Chapter 8 - The Party I Wasn't Supposed to AttendThree weeks after I left Daniel, Whitmore & Grant held its annual charity gala.
This time, I let her inside.
Not because I trusted her.
Because I no longer trusted anything Daniel had touched.
Rebecca joined us by video call.
Natalie sat near the kitchen, arms folded, openly glaring at Claire.
Claire noticed.
“I deserve that.”
Natalie smiled without warmth.
“Good start.”
I placed the laptop on the coffee table.
“Tell us everything.”
Claire took a breath.
“Six months ago, Daniel began talking about moving.”
“Where?”
“Portugal.”
I stared at her.
“Portugal?”
“He said he wanted to start over somewhere nobody knew him.”
“That sounds romantic.”
My voice was colder than I intended.
Claire accepted it.
“He told me the company was becoming unstable.”
“Because he was stealing from it?”
“I didn't know that.”
“Continue.”
“He said Michael was making reckless decisions and there might be lawsuits. He wanted to sell part of his stake before things fell apart.”
Rebecca spoke from the screen.
“Did he mention transferring assets?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Cryptocurrency. International accounts. Property.”
Claire opened a folder on her computer.
She had saved screenshots.
Daniel had researched homes near Cascais.
Ocean views.
White stucco walls.
Pools overlooking the Atlantic.
One property cost $2.7 million.
I stared at the listing.
The date Daniel sent it to Claire was May 3.
That night, he had been sitting beside me on our couch.
I remembered because we watched a documentary.
I had fallen asleep against his shoulder.
Apparently while I slept, he was shopping for another life.
“Were you going to buy this?” I asked.
Claire nodded slowly.
“He said we'd rent at first.”
“Using whose money?”
“I thought his.”
I laughed softly.
It was all his in his mind.
The company.
Our investments.
My inheritance.
His mother's house.
Everyone's money became Daniel's when Daniel wanted something.
Claire opened another screenshot.
A text exchange.
DANIEL: Six more months and we're free.
CLAIRE: What about Rachel?
DANIEL: She'll be fine. She always is.
I read it twice.
She'll be fine.
She always is.
Something inside me broke quietly.
Not because of Portugal.
Not even because of Claire.
Because that sentence described exactly how Daniel had justified hurting me.
Rachel will manage.
Rachel will cope.
Rachel will organize the wreckage.
Rachel always does.
My strength had become his excuse for cruelty.
Natalie moved closer.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
I wasn't.
But I would be.
Claire continued.
“He planned to tell you after Christmas.”
“Why Christmas?”
“He wanted one last holiday with his mother.”
I looked at Rebecca's face on the screen.
Even she seemed disgusted.
“He was planning to abandon me after Christmas and disappear to Europe?”
Claire looked down.
“Yes.”
“And the company?”
“He said Michael could have it.”
Rebecca interrupted.
“Claire, show us anything related to accounts.”
Claire opened a spreadsheet.
Account numbers.
Amounts.
Currencies.
Some were labeled Switzerland.
Portugal.
Cayman Islands.
I had no idea whether they were legitimate, opened, proposed, or fantasies.
Rebecca took screenshots.
“This goes to the forensic team.”
Then Claire hesitated.
“There is one other thing.”
“What?”
“Daniel had a second passport.”
Rebecca straightened.
“Another U.S. passport?”
“I don't know. Different name.”
My stomach dropped.
“What name?”
Claire reached into her purse.
She produced a photograph.
A passport.
DAVID HARRISON WEST.
The photograph was Daniel.
My husband.
Different surname.
Same middle name.
Rebecca's voice sharpened.
“Claire, where did you get this?”
“I photographed it when he left it in my apartment.”
“Do you know if it's authentic?”
“No.”
I stared at the image.
“He was planning to run.”
Nobody disagreed.
The next forty-eight hours moved quickly.
Rebecca shared the evidence with the appropriate attorneys handling the company investigation.
I gave statements.
Claire retained her own counsel.
Michael's forensic team discovered that at least some of the international transfers were real.
Daniel was removed from the company building.
His access cards were canceled.
Then, on Friday morning, the story leaked.
BOSTON CONSULTING EXECUTIVE SUSPENDED AMID FINANCIAL REVIEW
No names at first.
By noon, Daniel's name appeared.
By evening, my phone contained seventeen requests from reporters.
I responded to none.
Daniel did.
He released a statement calling the accusations “internal business disagreements being weaponized during a painful private divorce.”
There it was.
Me.
The implied hysterical wife.
Natalie threw her phone onto the couch.
“He's blaming you publicly.”
“Indirectly.”
“That's worse.”
