Chapter 4 - The Woman Who Thought My Marriage Was Over
Steven moved before I did.
He reached toward my phone.
Melissa blocked him.
“Don’t.”
“What did he say?” Steven demanded.
I stepped backward.
Detective Walsh continued speaking.
“Mrs. Daniels, officers are on their way.”
“What is this about?”
“We have evidence the account in your name received funds connected to an ongoing corporate fraud investigation.”
My knees weakened.
“What fraud?”
“I would prefer to discuss that in person.”
Steven grabbed his coat.
Melissa stepped into the doorway.
“You should wait.”
“You have no authority to hold me.”
“No,” she said. “But the police will be here soon.”
He looked at me.
“Angela, you have no idea what you’re doing.”
That was when I understood something.
He wasn’t afraid for me.
He was afraid of me knowing.
“You opened that account.”
“Not exactly.”
“My name is on it.”
“It was structured for tax purposes.”
“Without telling me?”
“You signed documents.”
“No, Steven. Apparently you sign documents for me now.”
His face tightened.
Then the elevator opened.
Two detectives entered.
Everything after that became strangely quiet.
Detective Walsh was younger than I expected, maybe thirty-five, with tired eyes and a patient voice.
His partner asked Steven to remain.
Steven immediately called an attorney.
Not Nathan.
His corporate defense lawyer.
That told me plenty.
I gave a statement.
I showed them the forged documents.
When I mentioned Northstar and Sloane, Walsh exchanged a look with his partner.
“You know her?” I asked.
“We know the company.”
My skin went cold.
“How?”
“I can’t discuss the investigation yet.”
Steven sat twenty feet away, speaking into his phone.
I watched the man I had married become a defendant in real time.
Not officially.
Not yet.
But something had shifted.
By four, I left with Rebecca and Melissa.
Steven did not.
The detectives asked him to come downtown voluntarily.
He agreed after his lawyer arrived.
Outside the building, cameras were already gathering.
“Why are reporters here?” I asked.
Melissa checked her phone.
“Somebody leaked that financial crimes officers entered Daniels Holdings.”
Steven’s greatest fear.
Public humiliation.
Except now I couldn’t care less.
Nathan put me in a hotel registered under Rebecca’s name.
He didn’t want me returning to the penthouse until we understood the investigation.
At 6:20 p.m., someone knocked.
Rebecca checked the peephole.
Her expression changed.
“You’re not going to believe this.”
“Who?”
“Sloane.”
I stood.
“Absolutely not.”
Then I thought about Northstar.
“Wait.”
Rebecca opened the door but kept the chain engaged.
Sloane Mercer stood in the hallway wearing dark jeans, a cashmere coat, and no visible makeup.
Without the restaurant lighting and magazine polish, she looked younger.
And frightened.
“I need to talk to Angela.”
Rebecca looked at me.
I nodded.
Sloane entered.
She didn’t sit.
Neither did I.
For several seconds we just looked at each other.
Finally she said, “I didn’t know.”
“About what?”
“Most of it.”
“Specificity would help.”
Her mouth tightened.
“I knew he was married.”
I laughed without humor.
“Strong beginning.”
“But he told me you were separated privately because of the company.”
“That’s convenient.”
“He said you stayed married publicly because a divorce could affect investor confidence.”
I stared at her.
“He told you our marriage was essentially a corporate arrangement?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“From the beginning.”
“How long is ‘the beginning’?”
Her eyes dropped.
“Seven months.”
Steven had told me three.
Of course he had.
“You’ve been sleeping with my husband for seven months.”
Rebecca stepped closer.
Sloane’s face went red.
“I’m not proud of it.”
“You were proud enough last night.”
“That was before I realized he lied.”
“Which lie bothered you?”
She flinched.
Fair.
Then she opened her handbag and removed a folder.
“I came because Northstar isn’t mine.”
I stared.
“What?”
“It is legally.”
She placed the folder on the table.
“But I didn’t create it.”
“Steven did?”
“He had his lawyers form it. He said it would hold my endorsement income.”
“Why?”
“He said he could manage investments better through his network.”
I almost laughed.
Steven had turned financial control into romance.
“He transferred millions into it.”
Her face went pale.
“I know now.”
“You didn’t before?”
“No.”
“Four point six million dollars appears in your company and you don’t notice?”
“I don’t manage my own accounts day to day.”
Rebecca muttered, “Apparently nobody in this story does.”
Sloane ignored her.
“My business manager noticed unusual transfers yesterday. I was planning to ask Steven tonight.”
“During our anniversary.”
“I didn’t know it was your anniversary.”
I believed that.
Not because I trusted Sloane.
Because Steven loved controlling information.
She opened the folder.
