Chapter 9 - Before We Ever MetNathan arrived at Sarah's office with two attorneys.
That was the first good news.
The second was that most of the files weren't videos at all.
They were scanned documents.
Bank records.
Letters.
Property deeds.
Emails.
Photographs.
Some dated more than fifteen years earlier.
Long before I married Nathan.
Long before I met Diane.
I sat in Sarah's conference room with Marcus and Linda while a detective summarized what investigators could legally share at that stage.
My mother, Julia Bennett, had apparently crossed paths with Diane through a real-estate deal.
I remembered the deal vaguely.
Mom had owned a small commercial building inherited from my grandfather.
She sold it when I was in college.
What I didn't know was that Mercer Development had wanted the property.
And Diane had personally negotiated the purchase.
Linda remembered.
"South Tryon."
I looked at her.
"You knew about it?"
"George wanted the parcel badly. Your mother's building gave access to the main road."
"Did she sell?"
"Eventually."
The detective opened a document.
"Your mother filed a complaint against Mercer Development."
"What kind?"
"She alleged that someone falsified an environmental inspection to pressure her into lowering the price."
My stomach dropped.
"Who?"
"The complaint named George Mercer."
Linda closed her eyes.
Of course.
Family secrets rarely arrive alone.
"What happened?"
"The complaint was withdrawn."
"Why?"
"We don't know."
I did.
Or at least I suspected.
My mother hated legal conflict.
If someone frightened her enough, she might have walked away.
"Did Diane know who I was when Nathan met me?"
The detective couldn't answer.
Linda could.
"Probably."
I turned toward her.
"Probably?"
"Your last name was Bennett. Your mother's name was Bennett."
"So?"
"Diane remembered every person who ever challenged her."
My skin crawled.
I thought back to the first time Nathan brought me home.
Diane had stared at me for several seconds.
Then asked, "Bennett? Any relation to Julia Bennett?"
I said yes.
She smiled.
"What a small world."
I had forgotten that moment.
Now I couldn't.
"Did Nathan know?"
I asked.
No one answered.
That question became more painful than the affair.
What if meeting me hadn't been accidental?
Nathan and I supposedly met at a charity fundraiser.
He spilled champagne near my dress.
I teased him.
He asked for my number.
We dated.
Fell in love.
Married two years later.
What if none of that had happened by chance?
I left Sarah's office and drove for an hour without realizing where I was going.
Eventually I ended up at my mother's old neighborhood.
The house had new owners.
Children's bicycles leaned against the garage.
Mom used to grow tomatoes along the side fence.
She had taught me to make pie in that kitchen.
She had sat at that dining table and told me she liked Nathan.
"He watches you when you talk," she'd said.
"I think he really sees you."
The memory nearly broke me.
That afternoon, I searched Mom's storage boxes.
After she died, I'd kept them in a climate-controlled unit because grief made sorting impossible.
Now grief became investigation.
Tax returns.
Medical bills.
Recipes.
Birthday cards.
Then, inside a yellow envelope labeled PROPERTY, I found a letter.
Diane's name appeared twice.
Mom had written notes after a meeting.
D.M. threatened litigation if I refuse revised price.
G.M. claims report proves contamination.
Need independent inspection.
Then another page.
Independent report clean.
Someone altered original.
My hands shook.
Last page.
Julia—if anything happens, copies with Harold.
Harold.
My mother's former attorney.
He was retired but alive.
I called Sarah.
By evening, she had located him in Wilmington.
Harold Pierce was eighty-three.
His memory was sharp.
And he remembered Diane.
"Oh, yes," he said over speakerphone. "Mrs. Mercer was unpleasant."
"That's one word."
He chuckled.
"Your mother had stronger ones."
"What happened with the property?"
Harold sighed.
"Mercer Development wanted it cheaply. Someone provided an inspection suggesting contamination. We obtained another inspection. The first report had been altered."
"By George?"
"We couldn't prove who."
"Why did Mom withdraw the complaint?"
There was a long pause.
"Because someone sent photographs of you."
My blood froze.
"Me?"
"You were nineteen."
I remembered that year.
College sophomore.
Part-time job at a bookstore.
"What photographs?"
"Walking to class. Entering your apartment. Driving."
My mouth went dry.
"They followed me?"
"Your mother believed so."
Linda covered her mouth.
Harold continued.
"She became frightened. Sold the property. Signed a settlement."
"Did she know who sent the photos?"
"No."
I did not need proof to know what I believed.
Diane had used surveillance before.
My bathroom camera wasn't an escalation.
It was a habit.
"Do you still have records?"
"I might."
Sarah arranged to retrieve them.
That night, I didn't sleep.
At 3:00 a.m., I sat in my mother's old rocking chair and stared at the wall.
Nathan had known my mother.
Maybe not personally.
But her name.
Her property.
Her dispute.
Could he have known before meeting me?
At 7:20, I called him.
He answered immediately.
"Elena."
"Did you know who my mother was before we met?"
Silence.
That was enough.
But I waited.
"Yes."
Something inside me broke so quietly I almost missed it.
