Julian leaned forward until his forearms rested on the table.
“You don't want to destroy Harrington Development.”
“I haven't destroyed anything.”
“You know exactly what I mean.”
“I know exactly what you're afraid of.”
His eyes narrowed.
“If you call the note—”
“When.”
He stopped.
“What?”
“You said if.”
I kept my voice level.
“The question isn't whether I have the right. It's when I decide to exercise it.”
He pushed back from the table.
“You're serious.”
“Yes.”
“Vivian, people work for me.”
“Thirty-one.”
He stared.
“What?”
“You currently employ thirty-one people.”
His mouth tightened.
“Forty-two.”
“You laid off eleven six weeks ago.”
The silence that followed was different from the others.
Until then, Julian had assumed I knew about Elena and the debt.
Now he was beginning to understand that I knew about his company.
“How do you know that?”
“I've been preparing.”
“For what?”
I looked at him.
“For you.”
He stood.
I had never seen two ordinary words frighten him so quickly.
“You investigated me?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Six months.”
His face reddened.
“You had no right.”
I almost smiled.
“No right?”
“You invaded my privacy.”
“You paid for a hotel suite with Elena using a business card linked to our household accounts.”
He looked away.
“You charged company expenses to cards I could see.”
Nothing.
“You asked me to rescue a business that had already lost two major clients.”
His head snapped back toward me.
“I didn't ask you to guarantee anything.”
“Not yet.”
“What does that mean?”
Instead of answering, I opened the blue folder again.
The printed email was underneath the loan documents.
Julian recognized it immediately.
His expression changed before I even pushed it across the table.
“Where did you get that?”
“Read it.”
“I know what it says.”
“So do I.”
He grabbed it.
The message had been sent to his business attorney.
The language was careful, but the plan was not difficult to understand.
First, convince me to clear the existing debt.
Then obtain my guarantee on replacement financing.
After my assets supported the new obligation, proceed with the divorce.
My money would solve yesterday's crisis.
My signature would support tomorrow's debt.
Then Julian and Elena would begin their new life while I remained attached to the financial risk.
He crushed the edge of the page in his hand.
“How did you get this?”
“Wrong question.”
“Answer me.”
“The better question is why you wrote it.”
He slammed his fist against the island.
“Answer me!”
I didn't move.
His anger rose because mine did not.
For years, Julian had used volume like a door. Raise his voice high enough and eventually everyone else left the room.
I wasn't leaving.
“You don't get to demand anything from me this morning.”
His breathing grew heavier.
I watched his hands.
For the first time, I wondered whether humiliation might push him beyond shouting.
Then the doorbell rang.
Julian froze.
I looked toward the foyer.
“That should be another person I called.”
His eyes widened.
“The security company?”
“No.”
I stood.
“They're coming later.”
“Who is it?”
I walked to the front door.
A tall man in a charcoal suit waited on the porch. Beside him stood a younger woman holding a tablet.
The man carried a worn leather briefcase.
Julian came up behind me.
The moment he saw our visitor, he stopped.
“Daniel?”
Daniel Mercer had handled Harrington Development's accounting for almost seven years.
Three weeks earlier, he resigned.
Julian never told me why.
Daniel had.
“Morning, Vivian.”
“Thank you for coming.”
Julian stepped into the foyer.
“What is this?”
Daniel entered.
The woman with the tablet followed.
Julian pointed toward the door.
“Get out.”
“He's here at my invitation,” I said.
“This doesn't concern you.”
Daniel looked at Julian.
“Actually, Vivian is precisely who this concerns.”
Something moved across my husband's face.
I had seen it only once before, years ago, when a major investor withdrew financing with almost no warning.
Fear.
Daniel placed his briefcase on the console table.
“I brought the records.”
Julian stepped forward.
“What records?”
Daniel handed me a folder.
Julian reached for it.
I moved it behind me.
“Give me that.”
“No.”
His voice dropped.
“You have no idea what you're doing.”
“You've said that several times today.”
Daniel adjusted his glasses.
“Julian, I recommend that you stop speaking until you've consulted counsel.”
Julian turned toward him.
“Why?”
Daniel hesitated.
That hesitation frightened Julian more than any answer.
He looked at me.
“What did you find?”
I opened the folder.
Rows of transfers filled the first page.
Dates.
Amounts.
Accounts.
Some were small enough to disappear inside normal company activity. Others were not.
I studied them.
“How much?”
Daniel answered carefully.
“Based on what we've verified so far, slightly more than four hundred and twelve thousand dollars.”
Julian went pale.
“That isn't what it looks like.”