“These are messages.”
I looked down.
Texts between her and Steven.
Seven months of them.
I didn’t want to read.
I had to.
Some were intimate.
Some explicit enough that I skipped them.
Others were worse because they sounded domestic.
Did you eat?
Flight landed.
Miss you.
Wish you were here.
My husband had built a second relationship while sleeping beside me.
Then I found a message dated six months earlier.
Sloane: Are you sure Angela knows?
Steven: She knows the marriage has been done for a long time. We’re just working through financial separation.
Sloane: I don’t want to be the reason.
Steven: You aren’t. She’s already moving on too.
I stopped.
“He told you I had someone else?”
“Yes.”
I almost admired the architecture of the lie.
Make us both less guilty by inventing betrayal on my side.
Then Sloane pointed to another message.
“This is why I came.”
Steven: Northstar paperwork needs another signature. Don’t worry about it. Angela already approved the structure.
Sloane: Why does Angela need to sign anything connected to me?
Steven: Trust funding technicality. She knows.
My stomach turned.
“You asked.”
“I did.”
“And then?”
“He sent me a copy of an authorization.”
The forged authorization.
Sloane closed her eyes.
“I believed him.”
I didn’t comfort her.
But my anger changed shape.
She had made choices.
Bad ones.
But Steven had constructed the room in which those choices made sense.
“Why are you helping me?”
She looked at me.
“Because his lawyer called me this afternoon.”
“What did he say?”
“That I should confirm all Northstar payments were legitimate compensation.”
“Were they?”
“No.”
Rebecca swore.
Sloane continued.
“He wanted me to sign a statement tonight.”
“And you refused.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I may have been stupid.”
Her voice shook.
“But I’m not going to prison for him.”
Fair.
I gave the documents to Nathan.
Within two hours, Sloane had her own lawyer.
The next morning, the financial investigation expanded.
News vans parked outside Daniels Holdings.
Steven resigned temporarily as CEO.
His board announced an internal review.
My name appeared in articles.
ANGELA DANIELS LINKED TO MYSTERY ACCOUNT.
That headline made me furious.
I was the victim of identity fraud and still somehow became “linked.”
Nathan issued one statement.
Mrs. Daniels is cooperating fully with authorities and disputes the authenticity of documents bearing her signature.
Nothing else.
At noon, my doctor called to confirm the bloodwork from the appointment I had scheduled before our anniversary.
“Everything looks good.”
I closed my eyes.
For the first time in twenty-four hours, something did.
“Six weeks and two days,” she said. “We’ll schedule an ultrasound.”
Six weeks.
I placed my hand over my stomach.
A life smaller than a lentil existed inside the wreckage.
I hadn’t told Rebecca yet.
I hadn’t told Nathan.
Only Rebecca knew.
Steven did not.
I kept thinking about when he should.
Not whether.
Eventually he had a right to know he was going to be a father.
But right now, every truth I gave him felt like ammunition.
At three, Nathan called.
“We found the contract.”
“What contract?”
“The one behind the Northstar payments.”
I sat down.
“And?”
“It’s not an endorsement agreement.”
“What is it?”
“A purchase agreement.”
“For what?”
He was silent too long.
“Nathan.”
“Your voting interest in Daniels Holdings.”
I stopped breathing.
“I don’t have voting interest.”
“Yes, you do.”
“What?”
“When you left the company three years ago, Steven issued you minority shares as part of compensation.”
“I never received them.”
“You did legally. Fifteen percent.”
My mind raced.
“That would be worth—”
“A great deal.”
“Why didn’t I know?”
“Because according to the records, you later authorized transfer of those shares into the family trust.”
I knew the answer before asking.
“Did I?”
“No.”
Another forged signature.
Nathan continued.
“The Northstar contract appears designed to acquire those shares from the trust.”
“For Sloane?”
“On paper.”
I stood.
“Why would Steven give his mistress fifteen percent of his company?”
“I don’t think he intended to.”
“What do you mean?”
“The agreement contains a repurchase clause.”
I waited.
Nathan’s voice became colder.
“Northstar would hold the shares for thirty days, then sell them to another entity.”
“Which entity?”
“We’re tracing it.”
“Owned by Steven?”
“Possibly.”
My phone buzzed.
A new email.
No sender name.
Just an address I didn’t recognize.
Subject:
ASK YOUR HUSBAND ABOUT OCTOBER 14.
There was one attachment.
A photograph.
Steven stood outside a private bank in Zurich.
Beside him was his mother.
And between them was the attorney whose signature appeared on every forged document.
The timestamp was October 14.
The same day Steven had told me he was in New York.
Then another email arrived.
May you like
This one contained only six words.
They knew you would find out eventually.
