Chapter 5 - The Woman at Table Seventeen
Sloane Mercer arrived at Amara twenty minutes before Jeremy.
I had not invited her.
Marcus had.
He contacted her through a business attorney and told her there were urgent questions about Blue Meridian's finances that could expose her to civil and criminal liability.
That was apparently enough.
Sloane walked into the restaurant wearing cream trousers and a black blouse.
She looked different from the photographs.
Less glamorous.
More frightened.
When she saw me, she stopped.
“You're Blaire.”
“Yes.”
She looked toward the exit.
“Sit down.”
“I don't think this is a good idea.”
“Then don't sit.”
She hesitated.
Then she did.
Her hands trembled slightly as she placed her phone on the table.
“I didn't know about the forged deed.”
I believed that she wanted me to believe it.
Whether it was true was another matter.
“How long have you been sleeping with my husband?”
Her face tightened.
“Eight months.”
Eight months.
I nodded slowly.
“Did you know he was married?”
“Yes.”
At least she didn't insult me with another lie.
“Why are you here?”
“Because two days ago Jeremy told me the company might be investigated.”
“And?”
“And yesterday he asked me to sign something saying you had personally approved all Blue Meridian funding.”
I stared at her.
“Did you?”
“No.”
That surprised me.
“Why not?”
“Because it wasn't true.”
“You were comfortable sleeping with a married man but fraud crossed the line?”
She accepted the hit.
“I deserve that.”
“I wasn't asking.”
She looked down.
For a moment, I saw something I hadn't expected.
Shame.
Not enough to excuse anything.
But real.
“Jeremy told me your marriage was finished,” she said.
“Of course he did.”
“He said you stayed married for financial reasons.”
I nearly laughed.
“That would be interesting, considering I paid most of our expenses.”
“I know that now.”
“What did he tell you?”
“That the house belonged to his family. That you worked because you were obsessed with status. That Edith had paid for your education. That he was the real investor behind your career.”
I stared at her.
The lies were so absurd they almost stopped hurting.
Almost.
“Did you give Blue Meridian money?”
“Forty thousand.”
“Why?”
“Jeremy said we were going to build a future.”
There was the other victim.
Not innocent.
But used.
Sloane opened her handbag and removed a flash drive.
“I copied these yesterday.”
“What is it?”
“Company records. Emails. Bank statements. Contracts. Voice messages.”
“Why?”
“Because after he asked me to lie, I stopped trusting him.”
I didn't touch the drive.
“What do you want?”
“My money back.”
“I don't have your money.”
“I know.”
She looked me straight in the eye.
“I think Edith does.”
That got my attention.
“What are you talking about?”
Sloane leaned closer.
“Mason kept accusing Edith of skimming money from the company.”
“Skimming?”
“He said Blue Meridian received more than six hundred thousand dollars in total investor funds. But the construction account never held more than four hundred twenty.”
I felt my heart accelerate.
“Where did the rest go?”
“I don't know.”
“You said you think Edith has it.”
“I saw transfers to an entity called Palm Lantern Holdings.”
I knew nothing about it.
Sloane continued.
“Edith told us it was a materials supplier.”
“And it wasn't?”
“I looked it up yesterday. It's an LLC registered in Delaware.”
“Who owns it?”
“The public filing doesn't say.”
“But you found something.”
She nodded.
“A mailing address.”
She slid her phone toward me.
The address belonged to a mailbox store in Key Largo.
I still didn't understand.
Then she showed me a scanned invoice.
Palm Lantern Holdings.
Consulting services.
$94,000.
Authorized by Edith Jameson.
Another.
$61,500.
Another.
$38,000.
All from Blue Meridian.
“What did Jeremy say?”
“He claimed they were legitimate expenses.”
“Do you believe him?”
“No.”
The restaurant door opened.
Jeremy walked in.
Sloane stood.
His face transformed.
First confusion.
Then panic.
“Sloane?”
I gestured to the chair beside her.
“Sit down, Jeremy.”
“What the hell is this?”
“A family meeting.”
He looked around.
“Are you recording me?”
“I don't need to.”
That was technically true.
Florida law complicated secret audio recording in private conversations.
I wasn't taking chances.
Instead, Lawrence sat three tables away.
Marcus sat near the bar.
And the restaurant's cameras captured the public dining area.
More importantly, I wasn't trying to trick Jeremy into confessing.
I wanted to watch him lie when everyone in the room already knew the truth.
Jeremy sat.
He looked at Sloane.
“What did you tell her?”
“Enough.”
“You stupid—”
“Careful,” I said.
