Chapter 2 - The Wife He Never Bothered to Know
Jasmine Cole stepped into Nathan’s office looking nothing like the woman I had imagined during all those sleepless nights.
She wasn’t triumphant.
She wasn’t smug.
She looked terrified.
“Claire.”
Nathan moved between us.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“I know.”
Jasmine held up both hands.
“I’m not here to fight.”
I studied her.
Early thirties.
Dark hair.
Expensive black coat.
The polished appearance of someone who spent her life in rooms where presentation mattered.
“Then why are you here?”
Her eyes moved toward Nathan.
“I need to speak with Claire privately.”
“No,” Nathan said.
I almost smiled.
“Nathan.”
He looked at me.
“I’ll stay.”
Jasmine nodded quickly.
“Fine.”
She sat.
I remained standing.
“Were you with my husband last night?”
Her face changed.
“Yes.”
The honesty surprised me.
“Where?”
“The Hawthorne Hotel.”
Nathan leaned forward.
“Careful.”
Jasmine ignored him.
“There was a corporate strategy dinner. Aaron booked a private suite afterward.”
My chest tightened.
“And you went upstairs.”
“Yes.”
I had imagined this answer so many times.
Strangely, hearing it felt less painful than wondering.
“Did you sleep with him?”
Jasmine stared at the floor.
Then she whispered:
“No.”
I said nothing.
She looked up.
“I know you don’t believe me.”
“I haven’t decided what I believe.”
“He wanted people to think we were together.”
That was not the answer I expected.
Nathan’s expression sharpened.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Jasmine.”
“I’m serious.”
She reached into her handbag.
Nathan immediately said, “Keep your hands visible.”
She froze.
Then slowly removed a phone.
“There are messages.”
She placed it on the desk.
“I started saving them three months ago.”
Nathan picked up the phone.
“What kind of messages?”
“Instructions. Where to sit at dinners. Which events to attend. Which photographs to make sure I appeared in.”
I felt something cold settle in my stomach.
“Why?”
“He said it helped with investors.”
“That makes no sense.”
“I know.”
“Then why did you do it?”
Her cheeks flushed.
“Because Aaron is my CEO.”
There was shame in her voice.
Not romantic shame.
Professional shame.
The kind that comes from realizing you allowed someone powerful to move your boundaries one inch at a time.
Nathan scrolled.
His face grew serious.
“Claire.”
He handed me the phone.
Messages filled the screen.
Be at the Hartwell dinner Thursday.
Wear the black dress.
Sit beside me.
Make sure communications gets photos.
Another.
Boston Foundation gala. Claire won’t attend. I need you there.
And another.
Don’t worry about what people assume. It helps the image.
I looked at Jasmine.
“What image?”
“I never understood.”
“Did Aaron ever touch you?”
She hesitated.
“He kissed me once.”
My stomach turned.
“I pushed him away.”
“When?”
“Six weeks ago.”
“Did he stop?”
“Yes.”
“Then why were you at the hotel?”
“Because he told me my promotion depended on attending the strategy session.”
Nathan swore quietly.
Jasmine’s eyes filled.
“I should have quit.”
“Yes,” I said.
She flinched.
I continued.
“But he shouldn’t have put you in that position.”
She stared at me.
Maybe she expected me to scream.
Maybe she had prepared herself to be hated.
I had hated her.
That was the embarrassing truth.
It had been easier to hate Jasmine than admit my husband was responsible for his own choices.
“Why come here?”
“Because your Slack message changed everything.”
“How?”
“People started talking.”
She leaned forward.
“There are rumors about you.”
I almost laughed.
“There have always been rumors about me.”
“No. Financial rumors.”
Nathan and I exchanged a glance.
“What rumors?”
“That Aaron married you because of your family.”
“That’s not exactly scandalous.”
“No.”
She lowered her voice.
“The rumor is that Prescott Global needed something your family controlled.”
Nathan stopped moving.
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who started it?”
“Daniel Mercer.”
I knew the name.
Prescott Global’s chief financial officer.
Aaron’s closest professional ally.
“What exactly did he say?”
