Chapter 3 - The Wife He Forgot to Mention
Christian saw the message too.
“Give me the phone.”
Giselle shook her head.
“No.”
“Giselle.”
She stepped backward.
I stayed between her and the door.
“Why does Julian Mercer want me out of my own house?”
“I don't know.”
“Wrong answer.”
Her eyes flashed.
“You think because you wear that uniform everyone has to obey you?”
“No.”
I removed my phone.
“But I know when someone is frightened.”
I photographed the message visible on her screen.
Giselle reacted too late.
“What are you doing?”
“Preserving information.”
Christian stared at her.
“How long have you known Julian?”
“Through you.”
“I introduced you once.”
“So?”
“So why is he texting you privately?”
Giselle's composure cracked.
“You want to discuss private messages?”
Christian winced.
She laughed bitterly.
“You lied to both of us, Christian. Don't suddenly pretend you're entitled to honesty.”
She was right.
That didn't make her innocent.
I looked at the photographs again.
“Julian was inside my house.”
Giselle said nothing.
“You entered my office.”
Nothing.
“And now he's telling you to remove me.”
“I didn't know what he was doing.”
“That isn't what I asked.”
She looked toward Christian.
Then finally said, “He told me you and Christian were separating.”
“Julian?”
“Yes.”
“Why would a corporate consultant know anything about my marriage?”
“He said Christian needed help protecting assets before the divorce.”
Christian stared at her.
“What?”
Giselle's eyes narrowed.
“Don't act surprised.”
“I never discussed divorce with Julian.”
“He said you couldn't talk about it directly because Camille would use her government connections against you.”
I almost admired the construction of the lie.
It was sophisticated enough to sound plausible to someone who already wanted to believe it.
“What assets?” I asked.
Giselle hesitated.
“The Palm Beach property. Company shares. Some investment accounts.”
Christian swore quietly.
“Did you give Julian documents?”
“He already had them.”
“Which documents?”
“I don't know.”
“Giselle.”
“I don't know!”
Her voice cracked.
For the first time, I wondered whether Giselle had been used too.
Not innocently.
She had knowingly pursued a married man—or at least a man whose marriage she believed was “ending.”
But Julian's involvement suggested another layer.
I turned to Christian.
“What transaction were you discussing?”
He sat heavily in a chair.
“A merger.”
“With whom?”
“Mercer represented an investment group interested in acquiring a minority stake in Dupont Enterprise.”
“And you met him at our home?”
“I didn't want the discussion at headquarters until I knew it was serious.”
“Was it?”
“I thought so.”
“Until?”
He looked at Giselle.
“Until now.”
A knock sounded.
All three of us froze.
“Mr. Dupont?”
A male voice.
Christian walked to the door.
One of the wedding coordinators stood outside.
“Sir, the guests are asking whether the ceremony will continue.”
Christian looked toward Giselle.
She laughed once.
A broken sound.
“There is no ceremony.”
The coordinator disappeared quickly.
Christian shut the door.
Outside, whispers spread through the estate.
Phones were undoubtedly coming out.
By evening, half the guests would have their own version.
I didn't care.
My marriage had already ended in my mind.
But whatever Julian Mercer wanted from my office had not.
I checked the security application connected to the Palm Beach property.
The access logs loaded.
My office.
Three entries.
All during my deployments.
Each one used an emergency administrator code.
I stared.
Only three people had ever known that code.
Me.
Christian.
And the security company.
“Christian.”
He looked over.
“Did you give anyone the administrator code?”
“No.”
“Think.”
“I didn't.”
I believed him again.
That annoyed me.
Trust should have disappeared completely.
But betrayal in one area didn't automatically make every statement false.
“Then someone got it another way.”
Giselle lowered her phone.
“What was inside the office?”
“Nothing that concerns you.”
Julian apparently thought otherwise.
I called the security company.
After identity verification, a representative confirmed something strange.
The administrator code had been reset seven months earlier.
Requested remotely.
“By whom?”
The representative hesitated.
“The request came through an authorized account associated with the property.”
“Whose?”
Another pause.
“Christian Dupont.”
I looked at him.
He stared back.
“I never did that.”
The representative continued.
“There is a recorded authorization call.”
“Send it.”
Minutes later, the audio arrived.
