Chapter 7 - WHY JULIAN CHOSE ME
Daniel recorded the call with Grant’s consent.
Grant refused to meet immediately.
He sounded frightened.
Not of Julian.
Of someone else.
“You tried to break into my office,” I said.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To remove the flash drive before Julian’s people found it.”
“You had a key.”
“Julian gave me one years ago.”
“Then why should I trust you?”
“You shouldn’t.”
At least that answer was believable.
Grant took a long breath.
“Julian and I met before he met you.”
“I know.”
“No.”
His voice hardened.
“You know the version he gave everyone.”
My stomach tightened.
Grant explained that he and Julian had worked at a small consulting firm specializing in private client acquisitions.
They were ambitious.
Underpaid.
And increasingly comfortable crossing lines.
They collected information on wealthy prospects.
Inheritance expectations.
Business ideas.
Family vulnerabilities.
Anything useful during negotiations.
Then Julian saw my name.
Not because I was rich.
I was not.
Not then.
But because my father had recently sold a small chain of rehabilitation clinics and given me part of the proceeds.
Enough to start a business.
Enough to look promising.
More importantly, I had been accepted into Stanford.
I had a business plan.
And every professor who wrote about me described the same thing.
Potential.
Julian had not met me by chance.
Grant claimed he had arranged the first networking event where Julian approached me.
I stopped breathing.
“No.”
“I’m sorry.”
“He loved me.”
Grant was quiet.
“Maybe he eventually did.”
That hurt more than if he had simply said no.
“But he approached you because he believed you were going somewhere.”
Daniel watched me carefully.
I gripped the phone.
“What does this have to do with now?”
Grant continued.
Years earlier, he and Julian had created Merrow Strategic Partners.
Not a legitimate consulting company.
A mechanism for moving money from clients who trusted them.
Grant said he eventually wanted out.
Julian did not.
Then my spas became successful.
Very successful.
Julian started talking about merging my company’s assets into investment structures he could influence.
Grant refused to help.
They fought.
Then Grant discovered Julian had been using his name on transactions.
Grant panicked.
He disappeared.
The story about his death had been Julian’s idea.
“You let people believe you were dead?”
“I was being investigated for financial violations Julian helped create.”
“So you ran.”
“Yes.”
I did not like him.
But I believed that part.
Cowards could still tell useful truths.
Grant said Beatrice knew portions of the scheme.
Not everything.
She knew Julian wanted access to my companies.
She knew Mia had been introduced deliberately.
She knew they hoped to provoke me into an ugly confrontation that could later support claims that I was unstable.
But Grant believed Beatrice did not know about the larger financial fraud.
“Why Mia?”
I asked.
Grant hesitated.
“Because Julian needed someone who could become whatever the situation required.”
“Mistress?”
“Witness.”
The word chilled me.
Mia had not simply been there to satisfy him.
She had been there to observe.
To provoke.
To document.
To lie if necessary.
I remembered the lilies.
The clothes.
The towel.
The touching in the kitchen.
Every small incident designed to make me uncomfortable.
Every time Julian defended her.
Every time I questioned myself.
They had been testing how much humiliation I would swallow before reacting.
“What happened three weeks ago?” Daniel asked.
Grant became quiet.
“What do you mean?”
“Why did the financial filings accelerate?”
Grant breathed out.
“Because Julian learned Harper was preparing to sell a minority stake in the spa group.”
I stared at Daniel.
Only four people knew about those confidential negotiations.
Me.
Daniel.
My accountant.
And Julian.
If the deal succeeded, the valuation of my company would increase dramatically.
Julian had realized his window was closing.
“He needed leverage before the transaction,” Daniel said.
“Yes.”
Grant’s voice dropped.
“And there is something else.”
I waited.
“The night of your anniversary was supposed to end differently.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“How?”
Grant hesitated too long.
Daniel leaned toward the speaker.
“Say it.”
Grant finally answered.
“Mia was supposed to provoke Harper.”
My skin went cold.
“Into what?”
“A confrontation.”
“What kind?”
“One that could be filmed.”
I remembered Mia’s prepared allegations.
The staged bruise.
My supposed temper.
Grant continued.
“Julian expected Harper to catch them.”
I stood so quickly my chair fell backward.
The jacuzzi.
The candles.
The rose petals.
The laughter loud enough to hear from the hall.
They had wanted me to walk in.
They had wanted me furious.
They expected shouting.
Maybe grabbing.
Maybe me throwing something.
Anything dramatic.
Then Julian could present Mia as the frightened employee attacked by the powerful jealous wife.
My anniversary humiliation had been bait.
I had ruined their plan by refusing to react.
Daniel whispered.
“That explains the preparation.”
I stared at the wall.
The most painful night of my marriage had also been an ambush.
Grant spoke again.
“There was a camera.”
I looked at Daniel.
“Where?”
“In the bathroom.”
My heart slammed against my ribs.
I remembered the steam.
The candles.
The decorative brass clock near the sink.
A clock Julian had brought home two months earlier.
He said it was an anniversary gift for the bathroom.
I had barely noticed it.
Grant said,
“If it’s still there, Harper, get it before Julian does.”
I grabbed my coat.
Then Grant added,
“And don’t go alone.”
May you like
A pause.
“Because Julian already knows I called you.”
