Chapter 5 - THE WOMAN I HATEDThey found Vanessa three hours later.
He chose a coffee shop three blocks from Ashford Tower.
“No dramatic entrances,” he said when Charles and I arrived.
He was early forties, lean, gray-eyed, and wore a suit that looked intentionally forgettable.
I sat across from him.
“How bad is it?”
Mercer glanced at Charles.
“Your attorney stays?”
“He stays.”
Mercer nodded.
Then he placed a photograph on the table.
Evelyn Ashford.
She stood outside a private bank in Zurich beside a man I recognized immediately.
Victor Lane.
Ashford Holdings’ former chief financial officer.
Victor had supposedly retired two years earlier.
“Why were they together?”
“That’s what we’re investigating.”
Mercer produced another image.
A corporate registration.
Northstar Meridian AG.
Swiss entity.
Beneficial ownership concealed behind nominees.
He tapped the page.
“We believe funds were diverted from Ashford Holdings through procurement contracts over at least nine years.”
“Nine?”
“Possibly longer.”
Grant had become CEO five years ago.
Which meant this began before he took over.
“His father?”
“Possibly.”
Grant’s father, William Ashford, had died six years earlier.
He had been charming in public and frightening in private.
Even Grant feared him.
“How much money?”
Mercer studied me.
“Current estimate is somewhere between sixty and ninety million dollars.”
My coffee suddenly tasted bitter.
Charles leaned forward.
“And why are you speaking with Mrs. Ashford?”
“Because Morgan Legacy Partners injected substantial funds into Ashford Holdings during the period under investigation.”
“You think Claire is involved?”
“No.”
Mercer answered quickly.
“If we believed that, this meeting would look very different.”
“Then what?”
“We think she may be the reason the scheme became unstable.”
I frowned.
He explained.
“When Morgan Legacy began imposing stricter reporting conditions, money became harder to move. Whoever controlled Northstar needed new channels.”
Vanessa.
Her consulting company.
“The $6.4 million,” I said.
Mercer nodded.
“We think those payments may have been a workaround.”
My stomach twisted.
“Does Grant know?”
“We don’t know how much he knows.”
That was worse.
Because despite everything, some part of me still wanted to believe Grant had been selfish and cruel, not criminal.
Mercer leaned back.
“Mrs. Ashford, has Evelyn contacted you since yesterday?”
“Repeatedly.”
“Any threats?”
“Not exactly.”
“Save everything.”
“I will.”
“Do not confront her about Northstar.”
I almost laughed.
“That may be difficult.”
“Why?”
“Because Evelyn just sent me a message asking me to come to the mansion alone.”
Charles looked at my phone.
Mercer’s jaw tightened.
“What does it say?”
I showed them.
EVELYN: We need to talk woman to woman. No lawyers. No police. Come at six. There are things about your father you deserve to know.
My father.
Every nerve in my body went cold.
Mercer read it twice.
“Did your father ever do business with William Ashford?”
“Years ago.”
“How closely?”
“I don’t know.”
Charles answered.
“Closer than Claire realizes.”
I turned toward him.
“What?”
He hesitated.
“Raymond Morgan invested in an Ashford shipping project almost twenty years ago.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because it ended badly.”
“How badly?”
Charles looked at Mercer, then back at me.
“Your father sued William Ashford privately for fraud.”
I stared at him.
“No.”
“The case settled under confidentiality.”
“Did Grant know?”
“I have no idea.”
My phone buzzed.
Another message from Evelyn.
EVELYN: Your father was no saint, Claire. Ask Charles what happened in Savannah.
I turned the screen toward him.
Charles closed his eyes.
“What happened in Savannah?”
He was silent too long.
“What happened?”
“Your father nearly lost everything.”
“Because of William?”
“Yes.”
Mercer leaned forward.
“We need the whole story.”
Charles stared through the coffee shop window.
“Twenty-two years ago, Raymond Morgan and William Ashford jointly purchased a shipping terminal outside Savannah. William controlled operations. Raymond provided most of the capital.”
“What went wrong?”
“William falsified cargo contracts and inflated revenue. He used Raymond’s investment to secure additional loans.”
My chest tightened.
“Did Dad know?”
“Not initially.”
“And when he found out?”
“He confronted William.”
Charles paused.
“Two days later, one of the terminal warehouses burned.”
Mercer became very still.
“Arson?”
“Never proven.”
I whispered, “Was anyone hurt?”
“One night supervisor died.”
The noise of the coffee shop faded around me.
I knew my father had disliked the Ashfords.
I had always assumed it was class tension.
Personality.
Pride.
Maybe this was why he had begged me not to marry Grant.
I had thought he was judging the family.
Maybe he had been warning me.
“What happened after the fire?”
“Your father withdrew, sued, and eventually recovered part of his investment. But he believed William had arranged the fire to destroy financial records.”
Mercer wrote something down.
“Name of the supervisor?”
“Thomas Bell.”
Mercer froze.
“What?”
He pulled out his phone.
Typed quickly.
Then turned the screen toward us.
Thomas Bell.
A black-and-white employee photograph.
Beneath it: surviving daughter, Rebecca Bell.
The name meant nothing.
Until Mercer opened another record.
Rebecca Bell had changed her name after marriage.
Rebecca Cole.
I stopped breathing.
“Cole?”
Mercer nodded.
“She had one daughter.”
I already knew.
“Vanessa.”
Charles whispered, “Good God.”
Vanessa Cole was the granddaughter of the man who died in the Savannah warehouse fire.
The woman sleeping with my husband was connected to a crime my father had suspected two decades earlier.
“That can’t be coincidence,” I said.
Mercer’s expression darkened.
“No. It probably isn’t.”
My phone rang.
Vanessa.
We all stared at it.
Mercer said, “Answer. Speaker.”
I did.
“Claire?”
Vanessa sounded different.
No arrogance.
No mockery.
Fear.
“What do you want?”
“I need to see you.”
“I don’t think that’s wise.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Understand what?”
Her breathing shook.
“Grant doesn’t know why I chose him.”
Mercer’s eyes met mine.
I said nothing.
Vanessa continued.
“I didn’t meet him by accident.”
My pulse accelerated.
“What are you talking about?”
“I went after him.”
“Why?”
“Because of his family.”
“Vanessa—”
“I thought Grant could get me proof.”
“Proof of what?”
Her voice broke.
“That his grandfather murdered mine.”
Silence.
Then there was a sudden sound on her end.
A door opening.
Vanessa gasped.
“No.”
A man’s voice said something I couldn’t hear.
Then the phone dropped.
“Vanessa?” I shouted.
There was movement.
A crash.
Then the line went dead.
Mercer was already standing.
“Where is she?”
“I don’t know.”
He dialed rapidly.
Charles grabbed his briefcase.
My phone buzzed one final time.
A photograph arrived from Vanessa’s number.
Blurry.
Taken seconds earlier.
It showed a desk.
A black leather ledger.
And on its cover, embossed in gold, were two words:
SAVANNAH ACCOUNT.
Underneath the photograph was one sentence.
VANESSA: If anything happens to me, Evelyn has the original.
I stared at the screen.
Grant’s affair had started as betrayal.
May you like
Now it looked like Vanessa had entered our marriage carrying a twenty-year-old vendetta.
And my mother-in-law might be holding evidence of murder.
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