Chapter 4 - The Apartment With Two InitialsAt 10:47 p.m., Nathan sat across from me at the kitchen table and admitted that Rachel had been planning a future for them.
According to him, he simply hadn’t agreed to join it.
It was the kind of distinction only a guilty person could believe sounded comforting.
“She sent me apartments,” he said.
“How romantic.”
“I told her to stop.”
“When?”
“A few weeks ago.”
“Show me.”
He hesitated.
“Your phone, Nathan.”
He removed it from his pocket.
For eight years I had known his passcode.
Our anniversary.
He changed it in February.
That detail would hurt later.
Right then, I merely watched him unlock it.
“Messages with Rachel.”
“They’re deleted.”
“Of course they are.”
“I panicked.”
“When?”
“In the cab after you sent Mark the video.”
I stared at him.
He had spent the ride home destroying evidence while asking me to trust him.
I almost smiled.
“You really do make every answer worse.”
He placed the phone on the table.
“Claire, I ended it.”
“You kissed her tonight.”
“She kissed me.”
“And your hands accidentally landed on her waist?”
He looked down.
I stood.
“Get out.”
“Please.”
“Get out of this house.”
“I’m not leaving you like this.”
“You already left me. You just forgot to change addresses.”
That landed.
His face tightened.
Good.
He grabbed his jacket.
At the door, he turned.
“I never stopped loving you.”
I didn’t answer.
“Claire.”
“What would you like me to do with that information?”
“I want you to know.”
“Then I know.”
He waited.
Maybe he expected tears.
Maybe he wanted me to ask him to stay so he could tell himself I had participated in whatever happened next.
I opened the door.
Nathan walked out.
I locked it behind him.
Then my knees gave out.
I sat on the floor.
Not gracefully.
Not dramatically.
I simply folded against the door and cried so hard I couldn’t breathe.
For months, strangers online would later call me strong.
They would say I had handled everything perfectly.
They would praise me for not screaming in the ballroom.
They would turn my worst night into a story about composure.
But strength is often something people assign to you because they weren’t there for the collapse afterward.
I cried for the husband I thought I had.
For the children we had talked about but never had because Nathan always wanted “one more stable year.”
For the vacations.
For Sunday pancakes.
For the stupid private jokes.
For every ordinary Tuesday I had mistaken for proof that our marriage was safe.
Then the doorbell rang.
I wiped my face.
The security camera showed a woman in a red dress.
Rachel.
I almost ignored her.
Then she held something toward the camera.
Nathan’s phone.
I opened the door but left the chain secured.
“What are you doing here?”
Rachel’s makeup had run beneath her eyes.
“Nathan left this in my car.”
“Why was he in your car?”
“He asked me to drive him to a hotel.”
I laughed.
“Appropriate.”
She flinched.
“I need to talk to you.”
“No.”
“Claire, please.”
“You’ve had months to talk to me.”
“I know.”
“Then enjoy the consequences of procrastination.”
I started closing the door.
“There’s something Nathan isn’t telling you.”
I stopped.
Of course there was.
“What?”
Rachel looked behind her toward the street.
“Can I come inside?”
“No.”
She swallowed.
“He didn’t start this.”
I stared at her.
“Congratulations?”
“I mean I contacted him first.”
“Rachel, I genuinely do not care which one of you lit the match.”
“You should.”
“Why?”
“Because I contacted him after I found something.”
That got my attention.
“What?”
“An email.”
She looked down at Nathan’s phone.
“From your husband to a divorce attorney.”
My hand tightened around the door.
“When?”
“Last December.”
Two months before the affair supposedly began.
“What did it say?”
“I only saw part of it. Nathan showed me.”
“Why would he show you?”
“Because when I messaged him in January, I told him Mark and I were struggling.”
Her voice shook.
“Nathan said you two were struggling too.”
“We weren’t.”
“I know that now.”
I said nothing.
“He told me you were basically business partners living in the same house.”
My stomach turned.
