Chapter 11 - THE STORY HE PLANNED TO TELL ABOUT ME
The petition was worse than I thought.
Adrian had spent months building a story.
Not about himself.
About me.
Emails to friends asking whether I “seemed confused.”
Messages to our accountant saying I had “memory problems.”
A doctor’s appointment he had scheduled under my name and then canceled.
He had even emailed my sister.
Have you noticed Claire repeating herself lately?
She thought he was worried about me.
He was creating witnesses.
I sat across from my sister, Emily, in Celeste’s office.
She cried before I did.
“I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t know.”
“I should’ve.”
“He was good.”
“No,” she said. “He was practiced.”
That was better.
More accurate.
Adrian planned to move the money.
Sell the royalty rights.
Transfer the necklace.
Then portray me as unstable if I objected.
The mistress wasn’t the plan.
She was decoration.
A distraction.
A weapon against my emotions.
If I screamed in public, even better.
He could point to the footage later.
See?
She’s irrational.
Instead, I sat down.
That one decision saved me.
Naomi said, “The Fashion Week videos now help us.”
“How?”
“You were calm. He wasn’t.”
I remembered his tapping finger.
His mouth telling me to go home.
Every camera in that room had captured him.
For once, public attention was useful.
Then Celeste walked in with a folder.
“There’s another problem.”
I almost laughed.
“Why do people keep saying that?”
She sat.
“One of my investors recognized Graham.”
“So?”
“He wasn’t only negotiating your designs.”
“What else?”
“He was negotiating Moreau.”
Celeste’s face was hard.
“They were attempting a hostile acquisition.”
I stared.
“Using my designs?”
“Using the projected success of RETURN to inflate a licensing vehicle they controlled.”
Naomi translated.
“They planned to profit from Claire’s work twice.”
Celeste nodded.
“Then pressure my board.”
I felt sick.
“So my marriage nearly became part of a corporate takeover.”
“Basically.”
Emily whispered, “This sounds insane.”
Naomi shook her head.
“It sounds expensive.”
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
A photograph.
Adrian in jail clothes.
Not live.
Taken during processing.
Below it:
HE DIDN’T START THIS.
I showed Naomi.
“Who sent it?”
Another message came.
ASK CELESTE WHAT HER FATHER DID IN 1989.
The room changed.
I looked at Celeste.
Her face had gone pale.
“What happened in 1989?”
She didn’t answer.
“Celeste.”
She slowly sat down.
“My father handled the Moreau accounts then.”
“And?”
“He authorized the supposed buyout of your mother’s royalty rights.”
Naomi frowned.
“You said it was forged.”
“It was.”
I stared at Celeste.
“Your father knew?”
Her voice cracked.
“I don’t know.”
I stood.
“Do not say that unless you mean it.”
“I mean it.”
Then she added:
“But if that document was forged inside Moreau…”
May you like
She looked at me.
“…someone in my family helped steal from yours too.”