I played it.
A man's voice gave Christian's full name.
Answered security questions.
Requested a reset.
The voice sounded enough like Christian to pass a hurried verification.
But sitting three feet from the real Christian, I knew immediately.
“That isn't you.”
“No.”
Giselle stared.
“Then who is it?”
I replayed the recording.
Christian leaned closer.
His expression changed.
“I've heard that voice.”
“Where?”
He looked at the photograph.
“Julian.”
Silence.
The affair had brought Giselle into my home.
But someone else had used that access for something larger.
I looked at Giselle.
“What did Julian ask you to photograph?”
“Nothing.”
I waited.
She broke first.
“He said Christian needed copies.”
“Copies of what?”
“Financial records.”
“There were no Dupont financial records in my office.”
Her eyes lowered.
“What did you photograph?”
She swallowed.
“A folder.”
“What folder?”
“Blue. No label.”
My stomach tightened.
There had been one blue folder in my office.
Not classified.
I would never keep classified material at home.
But sensitive personally?
Very.
It contained records related to a family trust established before my marriage.
Property holdings.
Beneficiary information.
Power-of-attorney documents.
Enough information for someone to understand the architecture of my private finances.
“Where are the photographs?”
“I sent them to Julian.”
Christian stood.
“You gave him photographs of my wife's documents?”
“You told me she was practically your ex!”
“I never told you to steal from her.”
“And you think that makes you honorable?”
“No.”
His answer silenced her.
“I know exactly what I am right now.”
For the first time, Christian sounded ashamed rather than frightened.
It changed nothing.
But I noticed.
I turned to Giselle.
“What did Julian promise you?”
Her eyes filled.
“A future.”
Christian stared.
She continued.
“He said once the divorce was finished, there were ways to make sure the house transferred cleanly. He said Christian needed someone he could trust.”
“And you believed that person was you?”
“I believed Christian loved me.”
The words landed differently than I expected.
Because she had believed it.
Christian had constructed a fantasy for her while maintaining a marriage with me.
He hadn't just betrayed me.
He had manipulated her vanity into becoming useful.
That didn't absolve Giselle.
But it explained her.
My phone rang.
General Carver.
I answered.
“Sir.”
His tone was immediately serious.
“Camille, I need you to listen carefully.”
I straightened automatically.
“Go ahead.”
“You accessed your home security system?”
“Yes.”
“We received an automated alert from your protected-person security profile.”
My eyes moved toward the photographs.
“What kind of alert?”
“Someone attempted to access archived credentials associated with you.”
“When?”
“Seven months ago. Again today.”
Today.
“From where?”
“We're checking.”
I looked at Giselle.
Then Christian.
“Is this connected to my work?”
“We don't know. Assume nothing.”
That meant exactly what it sounded like.
“Understood.”
“Where are you?”
“Saint Augustine estate.”
“Stay there until I call back.”
The line ended.
Christian watched me.
“What happened?”
“Nothing you need to know yet.”
Giselle suddenly sat down.
Her face had gone gray.
“What?”
I looked at her.
She whispered, “Seven months ago.”
“What about it?”
“That was when Julian first contacted me privately.”
Christian stared.
“How?”
“He already knew about us.”
“Who told him?”
“I thought you did.”
“I didn't.”
Giselle covered her mouth.
Then she remembered something.
“He gave me something.”
“What?”
“At the engagement party.”
She hurried toward the hallway.
I followed.
“Where?”
“The gift table.”
The wedding reception room was nearly empty now.
Guests had moved outside, confused and restless.
Giselle reached beneath the decorated table.
Her hands moved behind a floral arrangement.
Then stopped.
“What?”
“It was here.”
“What was?”
“A key.”
Christian came up behind us.
“To what?”
“I don't know.”
She turned.
“Julian told me never to use it unless the wedding didn't happen.”
My pulse changed.
“And now it didn't.”
Giselle nodded.
“Where is the key?”
She looked beneath the table again.
“Gone.”
Then someone at the far end of the room spoke.
“Looking for this?”
We turned.
A man stood in the doorway.
Dark suit.
Silver hair.
Calm expression.
I recognized him from the photographs.
May you like
Julian Mercer held a small brass key between two fingers.
And he was smiling.
