Chương 8
“Decaf.”
“Absolutely not.”
The door closed behind her.
Janice waited exactly two seconds.
“She seems nice.”
“She’s deeply irritating.”
“Those are often the useful ones.”
The pump began making an undignified mechanical noise.
I stared down at myself.
Nothing about motherhood resembled the photographs from Ethan’s glossy parenting magazines.
There were wires taped to my arm, disposable underwear under my hospital gown, an incision burning across my abdomen, and a machine tugging at breasts that had not gotten the memo that three babies had arrived early.
I suddenly started crying.
Janice did not ask why.
She adjusted the tubing and handed me tissues.
“My body failed them.”
The words slipped out.
She paused.
“No.”
“They were supposed to stay inside.”
“Bodies aren’t contracts.”
“I should have known something was wrong.”
“Were you receiving prenatal care?”
“Yes.”
“Did you follow your doctors’ instructions?”
“Yes.”
“Then right now, your body is doing another job.”
She pointed to the pump.
“It may not cooperate immediately.”
“That seems to be a theme.”
“Give it time.”
When she left, there was barely anything in the collection container.
I stared at the few drops as if they were a personal insult.
Then I labeled the container because Janice had told me those drops mattered.
That small task steadied me.
Name.
Date.
Time.
Things I could still do.
Rachel returned carrying coffee and an expression that meant she had learned something.
“What?”
She closed the door.
“Dana can talk in twenty minutes.”
“That was fast.”
“She knows Mercer Holdings.”
I froze.
“How?”
“She represented someone who sued one of their subsidiaries.”
“Did they win?”
Rachel handed me the decaf.
“Settled.”
“Which means?”
“She won enough.”
My phone buzzed again.
This time the name on the screen was Ethan Mercer.
Rachel looked at me.
“Don’t.”
“I have to eventually.”
“Not before Dana.”
The call stopped.
A second later it started again.
I silenced it.
Then a voicemail notification appeared.
I did not listen.
A text followed.
I’m boarding now.
Another.
Do not sign anything until I get there.
Rachel read over my shoulder.
“That is either concern or panic.”
“With Ethan, usually both wear the same suit.”
She sat beside me.
“What did the unknown number mean by an account?”
“I don’t know.”
“What accounts have your name on them?”
“I told you.”
“Any foundations?”
I shook my head.
“Trusts?”
“No.”
“Business interests?”
“No.”
“Real estate?”
“The apartment is in an LLC.”
“Whose?”
“I thought ours.”
Rachel went still.
“What’s the LLC called?”
I searched my memory.
“CEM Residential.”
Her eyebrows lifted.
“CEM.”
“Claire and Ethan Mercer.”
“Maybe.”
The possibility made my skin prickle.
Rachel opened her laptop.
“Do you have access to any tax documents?”
“Ethan’s accountant sends digital copies.”
“Where?”
“Our family email.”
“Can you still access it?”
I tried.
The password failed.
I tried again.
Failed.
Of course.
“He changed it.”
“When?”
“I don’t know.”
“Your personal email?”
“I have that.”
“Search for anything from accountants, wealth managers, banks.”
I opened my inbox.
There were thousands of messages.
I typed Ethan’s accountant’s name.
Results appeared immediately.
Holiday notices.
Appointment confirmations.
Electronic signature requests.
Most had been handled years ago.
Rachel leaned closer.
“Search your own name with ‘K-1.’”
“What’s a K-1?”
“Just do it.”
Three results appeared.
I opened the newest.
It was from the previous year and included an attachment I had never downloaded.
Rachel read the subject line.
“Distribution notice.”
My mouth went dry.
I opened it.
The PDF listed my name beside something called CEM Strategic Partners II.
Underneath was a distribution amount.
Seven million eight hundred thousand dollars.
I stared at the number.
“That isn’t mine.”
Rachel said nothing.
“It can’t be.”
“It has your name.”
“Ethan would have told me.”
She looked at me.
Neither of us needed to say the obvious.
I scrolled.
The payment destination was not an account number I recognized.
“What bank is that?”
Rachel read the routing information.
“Looks like a private bank.”
“I don’t have a private bank.”
“Apparently you do.”
My phone rang.
Unknown Los Angeles number.
This time I answered.
Rachel’s eyes widened.
“Hello?”
For two seconds there was only breathing.
Then a man spoke quietly.
“Mrs. Mercer?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Daniel Cross.”
I looked at Rachel.
She mouthed, CFO.
“I know who you are.”
“I shouldn’t be calling you.”
“Then why are you?”
Another pause.
“Because Ethan is going to tell you I stole from him.”
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Did he?”
Daniel exhaled shakily.
“Not exactly.”
“Try again.”
“He moved money out of an investment partnership in which you are the majority limited partner.”
I looked at the PDF on my screen.
“CEM Strategic Partners?”
Silence.
That silence answered more than his words could.
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Claire, this is not a conversation I should have over the phone.”
“You sent me messages telling me he moved money.”
“I needed you to know before he reached New York.”
“How much?”
Daniel lowered his voice.
“Thirty-two million dollars.”
The room seemed to contract around me.
“That’s impossible.”
“No.”
“I don’t have thirty-two million dollars.”
“You had substantially more than that on paper.”
My stomach turned.
“Why?”
“The partnership was created using assets transferred to you during the first year of your marriage.”
“Transferred by whom?”
“Ethan.”
“Why would he give me that kind of money?”
“He didn’t.”
I heard a door open on Daniel’s end.
He stopped talking.
Someone said something distant.
Then the door shut again.
“What does that mean?”
“It means the ownership was structured in your name for tax and control reasons, but he treated the assets as if they remained his.”
“That sounds illegal.”
“It can become illegal depending on what was represented, to whom, and when.”
“Did I sign things?”
“Yes.”
My chest tightened.
“Did I know what they were?”
Daniel did not answer immediately.
“No.”
Rachel’s face hardened.
“You were there?”
I asked.
“For some of it.”
May you like
“And you let me sign?”
“I told myself you trusted your husband.”