"How?"
"Mom mentioned her."
"When?"
"Years before."
"Why?"
"The property dispute."
"Did you approach me because of my mother?"
"No."
"Think carefully."
"I swear."
"Why were you at that fundraiser?"
"Our company sponsored it."
True.
"Did Diane know I would be there?"
"I don't know."
"Did she encourage you to speak to me?"
Another silence.
My eyes closed.
"Nathan."
"She said you were Julia Bennett's daughter."
Before.
Before he approached me.
My hand tightened around the phone.
"What exactly did she say?"
"She pointed you out."
"And?"
"She said I should introduce myself."
There it was.
The beginning of my marriage.
Arranged by Diane.
"Why?"
"I thought she was just being social."
"Did you tell her we started dating?"
"Obviously."
"Was she pleased?"
"Yes."
"Did you ever ask why?"
"No."
I laughed once.
He whispered, "Elena, I loved you."
"That's becoming less relevant every day."
"I didn't marry you because of your mother."
"Then why did Diane want us together?"
"I don't know."
I ended the call.
At noon, Marcus called.
He had found something in Diane's hard-drive data provided through our attorney.
A spreadsheet.
My name appeared beside numbers.
Dates.
Property values.
Inheritance estimates.
The earliest entry was from two months before Nathan and I met.
My grandmother was still alive then.
Beside her name was an estimated estate value.
$6.4 million.
I stared at the figure.
Diane had researched my family wealth before her son asked for my phone number.
That afternoon, Sarah made me promise not to jump to conclusions.
"We have evidence Diane researched you."
"Before Nathan met me."
"Yes."
"That's not a conclusion."
"No. But whether Nathan participated at the beginning remains unclear."
I hated that she was right.
Then Olivia called with another development.
They had traced funds from my forged home-equity loan.
The money went first to Bellweather.
Then Alder Creek.
Then a brokerage account.
Owned jointly by Nathan and Diane.
"How much remains?" I asked.
"Almost all of it."
That surprised me.
"They didn't spend it?"
"No."
"Then what was it for?"
"We're still tracing."
Two hours later, we knew.
The funds had been used as proof of liquidity for a loan application.
A loan intended to finance the purchase of a luxury resort property.
Ownership entity?
Northline Hospitality.
Managed by Patricia Rowe.
Diane and Patricia were trying to buy a resort using money extracted from me and Mercer Development.
The scale of the plan was almost unbelievable.
Until the next call.
Police had located Patricia.
She had not fled.
She had checked herself into a hospital in Charleston after experiencing chest pain.
Diane, however, was still missing.
At 9:15 p.m., my doorbell rang.
Marcus checked the camera.
A courier stood outside.
He handed me a padded envelope.
No return address.
Inside was a burner phone.
It rang the moment I touched it.
I answered.
Diane's voice came through.
"Hello, Elena."
Every muscle in my body tightened.
"Where are you?"
"Does it matter?"
"Police seem to think so."
She laughed softly.
"You always did enjoy authority."
"What do you want?"
"To help you."
I nearly smiled.
"That's generous."
"You think Nathan is the villain."
"I think you're both villains."
"Then you're still not understanding."
Her voice became colder.
"Nathan didn't choose you because I told him to."
I said nothing.
"He chose you because he already knew what your grandmother had."
My stomach dropped.
Diane continued.
"I only told him where to look."
"You're lying."
"Am I?"
"Why tell me this?"
"Because my son is blaming me for everything."
There it was.
The alliance was dead.
"And?"
"If he wants me destroyed, he can be destroyed with me."
I gripped the phone.
"What proof do you have?"
Diane laughed.
"More than four hundred files, remember?"
My heart stopped.
"You left that hard drive deliberately."
"Finally."
She sounded almost proud.
"You're beginning to understand."
The hard drive wasn't evidence she forgot.
It was evidence she wanted found.
"Why?"
"Insurance."
Everyone had insurance.
Then she said, "Ask Nathan about February 14, nine years ago."
My chest tightened.
That was four months before we met.
"What happened?"
"Ask him."
The line went dead.
I called Nathan immediately.
He answered.
"Where were you February fourteenth nine years ago?"
Silence.
Then breathing.
"Nathan."
"I don't remember."
"Wrong answer."
"Elena—"
"What happened?"
"I don't know what Mom told you."
"What happened?"
His voice broke.
"We had a meeting."
"Who?"
"Me, Dad, Mom."
"About?"
Another pause.
"Your grandmother's company."
My entire body went cold.
"What about it?"
Nathan whispered something I barely heard.
I made him repeat it.
"We were considering buying one of her subsidiaries."
"And me?"
No answer.
"Nathan."
His voice was almost inaudible.
"Your name came up."
Four months before we met.
Before the charity fundraiser.
Before the spilled champagne.
Before the first date.
Before he claimed he had fallen in love at first sight.
The Mercer family had already been discussing me.
And suddenly I understood why Diane sounded so confident.
May you like
The camera wasn't the beginning of my betrayal.
My entire marriage might have been built on one.
