbor Design, a vendor registered to her brother.
Over eighteen months, Mercer House had paid the company $486,000 for furniture, wine storage, and consulting services that never existed.
Evan had authorized every transfer.
“That company is legitimate,” Vanessa said quickly.
Daniel placed copies of canceled checks beside her plate.
“Then you can explain why its mailing address is your private condominium.”
She looked at Evan.
He looked down.
My wrist continued throbbing.
I had photographed the swelling in the kitchen and sent the image to Daniel before setting the table.
The smart doorbell had also recorded Evan’s earlier threat to throw me out if I resisted.
Daniel handed him a temporary no-contact order supported by my physician’s report from the previous month, when Evan had bruised my shoulder during another argument.
Evan stood so quickly that his chair struck the wall.
“You think paperwork makes you powerful?”
Daniel moved between us.
I stayed seated.
“No,” I said. “It makes the truth difficult for you to hit.”
Two officers waiting outside entered when Evan moved toward me.
They accompanied him upstairs while he packed one suitcase, then watched him leave.
Vanessa followed carrying her overnight bag.
At the doorway, Evan turned.
“Tomorrow I’ll take the company from you in front of everyone.”
May you like
I finally lifted the lid from the first course.
“Tomorrow,” I said, “everyone gets to see what you bought with their money.”