Rebecca called.
“Say nothing.”
“I wasn't planning to.”
“Good. Let documents speak.”
That became my rule.
Daniel could talk.
I had evidence.
On Saturday, his mother called.
“He asked me to say my signature was authentic.”
My jaw tightened.
“What did you say?”
“I told him no.”
“Are you safe?”
“Yes.”
“He came to the house, but my attorney was here.”
I sat down.
“How did he react?”
“He cried.”
Of course.
“Then he got angry.”
“Of course.”
“He said if I testified against him, I'd destroy his life.”
Eleanor's voice became steady.
“I told him he had confused the person holding the match with the person who built the fire.”
Despite everything, I smiled.
“That sounds like you.”
“I'm learning from you.”
“No. I think you're remembering yourself.”
She became quiet.
Then said, “I owe you an apology.”
“For what?”
“For watching you carry him.”
I swallowed.
“I thought you were good at it, so I kept adding things to your arms.”
The honesty hurt.
“I should have told my son to carry his own weight.”
Tears filled my eyes.
“Thank you.”
“I'm sorry I realized so late.”
“Better late than never.”
After we hung up, I stood on the porch overlooking the lake.
Leaves covered the ground in orange and gold.
For weeks, my life had revolved around what Daniel had done.
But suddenly, I wanted one day that wasn't about him.
I drove into town.
I bought coffee.
I walked through a bookstore.
I wandered into a small art gallery.
There, on the wall, hung a painting of a woman standing beside the ocean.
She faced away from the viewer.
Her dress moved in the wind.
Nothing about her looked afraid.
I bought it.
It was expensive.
For the first time in years, I purchased something without calculating whether Daniel would think it was unnecessary.
The gallery owner wrapped it carefully.
“For a new home?” she asked.
I looked at the painting.
“Yes.”
The word surprised me.
I didn't have a new home.
Not yet.
But apparently some part of me had begun imagining one.
When I returned to the cottage, a black SUV was parked outside.
My heart jumped.
Then I saw the driver.
Michael Grant.
I approached cautiously.
“What are you doing here?”
“We need to talk.”
“Rebecca isn't here.”
“She knows I'm coming.”
That helped.
We sat outside.
Michael looked exhausted.
“The board finished the preliminary audit.”
“And?”
“The company will survive.”
I hadn't realized how much I needed to hear that.
Hundreds of people worked there.
People with mortgages and children.
“Good.”
“But Daniel won't be returning.”
I nodded.
“How bad?”
“Bad enough.”
He looked toward the lake.
“We've recovered or frozen a significant portion of the money.”
“And the rest?”
“Still tracing it.”
He handed me an envelope.
“What is this?”
“Your shareholder valuation.”
My fingers tightened.
“Already?”
“Preliminary.”
I opened it.
Then stopped breathing.
The number on the page was larger than I had expected.
Estimated equity value: $5.6 million.
I stared.
“There must be a mistake.”
“There isn't.”
“I invested $180,000.”
“Eight years ago.”
“I haven't worked there in years.”
“You owned equity.”
My grandmother's money.
The inheritance I had nearly emptied because I believed in Daniel.
It had grown quietly while everyone forgot it existed.
“Daniel knew?”
“Yes.”
I looked up.
“How long?”
“Always.”
That hurt more than I expected.
“He knew my shares were worth this?”
“He knew their approximate value.”
“And he never told me.”
“No.”
“Why?”
Michael's expression was grim.
“I think he hoped you'd continue believing the original investment had effectively been repaid.”
I laughed once.
“He thought I'd never ask.”
“I think he thought you'd never leave.”
There it was again.
The same mistake at the center of everything.
Daniel hadn't believed I was powerless.
He believed I was permanent.
He thought my patience had no expiration date.
My forgiveness had no boundary.
My loyalty was something he could spend forever.
Michael stood.
“The board wants to speak with you about your shares.”
“Why?”
“You're one of the larger individual stakeholders.”
I almost laughed again.
“Daniel would hate that.”
Michael smiled for the first time.
“Yes.”
After he left, I stared at the valuation.
Five point six million dollars.
Three weeks earlier, I had been worrying about whether spending $380 on an anniversary dress was selfish.
Now I was technically a multimillionaire.
But strangely, the money wasn't what made me feel powerful.
It was knowing Daniel had underestimated me.
Not just financially.
Completely.
My phone buzzed.
A new message.
From Daniel.
I know about the valuation. Congratulations. You finally got what you wanted.
I stared at it.
Then typed a response.
No, Daniel. I wanted dinner with my husband. Remember?
May you like
I sent it.
He never replied.
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