That surprised her.
I took the elevator to finance.
Carter Global’s controller, Marcus Lee, had worked with my father before I married Michael.
He was one of the few people in the company who still called me Claire when doors were closed.
He looked up as I entered.
“Something wrong?”
“I need five minutes.”
He studied my face.
Then closed his office door.
I gave him four transaction numbers Ryan had sent me.
“Can you tell me what these are?”
Marcus pulled them up.
His forehead tightened.
“What?”
“Ryan said these were executive expenses.”
Marcus turned the screen toward me.
“They’re not.”
The room went silent.
“What are they?”
“Vendor reimbursements.”
“To whom?”
He clicked.
A company appeared.
Northstar Strategic Consulting LLC.
I had never heard of it.
Marcus frowned.
“That’s strange.”
“What?”
“This vendor was approved directly through the executive office.”
“Michael?”
“It appears so.”
“Who owns it?”
“I’d have to pull compliance documents.”
“Do that.”
He hesitated.
“Claire…”
“Please.”
Three minutes later, Marcus stopped moving.
“What is it?”
He slowly turned the monitor.
The beneficial ownership paperwork listed an address in Delaware.
But beneath it was a tax identification attachment.
The authorized representative was:
Brittany Adams.
For the first time since receiving the photographs, fear moved through me.
Not heartbreak.
Fear.
“How much has Northstar received?”
Marcus searched.
His expression changed.
“Claire.”
“How much?”
He swallowed.
“Not thirty-eight thousand.”
My skin prickled.
“Then how much?”
Marcus looked at me.
“Four million, eight hundred and sixty thousand dollars.”
I sat down.
For nearly a minute, neither of us spoke.
“This isn’t about hotel rooms,” I whispered.
“No.”
“Does Brittany know?”
“I have no idea.”
“Who approved the payments?”
Marcus studied the records.
Then looked up.
“Every single one?”
“Yes.”
He turned the screen around.
Michael Carter.
My husband.
I left through the underground garage.
Then I did something Ryan had never expected.
I hired another investigator.
Her name was Naomi Brooks.
Former forensic accountant.
No connection to Carter Global.
No connection to Michael.
And no connection to Ryan Hale.
I met her in a café in Tribeca and slid a flash drive across the table.
“Assume everyone mentioned in those files is lying.”
“Including you?”
“Especially me.”
For the first time in days, someone smiled in a way I trusted.
“That I can do.”
For the next five days, I behaved perfectly.
I attended my final dress fitting.
I approved the diamond drop earrings.
I tasted champagne.
I smiled beside towering arrangements of white orchids.
I posed with Michael for photographs.
He kissed my temple.
“Beautiful,” he whispered.
I looked at our reflection.
Tall.
Handsome.
Successful.
The perfect corporate husband in a navy suit.
The perfect wife in ivory.
Anyone looking at the photograph would have thought we were in love.
Maybe that was the most humiliating thing about betrayal.
How normal it could look from the outside.
Brittany was frequently nearby.
Perfect blowout.
Cream designer suit.
Tablet in her hands.
Confidence growing every time she looked at me.
Once, Michael stepped away to answer a call.
Brittany passed close beside me.
“Nice dress,” she whispered.
“Thank you.”
Her smile widened.
“You should enjoy it while you can.”
