Chương 8
I sat on the third step from the landing.
My knees felt weak.
I pressed both palms against my face.
The door opened behind me.
For one hopeful second, I thought it might be Melissa.
It was Curtis.
He stepped into the stairwell and let the door close.
“We need to talk.”
“I don’t.”
“Yes, you do.”
I stood.
“Not alone.”
“Oh, come on.”
I reached for the door.
He moved between me and it.
Not touching me.
Not yet.
But blocking it.
My heartbeat changed.
“Move.”
“Nessa, I’m not going to hurt you.”
“I said move.”
He stepped aside half an inch, then seemed to realize how it looked and backed away completely.
I opened the door.
“Wait.”
I stopped, but only because people were walking through the corridor outside.
Curtis lowered his voice.
“I screwed up.”
I looked at him.
He swallowed.
“I did.”
There was sweat at his hairline now.
“I handled everything badly.”
“You handled it exactly the way you wanted.”
“Maybe.”
The admission surprised me.
He looked down at his hands.
“I’ve been angry at Dad for years.”
I said nothing.
“He treated me like I was fifteen.”
“He trusted you with plenty.”
“Not the company.”
“You never wanted the company until he got sick.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is.”
His jaw tightened, then loosened again.
He seemed to be fighting the impulse to argue.
“I thought when he died, I’d finally be done proving myself.”
His laugh was quiet and bitter.
“Apparently not.”
I studied him.
For a moment, he looked like the man I had married.
Not because he seemed kind.
Because he seemed uncertain.
Curtis had been uncertain when we met.
He had made jokes when nervous.
He had once driven forty minutes back to a restaurant because he thought he had overtipped and then was too embarrassed to ask for the money.
Somewhere along the way, uncertainty had become something he treated like an enemy.
“Why did you prepare the divorce papers before he died?”
He looked at me.
There it was again.
The hesitation at his wrist.
Then he dropped his hand.
“Because I wanted out.”
The simplicity hurt worse than another lie.
“How long?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s not true.”
He looked toward the elevators.
“Months.”
I nodded.
My throat tightened.
“Was there someone else?”
His eyes shifted.
That answered me before he did.
I closed my eyes.
“Who?”
“It’s not what you think.”
I almost laughed.
“What do I think?”
“Nothing serious happened.”
“Who?”
He exhaled.
“Erica.”
The name meant nothing for half a second.
Then it did.
Erica Sloan.
The marketing consultant who had joined him at two charity dinners.
The woman who had sent a bottle of wine to the house after Arthur’s first hospitalization.
The card had said, Thinking of you both.
I had put it in the pantry.
“How long?”
“We kissed.”
“Curtis.”
“Twice.”
“How long?”
He looked at the floor.
“Since January.”
Eight months.
My stomach went hollow.
He stepped toward me.
“It wasn’t an affair.”
I looked at him.
“Do you hear yourself?”
“She wanted more.”
“And you?”
“I didn’t know.”
“But you knew enough to draft divorce papers.”
He rubbed his forehead.
“I thought Dad was leaving everything to me.”
There it was.
The ugliest truth of the morning, spoken almost accidentally.
I stared at him.
“You were waiting.”
He did not answer.
“You were waiting for your father to die before you left me.”
“Nessa.”
“You were waiting because you thought doing it earlier might affect the inheritance.”
“That’s not fair.”
I stepped closer.
“For once, don’t insult me by lying badly.”
He looked at me for a long moment.
Then his shoulders dropped.
“I was scared he’d change the will.”
The stairwell seemed to narrow around us.
“So you stayed married to me.”
“Yes.”
The word barely carried.
Not love.
Not grief.
Not confusion.
Calculation.
I felt something inside me that had been tearing for weeks finally separate cleanly.
It hurt.
But it was clean.
I reached for the door.
Curtis caught my sleeve.
“Vanessa.”
I looked down at his hand.
He let go immediately.
“Don’t tell Samuel that.”
I lifted my eyes to his.
He looked terrified again.
Not of losing me.
Of losing seventy-five million dollars.
And for the first time since Arthur died, I knew exactly what I was going to do next.
I went back through the conference-room door before Curtis could follow closely enough to whisper another request.
Samuel looked up first.
Melissa was standing beside the window with her phone in one hand.
She saw my face and ended the call without saying goodbye.
“I need to tell you something,” I said.
Curtis stopped behind me.
“Vanessa.”
I did not turn around.
Samuel closed the folder in front of him.
“Go ahead.”
Curtis moved past me and pulled out a chair.
“She’s upset.”
Melissa stared at him.
“That is not a useful contribution.”
He sat.
I remained standing because sitting felt too vulnerable.
“Curtis told me he had the divorce papers prepared before Arthur died because he was afraid filing sooner might cause Arthur to change the will.”
Melissa’s eyes shifted to Curtis.
Samuel said nothing.
“He also said he has been involved with someone named Erica Sloan since January.”
Curtis struck the table with his palm.
“Involved is not what I said.”
I turned toward him.
“You said you kissed her twice.”
“That is different.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
“Then explain the part that matters.”
His face flushed.
“Nothing happened beyond that.”
Samuel looked at Melissa.
She had gone completely still.
“Does Ms. Sloan have any business relationship with Curtis or Bennett Residential?”
Melissa asked.
Curtis answered before I could.
“She was a consultant.”
“Was?”
Samuel said.
Curtis’s gaze flicked toward him.
“Her contract ended.”
“When?”
“Last month.”
“Who authorized the contract?”
“I did.”
“Through which company?”
“Bennett Residential.”
Samuel’s expression hardened slightly.
Melissa put her phone on the table.
May you like
“Curtis, I need you to stop answering questions until we speak privately.”
He leaned toward her.
