Chapter 2 - THE PRESIDENTIAL RESIDENCE
I had been inside the presidential residence only twice.
Once when I was sixteen, after my father hosted a charity dinner for a children's hospital.
And once when I was twenty-eight, when he showed me the restoration work he'd commissioned.
It wasn't an ordinary hotel suite.
It occupied an entire corner of the thirty-second floor, with a private dining room, two bedrooms, a library, and windows overlooking Lake Michigan.
My father had never rented it commercially.
He called it the family's quiet place.
Now Adrian had turned it into a hiding place for his affair.
I wanted to march upstairs.
Instead, I asked Julian a question.
“Does Adrian know who owns the residence?”
“He knows it's controlled by the Vale family trust.”
“Does he know I'm the controlling beneficiary?”
Julian shook his head.
“Not unless someone told him.”
I stared at the reservation.
“Then let's keep it that way for now.”
Julian studied me.
“Elise, I can't disclose the details of a guest's private activities simply because you own the hotel. There are privacy and security obligations.”
“I understand.”
And I did.
My father had taught me that ownership wasn't permission to abuse other people's trust.
Even when those people had abused mine.
“I don't want surveillance footage of what happens inside that suite,” I said. “I want the records showing who authorized the use of company property and who paid for it.”
Julian nodded.
“That I can arrange through counsel and the proper audit process.”
I called Margaret Sloan.
She answered on the second ring.
“Elise?”
“Are you alone?”
“Yes.”
“I'm at Vale Harbor.”
A pause.
“Is everything all right?”
“No.”
I told her what I'd seen.
Then I told her about the authorization bearing my father's signature.
Her tone changed.
“Don't confront anyone yet.”
“Margaret—”
“Listen carefully. Your husband's affair is a personal matter. A potentially forged corporate authorization is something else entirely. We need to preserve the records properly.”
I sat down.
“What do I do?”
“Come to my office tomorrow morning. Tonight, don't sign anything and don't alert Whitcomb.”
I looked at Julian.
“Can you preserve the relevant business records?”
He nodded.
“Absolutely.”
Margaret continued.
“And Elise?”
“Yes?”
“Your father made you controlling beneficiary for a reason.”
I swallowed.
“He never told me why.”
“Perhaps it's time you found out.”
At 10:46 that night, Adrian texted again.
Still stuck on the call. Going to be late. Love you.
I sat in the back of a car heading toward our Gold Coast townhouse.
For six years, I'd believed that when Adrian said he loved me, the words meant he was choosing me.
Now I wondered how many times he'd said them while standing beside another woman.
I typed three words.
Drive home safely.
Then I put my phone away.
May you like
I wasn't ready to tell him what I knew.
Because for the first time in my marriage, I suspected that the truth was larger than either of us.