I raised my eyes.
“I haven't said what it looks like.”
“Those are company funds.”
“I can see that.”
“The transfers were legitimate.”
Daniel shook his head.
“No.”
Julian glared at him.
“Stay out of this.”
“I spent two weeks tracing them.”
Julian's anger disappeared.
Panic replaced it.
“Vivian, listen.”
I held up the statement.
“Four hundred and twelve thousand dollars.”
“It's complicated.”
“I expected it would be.”
“You don't understand how development financing works.”
There it was.
Condescension.
Julian's oldest refuge.
Whenever facts cornered him, he tried to convince the person holding them that they lacked the intelligence required to understand.
I turned the page.
Then I saw a name.
My fingers stopped moving.
I read it again.
Michael.
The surname matched mine before marriage.
The middle initial matched too.
I felt pressure tighten beneath my ribs.
Julian saw my expression.
His fear changed.
This was not the fear of losing money.
This was something deeper.
I looked at Daniel.
“Why is my brother's name here?”
Nobody answered immediately.
My brother, Michael, had been dead for four years.
According to the statement in my hands, however, an account carrying his name had received multiple transfers from Harrington Development during the last eighteen months.
“Daniel.”
“Yes?”
“Is this accurate?”
“Yes.”
Julian moved toward me.
“I can explain.”
I stepped away.
“My brother is dead.”
“I know.”
“Then why has your company been transferring money to an account bearing his name?”
His mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
Elena suddenly seemed small.
The debt seemed smaller.
Even the divorce papers lost their importance.
There had always been another locked room inside my marriage.
I simply had not known where the door was.
“Call my attorney,” I told Daniel.
Julian moved again.
“Don't.”
“Don't touch me.”
“You need to hear me before you start making calls.”
“No.”
“Vivian, please.”
The word caught my attention.
Julian almost never said please unless he wanted access to something I owned.
Money.
A signature.
A contact.
A second chance.
He swallowed.
“What happened with Michael wasn't supposed to happen.”
Every muscle in my body went still.
Daniel stared at him.
“What did you just say?”
Julian realized his mistake.
“I said that wrong.”
“What happened with Michael?”
“Nothing.”
“You just said something happened.”
“I misspoke.”
I moved toward him.
He backed away.
That frightened me more than if he had shouted.
Julian Harrington did not back away.
“What happened to my brother?”
“There are things you don't know.”
“Then tell me.”
“I can't.”
“Tell me.”
Daniel's phone rang.
He checked the screen and answered.
He listened for perhaps twenty seconds, asking only one short question.
Then he ended the call.
His expression had changed.
“What?” I asked.
“The bank has frozen two accounts connected to the transfers.”
Julian cursed.
Daniel continued.
“And there's another problem.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“One account associated with Michael's name was accessed this morning.”
I stared at him.
“No.”
“The activity is confirmed.”
“That can't happen.”
“I know.”
“My brother has been dead for four years.”
Daniel nodded.
“The login was traced locally.”
Julian grabbed his coat.
I stepped into his path.
“Where are you going?”
“Move.”
“No.”
“Vivian.”
“Who accessed Michael's account?”
“I don't know.”
“You're lying.”
His phone vibrated.
He pulled it from his pocket.
Whatever appeared on the screen erased the last color from his face.
His fingers began to tremble.
I had never seen Julian's hands shake.
“Who sent that?”
He locked the phone.
I reached for it.
He pulled away, but I had already seen the message.
YOU SHOULD HAVE LEFT VIVIAN OUT OF THIS.
My pulse thudded against my throat.
Another message arrived.
This one appeared before Julian could hide the screen.
TELL HER WHAT YOU DID TO MICHAEL.
I stared at my husband.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
“That's not what the message says.”
“Vivian—”
“What did you do to Michael?”
For several seconds, Julian did not deny doing anything at all.
Then headlights moved across the front windows.
A black sedan stopped outside.
Julian looked through the glass.
His face collapsed.
“No.”
Daniel walked toward the window.
“Do you know that car?”
I didn't.
Julian did.
The driver's door opened.
A man stepped onto the pavement.
I could not yet see his face clearly.
Julian could.
He stumbled backward.
“Oh, God.”
“Who is he?”
The doorbell rang.
Julian stared at the front door.
When he answered me, his voice was barely audible.
“He was with Michael the night your brother died.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 4: The Stranger at My Door Knew Why Michael Died and Why Julian Had Lied to Me for Four Years
The Morning My Husband Brought His Mistress Home and Expected Me to Leave Quietly
Part 3 of 44
