Chapter 2 - THE LIFE THEY BUILT ON MY TRUSTOn the drive home, Nolan refused to tell me what he meant.
That irritated me enough to temporarily overpower my grief.
“What questions?” I demanded.
He drove with both hands on the wheel.
“Financial questions.”
“What financial questions?”
“About our family.”
I turned toward him.
“Derek knows you’re wealthy.”
“Knowing I’m wealthy and knowing how my holdings are structured are two different things.”
My stomach twisted.
“What did he ask?”
“Whether you had voting rights in any family entities. Whether you were a beneficiary of trusts. Whether your marriage would affect ownership interests.”
I stared at him.
“When?”
“Over the last year. Usually indirectly. Through people who assumed he had permission.”
“He never asked me any of that.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Because if you had known, you would have called me.”
He was right.
I hated that he was right.
Derek and I had never combined finances.
That had been my choice.
I had grown up comfortable, but Nolan and I were raised by parents who believed money could destroy judgment faster than poverty if you were careless with it.
After they died, Nolan became the one who managed most of what remained.
I received distributions from family investments, but I had my own career, my own apartment, my own accounts.
Derek knew I had family money.
He did not know exact numbers.
At least I had believed he didn’t.
“He asked about a trust?” I whispered.
“More than once.”
“And you never told me?”
Nolan’s jaw tightened.
“I should have.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because every answer I received sounded plausible. Business curiosity. Marriage planning. Estate questions.”
He glanced at me.
“And because you loved him.”
That silenced me.
I looked out the window.
The city blurred past.
I had spent years accusing Nolan of distrusting every man I dated.
Maybe I had trained him not to warn me.
The thought hurt.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“For what?”
“For deciding your happiness mattered more than my instincts.”
I shook my head.
“No. Derek did this.”
“Yes.”
“And Clara.”
“Yes.”
Their names together made my stomach turn.
When we reached my townhouse, Nolan parked across the street instead of coming inside.
“Aren’t you coming?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because if Derek has access to your cameras, alarm logs, or door system, I don’t want him knowing I came home with you.”
I stared at him.
“You really think like this all the time?”
“Yes.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It is.”
Despite everything, I almost smiled.
Then he handed me a small notebook.
“Write down anything unusual.”
“Such as?”
“Documents moved. Password resets. Questions you remember. Missing files. Anything involving your accounts or wedding contracts.”
I looked at him.
“What exactly do you think I’ll find?”
“I don’t know.”
That answer frightened me more than certainty would have.
I entered the house alone.
The silence hit immediately.
Our engagement photo sat on the console near the stairs.
Derek had his arm around me.
I looked genuinely happy.
I turned the frame facedown.
Then I stood in the living room and fought the urge to destroy something.
Instead, I made coffee.
I did not drink it.
I sat at the kitchen table with Nolan’s notebook and began writing.
The first thing I remembered was Derek asking whether I planned to keep my townhouse after we married.
He had suggested selling it.
I had refused.
Then I remembered him asking why Nolan’s accountant mailed tax packets directly to me instead of through Derek once we were married.
I had laughed.
“Because you’re not my accountant.”
At the time, he laughed too.
Now my skin crawled.
I wrote it down.
Then I opened the drawer where I kept wedding paperwork.
Venue contract.
Florist.
Catering.
Music.
Photography.
Everything looked normal.
Until I reached the folder for our honeymoon.
Empty.
I frowned.
Derek had booked the honeymoon himself.
Italy.
Two weeks.
He said it was his wedding gift to me.
I had seen the itinerary once on his laptop, but never received a copy.
I texted him.
Hope Seattle isn’t too awful. Can you send me our honeymoon confirmation when you get a chance? Venue coordinator asked for dates again.
My fingers shook when I pressed send.
His reply arrived eleven minutes later.
In a meeting, babe. Later tonight. Love you.
I stared at the words.
In a meeting.
He was probably sitting beside Clara at thirty thousand feet.
I wanted to type, How’s Cabo?
Instead I wrote:
Love you too.
I hated myself for how difficult that was.
Then my phone rang.
Clara.
For a moment I couldn’t move.
I let it ring twice before answering.
“Hey.”
Her voice sounded soft.