“He said you hadn’t been happy for years.”
“He told me last month we should renew our vows.”
Rachel closed her eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop saying that.”
“I don’t know what else to say.”
“How about the truth?”
She looked at me.
So I asked the question.
“Was there an apartment?”
“Yes.”
“Did Nathan know?”
“Yes.”
“Did he see it?”
“Yes.”
“Did he agree to move into it?”
Rachel hesitated.
That was enough.
“Rachel.”
“He said he needed time.”
I felt almost detached now.
“Did he ever say he would leave me?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“After your company’s September board meeting.”
My blood went cold.
Not his company.
Our company.
“What does the board meeting have to do with anything?”
“I don’t know.”
“Rachel.”
“I swear.”
I studied her.
She looked terrible.
For the first time, she wasn’t the glamorous first love in a red dress.
She was a frightened forty-one-year-old woman who had detonated her own marriage and discovered the man she did it for had lied to her too.
I should have hated her.
Part of me did.
But another part recognized something uncomfortable.
Nathan had sold each of us a different future.
I opened the door.
“Five minutes.”
Rachel stepped inside.
She placed Nathan’s phone on the counter.
Then she said, “There’s one more thing.”
Naturally.
“He asked me not to contact him after tonight.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“This afternoon. Before the reunion.”
“Why?”
“He said tonight had to look normal.”
The kiss certainly hadn’t accomplished that.
“He told me there was a financial issue he needed to resolve first.”
“What financial issue?”
“He wouldn’t explain.”
I walked back to my laptop.
September board meeting.
Our annual board meeting was Monday.
Two days away.
Nathan had spent the past month pushing for a restructuring.
He wanted Carter Design Group to acquire a smaller firm.
The acquisition would require new financing.
And new financing would dilute ownership.
I opened the proposed capitalization table.
I had reviewed it casually.
Now I studied it.
My forty-one percent would fall to twenty-eight.
Nathan’s fifty-nine would fall to forty-one.
The remaining shares would go to investors.
Except there was an attached side agreement I hadn’t noticed.
An option.
Nathan could repurchase additional shares after eighteen months.
I couldn’t.
If approved, he could eventually regain controlling ownership.
Without me.
Rachel watched my face.
“What is it?”
I didn’t answer.
I called Evelyn Shaw.
She picked up on the fourth ring.
“Claire? It’s nearly eleven.”
“I know.”
“Is everything okay?”
“No.”
I looked at the expense reports.
Then at the restructuring proposal.
“I need you to do something before Monday.”
Her voice sharpened immediately.
“What?”
“Freeze all discretionary company spending above five thousand dollars until we can review potential misuse of corporate funds.”
Silence.
Then:
“Is this about Nathan?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have documentation?”
“Eighteen thousand dollars in questionable expenses.”
Another pause.
“Send it.”
“I will.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes.”
“I want Monday’s restructuring vote postponed.”
“Why?”
“Because I believe Nathan may have failed to disclose a personal conflict connected to the proposal.”
Rachel’s eyes widened.
Evelyn said carefully, “That is serious.”
“I know.”
“I’ll contact counsel.”
“Thank you.”
I hung up.
Rachel stared at me.
“What happens now?”
“To the company?”
“To all of us.”
I looked at the clock.
11:06 p.m.
Less than two hours had passed since Nathan kissed her.
Two marriages were breaking apart.
A company was about to undergo an internal investigation.
And somewhere between the ballroom and my kitchen, I had stopped wondering how to save my old life.
I wanted the truth more.
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
“Mrs. Carter?”
“Yes?”
“This is Daniel Price. I represent Nathan Carter.”
Rachel and I looked at each other.
Nathan had already called a lawyer.
The attorney continued.
“Mr. Carter has asked me to contact you regarding your ownership interest in Carter Design Group.”
Not our marriage.
Not the affair.
My ownership.
And suddenly I understood exactly what Nathan was most afraid of losing.
May you like
It wasn’t me.
It was control.
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