Chương 6
"Does Roman have access to your personal accounts?"
"Some."
"How much?"
I frowned.
"I don't know."
Evelyn looked up.
That answer embarrassed me.
Not because I was unintelligent.
Because I realized how much responsibility I had handed away.
"What about the house?"
"His name is on everything."
"Everything?"
I nodded.
She wrote something down.
"Your medical records?"
"My doctor uses a shared portal."
"Shared with who?"
I opened my mouth.
Then stopped.
"I don't know."
Evelyn did not react dramatically.
She simply made another note.
That calmness frightened me more.
"What?"
She looked at me.
"I need you to understand something."
Her voice softened.
"This is not about punishing Roman."
I nodded.
"I know."
"This is about making sure you and the baby have choices."
The word stayed with me.
Choices.
The thing I had been missing.
After Evelyn left, I received another message.
Same unknown number.
Tomorrow.
10 a.m.
Lakefront Cafe.
Come alone.
I showed Lena.
She immediately shook her head.
"No."
"I need information."
"You need safety."
"I can have both."
She looked at me.
"You sound like Roman."
The sentence hurt.
Not because it was true.
Because part of me recognized it.
Roman always believed he could control every variable.
Maybe I had started believing the same thing.
"I won't go alone," I said.
"Then they said not to."
"I know."
"Then why would you listen?"
I looked at the message.
Because the person who sent it had one advantage.
They knew something I didn't.
And right now, information was the only thing I could use against a man who had spent years controlling the truth.
"I don't trust them," I said.
Lena sighed.
"That is not the same as being safe."
She was right.
Again.
I hated how often that happened.
The next morning, we arrived near the cafe twenty minutes early.
Lena sat in her car across the street.
I sat inside near the window.
I ordered tea I barely touched.
At 10:03, a woman walked in.
She was younger than I expected.
Maybe early thirties.
Dark hair.
Gray coat.
She looked around the room before seeing me.
Then she stopped.
For a second, neither of us moved.
Because I knew her.
Not well.
But enough.
She had been at Roman's charity events.
She had stood beside Claire.
She had poured wine at dinners where I smiled and pretended not to notice things.
Her name was Rachel Moore.
And the first thing she said when she sat down was not an apology.
It was a warning.
"Your husband doesn't know I'm here."
I looked at her.
"Why should I care?"
Her eyes lowered.
"Because if he finds out, he will know someone has started talking."
The answer chilled me.
"Talking about what?"
Rachel looked toward the window.
Then back at me.
"About what he did before Claire."
I felt my fingers tighten around the paper cup.
"What does that mean?"
She swallowed.
"It means Claire is not the reason your marriage is falling apart."
A pause.
"She's just the reason you finally noticed."
The words stayed between us.
She's just the reason you finally noticed.
I looked at Rachel across the small cafe table and tried to understand why those words bothered me more than the betrayal itself.
Maybe because some part of me had always known.
Not everything.
Not the details.
Not the truth.
But the feeling.
The constant feeling that something was slightly wrong.
Like a picture hanging crooked on a wall that everyone else insisted was straight.
"What did he do?" I asked.
Rachel looked uncomfortable.
That was the first thing about her that made me believe she was not there to manipulate me.
People who wanted something from Roman usually had a polished answer ready.
Rachel looked like someone who had spent too long carrying something she did not want to carry anymore.
"I worked for Carter Holdings for six years."
"I know."
"I wasn't always at the events."
She glanced down at her hands.
"I was in compliance."
The word meant something immediately.
Not because I understood corporate law.
Because I understood why someone in that position would be afraid.
"What kind of compliance?"
"Internal reviews."
I waited.
Rachel looked toward the window.
Cars passed slowly through the snow.
"I found irregular payments."
My stomach tightened.
"From the company?"
She nodded.
"At first, I thought it was normal accounting confusion."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning wealthy companies move money around constantly, and sometimes things look strange before they make sense."
She folded her hands together.
"Except these things never made sense."
I watched her carefully.
"Why are you telling me?"
Her eyes met mine.
"Because I reported it."
The answer surprised me.
"To Roman?"
"No."
A pause.
"To the board."
The word felt heavy.
"The board?"
Rachel nodded.
"And two weeks later, my position was eliminated."
I sat back.
"You're saying he fired you?"
"I'm saying my job disappeared after I raised concerns."
"Did you prove anything?"
Her expression changed.
Not anger.
Embarrassment.
"No."
That honesty mattered.
"I had concerns. I had patterns. I had records that suggested something was wrong."
"But not proof."
"No."
She looked at me.
"And that is why people like Roman survive."
The cafe was quiet around us.
A couple near the counter laughed about a gift they forgot to buy.
A man in a winter jacket typed on his laptop.
A child pressed his hand against the window and watched snow fall.
Ordinary life continued.
I hated that.
I hated that the world could remain so calm while my understanding of my marriage changed again.
"What does this have to do with Claire?"
Rachel hesitated.
"Claire was not involved in the payments."
"Then why bring her up?"
"Because Roman used her."
The sentence made me uncomfortable.
"What does that mean?"
Rachel leaned closer.
"Roman has a habit."
"What kind of habit?"
"Whenever something threatens him, he creates another story."
I frowned.
"Another story?"
"He gives people a distraction."
I thought about the picture.
Claire.
May you like
The messages.
The restaurant.
