Chương 3
Vivian disliked her almost immediately.
That embarrassed her.
Celeste was attractive, ambitious, competent, and younger than most of the executives Ethan had surrounded himself with. Vivian had spent her entire adult life being accused of disliking women who competed with her. She refused to become the person waiting for evidence that justified an instinct.
So she overcorrected.
She invited Celeste to dinner.
She recommended her for the strategy committee.
When Noah joked that Ethan mentioned Celeste too much, Vivian told him to grow up.
At the conference table that Tuesday, Vivian looked directly at her.
“Your company?”
Celeste’s expression barely moved.
“My brother’s.”
“What does it advise us on?”
The CFO, Peter Sloan, cleared his throat.
“Vivian, I can send you the scope after the meeting.”
“Do that.”
Ethan sighed.
Not loudly.
That annoyed her more than if he had argued.
The invoice would have been easy to forget if Peter had actually sent the scope.
He did not.
The next morning Vivian emailed him.
No response.
At three that afternoon, his assistant called to say Peter was traveling unexpectedly.
At six, Ethan came home with Thai food and a bottle of Burgundy.
They lived in a townhouse in Greenwich Village that Ethan had once complained was too narrow and later insisted was perfect. Vivian was barefoot in the kitchen when he set the food down.
“You’re scaring people.”
She opened the bag.
“You got me drunken noodles?”
“You like drunken noodles.”
“You got chicken.”
“You like chicken.”
“I stopped eating chicken three years ago.”
Ethan stared into the bag.
“Okay.”
It was such a small thing.
That was why she remembered it.
He rubbed his forehead.
“Sorry.”
“What did I do that scared people?”
“The Rowan thing.”
“The invoice?”
“You implied something inappropriate in front of the finance committee.”
“I asked what a vendor does.”
“You asked Celeste if it was her company.”
“It shares her unusual last name.”
“Rowan isn’t unusual.”
“In logistics consulting in New York?”
He pulled out containers.
“You know what I mean.”
Vivian sat on the counter.
“No, I don’t.”
“Peter approved it.”
“Then Peter can explain it.”
“He will.”
“When?”
“When he’s back.”
“From where?”
Ethan looked up.
For perhaps half a second, he did not have an answer.
“Chicago.”
Vivian nodded.
She said nothing else.
Later that night, while Ethan slept, she checked the company travel system from her laptop.
Peter Sloan had no trip booked to Chicago.
That was clue number one, though Vivian did not call it that.
She called it weird.
People who wanted to preserve their lives often used softer words first.
The next morning, Peter resigned.
His email went to the board at 6:17 a.m.
Personal reasons.
Effective immediately.
Vivian read it twice in bed while Ethan showered.
When he came out, towel around his waist, she held up the phone.
“Peter resigned.”
“I saw.”
“You saw before your shower?”
“Yes.”
“When did you talk to him?”
“Last night.”
“You told me he was in Chicago.”
“He was supposed to be.”
The answer arrived too quickly.
Vivian watched him open a drawer.
He took out socks.
One black.
One navy.
He stared at them, irritated, and threw the navy one back.
“Why did he resign?”
“Burnout.”
“Yesterday he was healthy enough to approve a two-point-seven-million-dollar payment.”
“Vivian.”
“What?”
“Not everything is a conspiracy.”
The word landed harder than it should have.
She got out of bed.
“No one said conspiracy.”
“You’re acting like—”
“Like what?”
Ethan closed the drawer.
He did not answer.
For the next two days, Vivian did something she would later hate herself for.
She investigated her husband before asking him if he was sleeping with Celeste.
The financial questions felt safer.
Money had rules.
Affairs had memories.
She called Mara Kent.
Mara had been Hale Meridian’s outside corporate counsel for nearly a decade and Vivian’s personal attorney for three. She was short, direct, permanently unimpressed by wealth, and possessed a gift for making dangerous ideas sound boring enough to examine.
Vivian met her at a coffee shop near Union Square.
Mara listened without interrupting.
When Vivian finished, Mara stirred a cappuccino she had not ordered correctly.
“You have two separate problems,” Mara said.
“I only know about one.”
“No. You have a governance problem and a marriage problem.”
“I’m not asking about my marriage.”
“I know.”
“Good.”
“That’s why I mentioned it.”
Vivian looked toward the window.
A delivery cyclist was arguing with a cabdriver.
Mara drank the cappuccino and made a face.
“I asked for oat milk.”
“You can send it back.”
“I already drank half.”
“That’s not legally binding.”
Mara looked at her.
“See, this is why I charge you.”
Vivian smiled despite herself.
Then Mara leaned forward.
“Do you have evidence that company money went somewhere improper?”
“One invoice.”
“That’s not evidence of wrongdoing.”
“I know.”
“Do you have evidence Ethan lied?”
“About Peter traveling.”
“That’s evidence Ethan lied about Peter traveling.”
“I know.”
“Good.”
Vivian hated when Mara did this.
She also depended on it.
“What do I do?”
“Quietly request the records you’re entitled to as executive chair. Don’t accuse anyone. Don’t access accounts you aren’t authorized to access. Don’t start forwarding confidential documents to your personal Gmail because every wealthy person suddenly becomes an intern during a crisis.”
“I don’t use Gmail.”
“That was the point you took from that?”
Vivian rubbed her thumb along the paper cup.
“What if he’s sleeping with her?”
Mara’s expression changed slightly.
Not sympathy.
Something more useful.
Attention.
“Do you have reason to think that?”
“No.”
“That was fast.”
Vivian looked at the table.
“Maybe.”
Mara waited.
Vivian hated silence when someone else controlled it.
“He talks about her.”
“How?”
“Like she’s the only person in the company who understands anything.”
“That can be professional.”
“I know.”
“Anything else?”
“He protects her.”
“That can also be professional.”
“I know.”
“Vivian.”
“What?”
“You keep saying you know.”
“I do.”
May you like
Mara folded her napkin.
“If you believed what you know, you wouldn’t be here.”
