“Nonsense.”
I opened the second section of the folder.
Bank statements.
Wire transfers.
Hotel invoices.
Credit-card records.
“Some of it actually came the other direction.”
Lucas’s withdrawals lay across the white tablecloth.
$213,760 taken from Lumina’s operating accounts.
I tapped the page.
“This money went into the same shell company that received your investments.”
Evelyn’s eyes narrowed.
Beatrice whispered, “You stupid girl.”
I heard it.
So did everyone else.
I looked at her.
“Say that again.”
She stood.
“You went through my son’s private finances?”
“My company’s bank account isn’t your son’s private finance.”
“Lucas had authorization.”
“For emergencies.”
“He’s your husband.”
“He was.”
The word slipped out before I’d planned to say it.
A murmur moved through the room.
Beatrice froze.
I hadn’t yet filed for divorce.
But the marriage had ended for me somewhere between the Pacific Regent and the six-hundred-dollar Burgundy.
She recovered quickly.
“You have no proof Lucas knew anything about investments.”
“You told everyone twenty minutes ago he was spending money from this restaurant.”
“That was a joke.”
“And the affair?”
Her eyes flashed.
“Marriage is complicated.”
“What’s her name?”
Silence.
Beatrice smiled.
It was vicious.
“You really don’t know?”
My chest tightened.
Then a man’s voice sounded behind me.
“Camilla.”
I didn’t have to turn.
I knew that voice better than my own.
Lucas.
He stood near the entrance in a gray suit.
And beside him was a woman I had never seen before.
She was young.
Beautiful.
Tall.
Chestnut hair.
Camel-colored dress.
The woman Beatrice had been bragging about.
Lucas’s face was red.
“What the hell are you doing?”
I stood.
“Having lunch with your investors.”
The young woman looked at the table.
“Investors?”
Beatrice stepped forward.
“Serena, stay out of this.”
So that was her name.
Serena.
Lucas moved toward me.
“We need to speak privately.”
“No.”
“Camilla.”
“Anything you need to say to me, say here.”
His eyes moved toward the documents.
For one second, true fear crossed his face.
Then arrogance replaced it.
“You had no right to access my accounts.”
“I didn’t.”
I tapped the statements.
“You used mine.”
He lowered his voice.
“You’re making a serious mistake.”
“No, Lucas. I made my serious mistake eight years ago.”
Serena stared at him.
“You told me you were separated.”
Nobody breathed.
Lucas turned.
“Serena—”
“You said the divorce was almost final.”
Beatrice hissed, “Not now.”
Serena’s eyes moved to me.
“I didn’t know.”
I believed her.
Not because I wanted to.
Because I recognized the expression on her face.
It was the same expression I’d worn looking at Elena’s first report.
The horror of realizing the version of your life you trusted had been constructed by someone else.
Lucas grabbed my arm.