His attention snapped toward me.
“You set me up.”
“No. You set yourself up seven months ago.”
He lowered his voice.
“Blaire, can we talk privately?”
“No.”
“She's manipulating you.”
Sloane laughed once.
“That is incredible coming from you.”
Jeremy rubbed his face.
“Okay. Fine. I made mistakes.”
“Forgery is a crime, not a mistake.”
“My mother forged the authorization.”
“And you used it.”
“I didn't know until afterward.”
I placed my phone on the table and displayed his text.
Mom made a mistake. I didn't know she signed your name until afterward. But once I knew, the money was already invested.
“Thank you for documenting that.”
He stared at it.
His jaw tightened.
Then something changed.
The pleading disappeared.
“You want to destroy me?”
“I want my property restored and the stolen money accounted for.”
“You think you're perfect?”
“No.”
“You've controlled me our entire marriage.”
“How?”
“You decided where we lived.”
“My father owned the house.”
“You earned more.”
“That isn't something I decided to do to you.”
“You made me feel worthless.”
Sloane stared at him.
Jeremy continued.
“Every time I came home, there you were with another promotion, another bonus, another person praising you. Do you know what that's like?”
“Yes.”
He blinked.
“My mother spent years telling me a successful husband was supposed to earn more than his wife. I spent years trying to make you understand I didn't care.”
Jeremy looked at me.
“You did care.”
“No. You cared.”
That landed.
He looked away.
Sloane folded her arms.
“What about Palm Lantern?”
Jeremy froze.
There it was.
Not confusion.
Recognition.
“What is Palm Lantern?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
Sloane laughed bitterly.
“Nothing that received almost two hundred thousand dollars?”
Jeremy glared at her.
“You don't understand the accounting.”
“I understand transfers.”
“So do I,” I said.
He pushed his chair back.
“I'm done.”
Sloane grabbed his sleeve.
“Where did my money go?”
He pulled away.
“Ask my mother.”
The entire table went quiet.
I looked at him.
“What did Edith do?”
Jeremy realized too late what he had said.
“Nothing.”
“You just told Sloane to ask her.”
“Because Mom handled vendor payments.”
“Where did the Palm Lantern money go?”
“I don't know.”
“Jeremy.”
“I DON'T KNOW.”
Several diners looked toward us.
He lowered his voice.
“Mason started accusing Mom of moving money. She said it was to protect us from creditors.”
“Protect you how?”
“She transferred some cash before the project collapsed.”
“To where?”
“I don't know.”
Sloane stared at him.
“You told me everything was gone.”
“Most of it is.”
“Most?”
He closed his eyes.
That was enough.
There was money.
Somewhere.
I leaned toward him.
“How much does Edith still have?”
He stood.
“I'm leaving.”
This time I let him.
He walked out without looking back.
Sloane remained seated.
Her eyes were wet.
“I thought he loved me.”
I felt a strange, bitter sympathy.
“So did I.”
The next morning, Lawrence obtained emergency preservation letters for Blue Meridian's remaining records.
By afternoon, investigators began tracing Palm Lantern.
The first real breakthrough came from something stupid.
Edith had once used the Palm Lantern business debit card to order flowers.
The florist kept the delivery address.
A storage facility in Homestead.
Unit 312.
Leased under Palm Lantern Holdings.
The contents were technically inaccessible without proper authority.
So we waited.
Then Mason made the decision that destroyed whatever loyalty remained inside the Jameson family.
He contacted Lawrence.
“I'll tell you everything,” he said, “if Blaire agrees not to come after me for more than what I personally took.”
Lawrence refused to promise immunity.
Mason talked anyway.
Palm Lantern wasn't merely hiding cash.
Edith had been buying assets.
Gold coins.
Jewelry.
Bearer-style collectible instruments.
And something else.
Original documents.
Mason sent us a photograph he had taken three months earlier.
Inside Edith's storage unit was a gray metal document box.
Written across the top:
HUTSON TRUST — ORIGINALS.
My missing deed was inside.
So were several documents I had never seen.
Including a second trust amendment.
One supposedly signed by my father two weeks before his death.
According to that amendment, if I died, became incapacitated, or divorced Jeremy under certain financial conditions, control of the house would transfer temporarily to a “family property steward.”
The steward named in the document?
Edith Jameson.
I stared at the photograph.
“My father never created that.”
Lawrence nodded.
“I agree.”
“But why make it?”
He looked at me grimly.
“Because stealing against your house may not have been their final plan.”
I felt my stomach turn.
May you like
“What was?”
“To take control of it permanently.”
