Chapter 4 - The Company Registered in Her Name
Richard opened the folder.
Inside were copies of financial reports, hospital records, and handwritten notes. He pushed one sheet toward me.
“This is why I asked you to come,” he said.
I glanced down.
The paper contained a list of transactions from the Moretti Foundation over a period of eighteen months. Several payments had been made to a consulting company called Bennett Advisory Group.
My breath stopped.
Bennett was my maiden name.
I looked at Richard. “What is this?”
“We don’t know.”
Vincent stepped closer. “I found the records two weeks ago.”
“You found payments made to a company with my name.”
“Yes.”
“Do I own this company?”
“No.”
“Have I ever heard of it?”
“Not before today.”
Richard’s expression was grave. “The company was registered in Delaware four years ago. Six months before your wedding.”
I studied the document.
The listed director was someone named Martin Hale.
The name meant nothing to me.
“Why would anyone use my name?”
“That is what we are trying to determine,” Vincent said.
I looked up at him. “And this is what you were investigating?”
“Partly. Daniel found the first transfer. I found the connection to you.”
“Then why did you never tell me?”
“Because I didn’t know whether you were connected to it.”
The room went silent.
It would have been easy to become angry. Easier still to accuse him of suspecting me all along.
Instead, I looked at the dates.
Six months before our wedding.
The company had existed before I became a Moretti. Before I had any access to the foundation. Before I had met Sophia Carter.
“What does Nathan know about this?” I asked.
“Who is Nathan?” Richard said.
“My attorney.”
Vincent’s gaze sharpened. “You hired an attorney?”
“I told you I want a divorce.”
He looked as though the words had just reached him for the first time.
Richard exhaled. “We are not asking you to abandon your decision tonight.”
“That’s generous.”
“I mean it,” he said. “Whatever happens between you and Vincent, you deserve the right to make your choice without pressure.”
I studied him.
There was no demand in his voice now. No patriarchal command. Only fatigue and something close to regret.
“I appreciate that,” I said.
Vincent sat across from me at last. He looked older than he had that morning.
“Claire, I should have told you everything.”
“Yes.”
“I thought I could protect you.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it’s true.”
“Then understand this. Being shut out did not protect me. It made me doubt my own marriage. It made me doubt myself.”
His eyes remained on mine.
“I know.”
“No, you don’t. You came home at three in the morning and expected me to accept silence. You looked at your phone every time Sophia called, then walked into another room. You gave me every reason to believe the worst.”
“I was afraid.”
“Of what?”
“That if I told you about Daniel, you would become a target.”
“And if you told me you were caring for your brother?”
He had no answer.
I leaned back, my hands cold.
“I cannot decide whether I want to stay married to you simply because the affair I suspected did not happen.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Because this isn’t only about Sophia. It’s about trust. You made a decision that affected both of us, and you made it alone.”
Vincent nodded slowly.
His acceptance unsettled me more than an argument would have.
Richard pushed another document across the desk.
“This arrived at the house yesterday.”
It was an envelope, cream-colored and unmarked.
I opened it carefully.
Inside was a photocopy of a bank transfer. The recipient was Bennett Advisory Group. The sender was Moretti Holdings.
But the date was different from the others.
This transfer had been made one week after my wedding.
At the bottom, someone had written in blue ink:
Ask Claire what her father knew.
The room seemed to narrow around me.
My father had died two years earlier.
He had been a quiet, principled man who ran a small architectural firm in Evanston. He had never mentioned Moretti Holdings except to say that Richard was “a complicated man with an impressive ability to survive.”
I read the sentence again.
Ask Claire what her father knew.
“I don’t understand,” I whispered.
Vincent reached for the paper, but I pulled it closer.
“Did you send this?” I asked Richard.
“No.”
“Who did?”
“We don’t know.”
“Why give it to me?”
“Because the envelope was addressed to you.”
I looked at the front.
My full married name was typed across it.
The envelope had been delivered to the family house, not our penthouse. Someone had known I would be there.
Someone had known about the meeting.
A small sound came from the doorway.
We all turned.
Sophia Carter stood in the hall.
She had no coat, though the evening had grown cold. Her expression was pale but steady.
Vincent rose immediately. “Sophia, what are you doing here?”
She looked at him, then at me.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I tried to reach you.”
“You should not be here.”
“I know.” Her attention shifted to the paper in my hand. “But you need to see the original.”
Richard stood. “Original of what?”
Sophia stepped into the study and held out a thin black folder.
“I found this in Daniel’s apartment.”
Vincent went still.
Sophia’s fingers tightened around the folder.
“Claire,” she said, “your father’s name appears in Daniel’s notes.”
My heart began to pound.
“What kind of notes?”
She looked toward Vincent, as though asking permission.
For once, he did not answer for me.
May you like
Sophia placed the folder on the desk.
“Notes about the foundation’s missing money,” she said. “And a meeting your father had with Daniel three weeks before your wedding.”
