Chapter 2 - CAMELLIA DIDN’T KNOW SHE OWNED AN $11.8 MILLION COMPANY
Camellia laughed.
Not because anything was funny.
Because sometimes the brain chooses the wrong sound when reality becomes impossible.
“Eleven million?”
Rachel nodded.
“Approximately eleven point eight million dollars moved through an entity called CMM Strategic Solutions LLC over thirty-one months.”
Camellia’s lips parted.
“My initials.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t own a company.”
Luke immediately said:
“Of course you do.”
Everyone looked at him.
Camellia turned slowly.
“What?”
Luke’s face tightened.
“You signed the formation documents.”
“What formation documents?”
“Last year.”
“I signed insurance papers and the lease package.”
Luke said nothing.
There.
Daniel’s eyes sharpened.
Camellia stared at him.
“You told me those were relocation forms.”
Luke lowered his voice.
“Not here.”
She laughed again.
“Where would you prefer?”
“Camellia.”
“Did you create a company in my name?”
“I created an entity for tax planning.”
“With my signature?”
“You signed.”
“Did you explain it?”
Silence.
Camellia put both hands over her mouth.
For six months, I had hated her.
I hated the photographs.
The beach vacation eleven days after Luke left.
The smug social-media captions.
The way she wore a diamond bracelet I had once seen Luke hide inside his desk.
But standing there, I realized something unpleasant.
Luke might have lied to both of us.
Different lies.
Same man.
Rachel asked everyone to stop discussing financial details publicly.
Good.
Several guests had phones out.
I looked around.
“Please put them away.”
Most did.
Luke’s mother, Patricia, approached me.
Her face was pale.
“Clover, is this true?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“But Daniel said—”
“Daniel said evidence exists.”
I looked at her.
“Evidence still has to be tested.”
Six months earlier Patricia told me:
“Men don’t leave happy homes.”
I had never forgotten.
Now she looked toward her son.
Maybe she was remembering too.
Luke demanded his attorney.
Rachel said:
“You should absolutely call one.”
No argument.
No threat.
He went inside.
Camellia remained by the pool.
Then looked at me.
“Did you know about CMM?”
“No.”
“Do you think I stole money?”
“I don’t know.”
“I didn’t.”
“I believe you don’t think you did.”
She flinched.
Fair.
Daniel asked:
“Do you have independent counsel?”
She stared.
“Luke’s lawyer handles my things.”
Daniel shook his head.
“Get your own.”
Luke heard from the doorway.
“Don’t tell her what to do.”
Camellia turned.
“He just told me to get a lawyer.”
“I heard him.”
“Why does that scare you?”
Luke stopped.
Again.
Silence answered before he did.
The party ended.
Not dramatically.
Parents gathered towels.
Children were loaded into SUVs.
Half-eaten fruit trays sat beneath the sun.
Owen fell asleep against my chest.
Daniel helped carry his diaper bag.
Before leaving, he said:
“I’m sorry.”
“For?”
“This happened here.”
“You didn’t cause it.”
“No.”
“But?”
“You deserved one afternoon that wasn’t about Luke.”
That sentence nearly made me cry.
Instead I said:
“You’re a terrible fake boyfriend.”
Daniel raised an eyebrow.
“I performed admirably.”
“You brought forensic evidence to a pool party.”
“You told me to bring something convincing.”
“I meant sunglasses.”
He almost smiled.
That was Daniel.
Dry.
Controlled.
Annoyingly difficult to read.
Then he became serious.
“Do not assume Camellia is innocent.”
“I’m not.”
“Do not assume she’s guilty.”
“I’m not.”
“Good.”
“Anything else, counselor?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Stop reading comments online tonight.”
I stared.
He already knew me too well.
By midnight the video had spread.
Someone captured Luke saying:
“This is pathetic.”
Then Daniel identifying himself.
The internet did what it always does.
Simplified.
Luke became:
PENSION THIEF EX-HUSBAND.
Camellia became:
MISTRESS WITH $12 MILLION SECRET ACCOUNT.
I became:
SCORNED WIFE’S REVENGE.
None of those descriptions had been proven.
I turned off my phone.
At 2:00 a.m., Owen woke.
I fed him in the dark.
That was when reality returned.
A six-month-old did not care about forensic accounting.
He cared that his bottle was warm.
I looked down at him.
“You picked an interesting family.”
He blinked.
Unimpressed.
The next morning, Camellia called me.
I almost did not answer.
“Clover.”
Her voice shook.
“I found the papers.”
“What papers?”
“CMM.”
My stomach tightened.
“And?”
“I signed them.”
Silence.
Then:
“But the email Luke sent with them says they’re employee-benefit documents.”
She started crying.
“I didn’t know.”
I closed my eyes.
“What do you want from me?”
“There’s more.”
Of course.
“What?”
“I found a second folder.”
She swallowed.
“Your name is on it.”
My blood went cold.
“What kind of folder?”
“A life-insurance trust.”
I stopped breathing.
“Whose life?”
May you like
Camellia whispered:
“Yours.”
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