Chương 6
“Yes.”
This time I did not resent the question.
Marcus had made me read that section after the debt incident in our first year.
Any non-routine transfer above twenty-five thousand required approval from both ownership managers.
Caleb hated the rule.
He called it babysitting.
I had stopped apologizing for it after it prevented him from buying a truck the company did not need.
“Claire,” Marcus said, “stop opening records for now.”
“Why?”
“Because I want an accountant to preserve the current state before anyone can argue about what changed when.”
My pulse was beating hard enough that I could feel it in my neck.
“Can they erase this?”
“They can try to alter access or records.”
“Can they erase it?”
“Backups exist.”
That was not the same as no.
I sat down.
“I should have noticed.”
“Not useful.”
“Nineteen payments.”
“Still not useful.”
“I review those accounts.”
“You review a company with dozens of vendors, payroll obligations, project draws, reimbursements, and subcontractor payments.”
“I should have noticed.”
Marcus exhaled.
“Would you like me to agree with you?”
I did not answer.
“Because if you want to punish yourself, you do not need an attorney for that.”
I leaned my head back against the sofa.
“You sound like my grandmother.”
“I consider that a compliment.”
“She was unbearable.”
“She paid on time.”
That made me smile despite myself.
Then another thought came.
“Marcus, why would Brooke need consultation payments if the money was going to another company?”
“I don’t know.”
“What if the payments were for something else?”
“I don’t know.”
“What if she was moving money for Caleb?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you know?”
“That you are asking questions faster than evidence can answer them.”
I closed my eyes.
“I hate this.”
“I know.”
He paused.
“Let me do my job.”
I agreed.
For the next three hours, I tried to behave like a person whose marriage was not possibly intertwined with a hidden company.
I showered.
I changed into maternity jeans that felt too tight after twenty minutes and changed back into leggings.
I watered a plant in the downstairs bathroom even though the soil was already damp.
At noon I attempted to watch a cooking show and became irrationally angry at a contestant who cried over undercooked lamb.
I turned off the television.
The baby shifted low in my abdomen.
I pressed my hand there and waited for another movement.
When it came, relief loosened my shoulders.
I had spent the previous two days thinking of the baby almost entirely as a reason I needed to act.
That frightened me suddenly.
She was not leverage.
She was not a deadline.
She was not proof that Caleb’s behavior had crossed some final line.
She was a person who did not know any of us yet.
I went upstairs and opened the nursery door.
We had painted the walls a muted green because Caleb said pink was too obvious and I said beige made babies look like they lived in accounting firms.
There was a half-assembled bookshelf against one wall.
Caleb had promised to finish it before the trip.
Three screws and an Allen wrench rested on the carpet.
I lowered myself carefully into the glider.
On the dresser sat a stuffed rabbit Diane had bought at an expensive children’s boutique.
Its ears were absurdly long.
I picked it up and held it in my lap.
For the first time since I found the messages, I cried without anger.
Not loudly.
Just enough that I had to wipe my face with the back of my hand.
I had loved Caleb.
That fact had begun to feel embarrassing, as though loving someone who betrayed you proved you had been foolish from the beginning.
Sitting in the nursery, I let myself remember something smaller than betrayal.
Caleb at two in the morning assembling the crib while I sat on the floor eating crackers.
Caleb reading the instructions upside down.
Caleb insisting the manufacturer had mislabeled a bolt.
Caleb finally admitting, after forty minutes, that the instructions had been right.
He had laughed until he had tears in his eyes.
I had laughed too.
That night had been real.
So was this one.
Two truths could apparently occupy the same marriage without canceling each other out.
My phone rang downstairs.
I almost ignored it.
Then it rang again.
I stood too quickly and had to grip the crib until the room steadied.
By the time I reached the kitchen, the call had ended.
Marcus.
I called back.
“What happened?”
“We confirmed Ridgepoint was formed four months ago.”
“By Caleb?”
“Not exactly.”
I stopped beside the table.
“Who?”
“Brooke.”
The answer surprised me less than it should have.
Marcus continued.
“She is listed as organizer.”
“What about ownership?”
“Not publicly available in a way I’m willing to treat as definitive yet.”
“And Evan?”
“Registered agent.”
I sat down slowly.
“So he knew.”
“He knew the company existed.”
“He helped create it.”
“He served as registered agent.”
“Marcus.”
“I am being precise because precision is going to matter.”
I pressed my palm against the table.
“What does Ridgepoint do?”
“According to its filing, real estate development and related services.”
My stomach tightened.
Mercer Ridge Construction had been negotiating for months to expand into small commercial development.
Caleb had argued that we should stop being “just builders” and start owning projects.
I had resisted because our cash reserves were not strong enough.
He had accused me of being afraid of growth.
“Was Caleb moving our development plans into another company?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“He wanted my share diluted.”
“Possibly.”
“He wanted his name on the house.”
“Possibly.”
“He was paying Brooke.”
“Yes.”
“And Evan was helping them.”
“Evan was involved with Ridgepoint.”
I stood and began pacing again.
“You’re doing that lawyer thing where every sentence is technically true and emotionally useless.”
“That is often the job.”
I almost snapped at him.
Then he said, “There’s more.”
I stopped.
May you like
“What?”
“The accountant found a draft document in the company archive.”
