Chapter 6 - THE MAN AT THE GATEI did not let Grant inside.
Attorneys occupied one conference table.
Our compliance director sat beside Marcus with three laptops open.
Arthur Langford joined by video.
Victoria was nowhere to be seen.
Grant's phone was off.
His company claimed they didn't know where he was.
And the missing seventy-five million dollars had become more complicated with every passing minute.
Technically, the money wasn't sitting in one account waiting to be stolen.
It existed across bridge loans, investor deposits, construction reserves, and pledged collateral.
But Grant had moved funds between entities in ways that appeared deliberately confusing.
Marcus enlarged a diagram on the conference-room screen.
“Cole Development transferred twelve million from Riverpoint Holdings to Lakefront Management.”
“Who owns Lakefront?” I asked.
“Grant.”
“Entirely?”
“Yes.”
“And then?”
“Lakefront transferred nine-point-four million to Bellweather Holdings.”
Arthur leaned toward his camera.
“Never heard of it.”
“Neither have we.”
Marcus clicked.
A corporate registration appeared.
Bellweather had been created fourteen months earlier.
The listed manager was Grant's executive assistant.
“Keep tracing it,” I said.
Our attorney, Daniel Price, removed his glasses.
“Claire, I need to ask something.”
“Go ahead.”
“Does your personal history with Grant create a conflict?”
“No.”
“Emotionally?”
I stared at him.
Daniel didn't flinch.
That was why I paid him.
“I don't want revenge.”
“Good.”
“I want our investors protected.”
“Better.”
“And if Grant committed fraud, I want the evidence preserved.”
Daniel nodded.
“Then we're aligned.”
At noon, Victoria arrived.
No makeup.
Jeans.
Hair pulled into a loose ponytail.
She looked ten years younger and twenty years more exhausted.
Arthur stood when he saw her.
“Sweetheart.”
“Don't.”
He stopped.
Victoria looked at me.
“Can we talk privately?”
We went into my office.
She closed the door.
“I know where Grant is.”
I waited.
“Our apartment.”
“Why hasn't he answered?”
“He has another phone.”
She placed it on my desk.
A cheap prepaid device.
“He left this in the bathroom.”
I picked it up.
Locked.
“Do you know the code?”
“Our wedding date.”
That was almost too ironic.
It worked.
The messages inside were devastating.
Grant had been communicating with someone identified only as D.M.
The conversations referenced transfers, fake invoices, offshore accounts, and something called Exit Option.
Victoria stood behind me.
“I read them.”
“How much?”
“Enough.”
She sat down.
For several seconds, she stared at the floor.
Then she whispered, “I married a criminal.”
“We don't know the full story.”
“Don't protect me.”
“I'm not.”
“You don't have to be kind.”
I set the phone down.
“Kindness isn't protection.”
She looked at me.
“I spent years thinking I won.”
That sentence settled heavily between us.
“I thought he chose me because I was better.”
I said nothing.
“He told me you weren't ambitious enough.”
I almost smiled.
“He told me you were jealous of me.”
“That sounds like Grant.”
“He said you tried to sabotage his company during the divorce.”
“I signed over my claim.”
Victoria covered her face.
“I was such an idiot.”
“No.”
She looked up.
“You don't need to make me feel better.”
“I'm not.”
I leaned back.
“You made choices you should regret. So did I.”
She frowned.
“What choices did you make?”
“I ignored things because loving him was easier than confronting him.”
“That isn't the same.”
“Maybe not. But nobody gets through life without being foolish about someone.”
She looked toward the window.
“He didn't come home last night.”
“Where is he?”
“I think his old condo.”
“Address?”
She told me.
I texted Daniel.
He responded immediately.
Do not go there.
I wasn't planning to.
Then the office doors burst open.
Marcus appeared.
“Claire.”
“What?”
“We found Bellweather.”
He turned the laptop toward us.
The company wasn't registered to Grant's assistant anymore.
Ownership had changed six months earlier.
To someone named David Mercer.
Victoria stood so fast her chair moved backward.
“No.”
I looked at her.
“You know him?”
Her face had gone white.
“David is my mother's brother.”
Arthur's brother-in-law.
A man who had once served as chief financial officer of Langford Capital before retiring suddenly five years earlier.
Arthur joined us ten minutes later.
When he saw the corporate paperwork, he swore.
“David.”
“You knew he'd formed this company?” I asked.
“No.”
“Was he involved with Grant?”
“Not officially.”
Victoria whispered, “He introduced us.”
Everyone turned.
She continued.
“Uncle David introduced Grant to me at a charity dinner.”
Arthur looked stunned.
“When?”
“Four years ago.”
I did the math.
Grant and I were still married.
Victoria looked at me.
“That's where it started.”
So the affair hadn't been random.
Maybe the financial relationship hadn't been either.
Daniel entered with two federal investigators.
That changed the atmosphere instantly.
No one was under arrest.
No accusations were formally made.
But the conversation was no longer private.
We handed over the documents.
The phone.
The forged commitment letter.
Everything.
At four in the afternoon, authorities located Grant's car at O'Hare Airport.
But there was no record of him boarding a flight.
At five, his company announced that he had taken “temporary personal leave.”
At six, financial reporters began calling.
By seven, the story was online.
DEVELOPER GRANT COLE'S RIVERPOINT PROJECT FACES FINANCING QUESTIONS HOURS AFTER LAVISH WEDDING
My name wasn't mentioned.
Yet.
I drove home exhausted.
The children were eating spaghetti.
Sophie had sauce on her nose.
Noah was explaining dinosaurs to Mrs. Delgado.
Lily looked up.
“Did you fix the adult problem?”
“Not yet.”
She pushed a plate toward me.
“You should eat.”
I sat.
For twenty minutes, I stopped being Claire Bennett, CEO.
I was just Mom.
That saved me.
After the children went to bed, I walked into my home office.
The security system chimed.
Someone was at the front gate.
The camera showed a man wearing a dark jacket.
Grant.
I stared at the screen.
He looked terrible.
I pressed the intercom.
“What are you doing here?”
“Let me in.”
“No.”
“Claire.”
“No.”
“I need to talk.”
“Call my attorney.”
“I can't.”
“Why?”
He looked over his shoulder.
Then directly into the camera.
“Because someone is trying to kill me.”
I didn't answer.
Grant leaned closer.
“You think I'm the villain.”
His voice shook.
“Maybe I am.”
He looked behind him again.
“But the money isn't gone because of me.”
I felt a chill.
“Then where is it?”
May you like
He swallowed.
“David Langford has it.”
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