Chương 11
Rebecca made a sound of disbelief.
I raised a hand.
She stopped.
“What got bigger?”
Scott pressed both palms together.
“The consulting work.”
“What consulting work?”
“I helped a few suppliers restructure contracts.”
“While working for the company buying from them?”
His face changed.
That answer was enough.
My stomach tightened.
“Scott.”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“What was it like?”
“I connected people.”
“For money?”
“Referral fees.”
“Paid to Ellison Strategic Partners?”
He nodded once.
Rebecca stared at him.
“Does your employer know?”
“No.”
The word was barely audible.
I sat in the desk chair opposite him.
“How much?”
“I don’t know.”
“That is impossible.”
“I don’t know the total.”
“Try.”
He looked at the banker’s boxes.
“Maybe one-eighty.”
“One hundred eighty thousand dollars?”
“Over fourteen months.”
Rebecca laughed without humor.
“And the company is valued at seven-fifty?”
“That was projected.”
“For what?”
He said nothing.
I leaned forward.
“What was the money from my retirement account supposed to do?”
His eyes lifted.
“Cover a bridge.”
“A bridge to where?”
“There was a client issue.”
“You don’t have clients.”
“I have clients.”
“Then what is the issue?”
He stood.
“This is exactly why I didn’t tell you.”
The old pattern appeared so quickly it almost impressed me.
My questions became the problem.
My ignorance became his justification.
I stood too.
“You used my signature.”
“I used authorizations we already had.”
“You forged new documents.”
“I copied signatures.”
“That is forging.”
“It was temporary.”
Rebecca actually laughed.
Scott turned on her.
“Would you stop?”
“No.”
She pointed at the box.
“You secretly made money off vendors connected to your employer, opened a company, put Claire on it, moved household assets around, and tried to send her to an apartment tied to that company.”
“It was not like that.”
“Then please describe the version that sounds better.”
He looked at me.
“The apartment was supposed to separate residency.”
“Why?”
Silence.
My skin prickled.
“Scott, why did you need me living somewhere else?”
His eyes moved toward the window.
I followed his gaze.
Outside, a garbage truck rolled slowly down the street.
One of the workers jumped off, dragged two bins to the truck, and waved at someone across the road.
Ordinary Wednesday morning.
Our neighbor Melissa came outside in running clothes and stopped when she saw Scott’s car.
She looked at the house.
Then away.
Public embarrassment had not disappeared.
It had simply become the least important thing in the room.
“Why did you need me at Willow Glen?” I asked again.
Scott sat down.
“The business address was being reviewed.”
“By whom?”
“My employer.”
My heart beat harder.
“They know?”
“Compliance asked questions.”
“When?”
“Three weeks ago.”
That was before the block party.
Before the lease.
Before my mail was forwarded.
“What questions?”
“Vendor relationships.”
“And your company?”
“They found a payment.”
“One payment?”
“Enough.”
Rebecca slowly sat on the edge of the dresser.
“What does Claire’s address have to do with that?”
Scott looked at me.
“If you were living at Willow Glen, it supported the position that the business was yours.”
For a moment, I did not understand the sentence.
Then I did.
The room seemed to narrow.
“You were making it look like my company.”
“No.”
“You just said that.”
“I was making the records consistent.”
“With a lie.”
“It wasn’t supposed to hurt you.”
Rebecca whispered, “Oh my God.”
I could barely hear her.
“You put my name on the company because your employer was investigating you.”
“It wasn’t an investigation then.”
“What is it now?”
He looked down.
I waited.
“Scott.”
“Formal review.”
“When did that start?”
“Monday.”
The day after the block party.
The day I discovered the lease.
“Did they contact you Monday?”
“Yes.”
“And that night you shredded documents.”
He said nothing.
The silence answered.
I felt anger rise, but beneath it was something colder.
Not rage.
Recognition.
He had not built an apartment for me because he wanted a clean divorce.
He had built an alibi with a mailbox.
My residence.
My signature.
My name on a company.
My money moving into its account.
If the timeline held, I would not merely look like his abandoned wife.
I would look like his business partner.
Possibly the owner.
Possibly the person who benefited.
“Was Jenna supposed to move into this house while I lived at the business address?”
Scott shut his eyes.
“Yes.”
Rebecca stood.
“That is psychotic.”
“No,” I said.
My voice sounded strangely calm.
“It’s administrative.”
Scott looked at me.
The word hurt him.
Good.
“Claire.”
“Did Jenna know what the apartment address was being used for?”
“No.”
“Did she know about your employer review?”
“No.”
“Did she know my name was on the company?”
“I told her you helped me set it up.”
“So you lied to her too.”
His face tightened.
“This isn’t about Jenna.”
“No.”
I nodded.
“It isn’t.”
That seemed to surprise him.
For days, everyone had acted as if the affair were the center.
Scott had probably relied on that.
A furious wife chasing a mistress was easier to dismiss than a woman reading documents.
He picked up the banker’s box again.
“I need these.”
“No.”
“They belong to me.”
“They may contain records using my name.”
“You cannot hold my property hostage.”
“I’m not.”
I took out my phone.
“I’m calling Maya.”
He stepped toward me.
“Don’t.”
The word came too fast.
I stopped.
Rebecca stood between us without making a show of it.
Scott saw that too.
“What’s in the boxes?” I asked.
“Nothing you need.”
“That is not an answer.”
He looked at the label.
ESP TAX.
Then at the other two.
One said CONTRACTS.
The third had no label.
“Scott.”
His shoulders dropped.
“I kept copies.”
“Of what?”
“Everything.”
“Why?”
He laughed once, bitterly.
“Because I’m not an idiot.”
Rebecca stared at him.
I almost felt sorry for him.
Almost.
He had believed keeping evidence made him careful.
May you like
He had believed using my name made him protected.
He had believed arranging my departure made the story real.