Tired.
Perfectly performed.
“Em?”
“Yeah.”
“I just wanted to call before things get worse here.”
Things get worse.
I gripped the edge of the table.
“How’s your mom?”
A pause.
Only half a second.
But I heard it.
“She’s resting.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.”
Another pause.
Then Clara sighed.
“I feel terrible about leaving you right before the wedding.”
I closed my eyes.
“Don’t.”
“I mean it. You know I’d be there if I could.”
I looked at Nolan’s notebook.
My pen dug so hard into the paper it nearly tore through.
“Family comes first,” I said.
Clara became quiet.
Then she whispered, “You always understand.”
Those three words almost broke me.
Because I had.
For twenty-two years.
I understood when she borrowed my clothes.
When she forgot to repay money.
When she canceled plans.
When she got jealous.
When she cried because somebody else had succeeded.
I had explained her to everyone.
Even to myself.
“How’s Derek?” she suddenly asked.
My entire body went still.
“Why?”
“Oh, nothing. You said he had the Seattle thing.”
“Yes.”
“Right. Sorry. My brain is fried.”
I could hear noise behind her.
A flight attendant.
A clink of glasses.
Then a man laughed faintly.
Derek.
Clara spoke quickly.
“I should go.”
“Of course.”
“I love you, Em.”
My throat tightened.
“I know.”
I could not say it back.
She ended the call.
I sat motionless.
Then I wrote:
Clara called from plane. Lied about mother. Asked about Derek.
By six that evening, Nolan returned with takeout food and his laptop.
He placed both on the table.
“You find anything?”
I handed him the notebook.
He read without speaking.
When he reached the honeymoon folder, he looked up.
“No itinerary?”
“No.”
“Did you pay for any of it?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“Why?”
“Because there may not be one.”
My chest tightened.
“What?”
“Don’t assume yet.”
I hated those words.
Nolan opened his computer.
“I had my team pull the current status of Caldwell Strategic Logistics.”
“And?”
“The company is weaker than Derek told you.”
“How weak?”
“If they don’t secure new capital, they’ll have to shrink aggressively.”
I thought about Derek’s new car.
The watch he bought three months earlier.
The private club membership.
The constant talk about his upcoming promotion.
“He said they were expanding.”
“They are trying to.”
“Using your money.”
“Using investment capital our consortium may provide.”
“May?”
“Nothing is final.”
I stared at him.
“And Clara?”
“She signed a lease on a studio three times larger than her previous one.”
“I know.”
“She also hired seven people based largely on expected hospitality work.”
My stomach sank.
“From your properties.”
“Yes.”
“Did she know they were yours?”
“She knew the portfolio was associated with my group.”
Of course she did.
She had asked me twice whether Nolan liked her proposal.
I had told her I didn’t get involved in his business.
She had looked disappointed.
At the time, I thought she was nervous.
Now I understood.
“So that’s what you meant at the airport.”
“Partly.”
“You’re canceling both deals.”
Nolan leaned back.
“I’m not canceling anything tonight.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t make eight-figure decisions while angry.”
That sounded exactly like him.
“Tomorrow morning, both files undergo final review without family preference.”
“Family preference?”
“Derek’s company was introduced favorably because he was going to become my brother-in-law.”
My face burned.
“And Clara?”
“You recommended her.”
“I didn’t ask you to give her anything.”
“No. But your recommendation gave her credibility.”
I lowered my eyes.
“So they used me.”
Nolan did not answer.
He didn’t need to.
My phone lit up.
Derek.
Miss you. Long day. Heading to team dinner. Probably won’t call tonight. Sleep well, future Mrs. Shaw.
I stared at the screen.
Then another message appeared.
Eleven days.
A heart emoji followed it.
I felt something inside me become very quiet.
I typed back:
Can’t wait.
Nolan watched me.
“You all right?”
“No.”
“Good answer.”
I placed my phone facedown.
“What happens tomorrow?”
Nolan closed his laptop.
“Tomorrow, I find out whether Derek and Clara built their futures on actual value.”
“And if they didn’t?”
His eyes hardened.
“Then I won’t have to destroy anything.”
May you like
He tapped the closed laptop once.
“They already did it themselves.”
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