Chapter 4 - THE WIFE HE THOUGHT HE KNEW
Adrian came home Sunday morning carrying flowers.
White peonies.
My favorite.
Or what he thought were my favorite.
I'd loved peonies when we first met.
Over the years, my tastes had changed.
He'd never noticed.
He found me in the kitchen.
“Hey, beautiful.”
I looked up from my coffee.
“Morning.”
He kissed my cheek.
I held still.
“Sorry about Friday,” he said. “That board call was brutal.”
I watched him set the flowers on the counter.
“Did you get everything resolved?”
“Almost.”
He loosened his watch.
“The Vale Harbor deal is moving. I think we're close.”
“Really?”
“Very close.”
I took a sip of coffee.
“Who have you been working with?”
“Charles Whitcomb. He's practically running the group since Harrison passed.”
My fingers tightened around the cup.
“Is he?”
Adrian nodded.
“He's the one who understands how business actually works.”
I looked at him.
“And the new owner?”
He laughed.
“Some family trust arrangement. Probably a committee of lawyers and elderly relatives.”
I said nothing.
He continued.
“Honestly, that's the problem with inherited companies. The people who own them rarely understand how to run them.”
I stared.
My father had taught me to read balance sheets before I could drive.
I'd spent summers working at the hotel's front desk, laundry department, kitchens, and reservations office.
At twenty-four, I'd helped design a staff scholarship program that still operated across the group.
But Adrian had never asked about any of it.
He'd simply assumed I was a wealthy man's daughter who preferred charity lunches to serious work.
“Maybe the owner understands more than you think,” I said.
He smiled indulgently.
“Sweetheart, corporate finance isn't exactly your area.”
There it was.
That tone.
The one he'd developed during the final years of our marriage.
Gentle enough to sound affectionate.
Condescending enough to make me doubt myself.
I put down my coffee.
“Perhaps you're right.”
He kissed my forehead.
“Don't worry about it.”
Then his phone buzzed.
I saw the name.
Celeste.
He turned the screen facedown.
“Work.”
“Of course.”
He walked into his office.
I remained in the kitchen.
Looking at flowers I no longer loved.
That afternoon, Margaret called.
“We have the first audit results.”
My heart accelerated.
“What did you find?”
“The presidential residence wasn't the only benefit provided to MorganWell executives.”
I closed my eyes.
“How many?”
“Private dining, transportation, event credits, and several consulting payments.”
“Authorized by whom?”
“Whitcomb's office.”
I leaned against the counter.
Margaret continued.
“And Elise, there's something else.”
“What?”
“Your husband submitted a draft partnership agreement last week.”
I frowned.
“So?”
“It contains a provision giving MorganWell access to a substantial credit facility immediately upon execution.”
“How substantial?”
She told me.
I went still.
The amount was large enough to rescue Adrian's company.
Or seriously damage ours if the underlying representations were false.
“Can he get that money without me?”
“No.”
I looked toward Adrian's closed office door.
For the first time, I understood the true stakes.
May you like
My husband wasn't simply cheating on me.
He was trying to obtain financial control over resources he didn't know belonged to his wife.
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