“He told Aaron this morning that if the divorce became public, they needed to know whether you could ‘pull the Halcyon position.’”
Nathan’s eyes snapped toward mine.
Jasmine noticed.
“What does that mean?”
I didn’t answer.
Halcyon.
The name hadn’t been spoken in my marriage once.
Not once.
My grandfather’s company was Halcyon Private Capital.
Nathan stood.
“Jasmine, I need copies of those messages.”
She nodded.
“And you need independent employment counsel.”
“I know.”
“I can refer you.”
“Thank you.”
She stood.
At the door, she turned toward me.
“I’m sorry.”
I looked at her.
“For what?”
“For letting you believe what Aaron wanted you to believe.”
After she left, Nathan locked the door.
Then he faced me.
“Explain Halcyon.”
I sat slowly.
“My grandfather founded it forty-two years ago.”
“What does Prescott Global have to do with it?”
“Nothing.”
“You sure?”
“I thought so.”
Nathan opened his laptop.
“Your ownership percentage?”
“Seventeen percent.”
He stopped typing.
“Seventeen?”
“Yes.”
“You called that a minority stake like it was a neighborhood restaurant.”
“It is a minority stake.”
“Claire.”
“What?”
“Halcyon manages billions.”
“I know.”
“And you own seventeen percent of the holding company?”
“Through a trust.”
Nathan stared at me.
“That makes you—”
“Don’t.”
He stopped.
I had spent three years listening to people describe Aaron’s wealth.
Nobody needed to describe mine.
That was partly why my grandfather had structured everything privately.
“You receive distributions?”
“Some. Most are reinvested.”
“Voting rights?”
“Limited.”
“Board rights?”
“One seat, currently exercised through my trustee.”
“Who?”
“My father.”
Nathan rubbed his forehead.
“If Prescott Global has exposure to Halcyon, we need to know.”
“My grandfather would have told me.”
“Unless the relationship happened after his death.”
That possibility landed differently.
Aaron and I had married six months after my grandfather died.
I remembered something.
At our rehearsal dinner, Aaron’s father had toasted my grandfather.
At the time, I thought it was gracious.
He had said:
“To old relationships becoming new family.”
I had assumed he meant our families.
Now I wasn’t sure.
Nathan was already calling someone.
“Who?”
“Forensic accountant.”
“That seems premature.”
“No. Premature was three years ago.”
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
I ignored it.
Again.
Then a text appeared.
YOU SHOULD ASK WHY AARON PROPOSED SIX WEEKS AFTER HALCYON REJECTED PRESCOTT GLOBAL.
I stared.
Nathan saw my face.
“What?”
I handed him the phone.
He read it twice.
“Who sent this?”
“I don’t know.”
Another message arrived.
THE ANSWER IS IN YOUR GRANDFATHER’S FILES.
My heart began pounding.
My grandfather’s files were stored at my parents’ house.
I stood.
Nathan grabbed his coat.
“I’m coming.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Nathan—”
“Someone knows where this is going.”
Twenty minutes later, we were driving north.
My mother opened the door before I knocked.
“Claire?”
“I need Grandpa’s business files.”
Her expression changed.
“Why?”
“Did he ever mention Prescott Global?”
She became very still.
My father appeared behind her.
“What happened?”
I repeated the message.
My parents exchanged a look.
A look I recognized instantly.
They knew something.
“Dad.”
He exhaled.
“Your grandfather made me promise not to interfere in your marriage.”
My blood went cold.
“What does my marriage have to do with Grandpa?”
He walked toward his study.
“There’s something you need to see.”
He unlocked a cabinet.
Inside sat a gray archival box.
My grandfather’s handwriting covered the top.
CLAIRE — PERSONAL.
My father placed it in front of me.
“I never opened it.”
“Why not?”
“Because the instructions said it belonged to you.”
I lifted the lid.
Tax documents.
Corporate records.
Letters.
Then I found an envelope.
My name was written across it.
Claire.
My fingers trembled.
I opened it.
Inside was a single handwritten page.
The first line read:
If you are reading this because of Aaron Prescott, then I was right to be worried.
May you like
I stopped breathing.
And beneath that sentence, my grandfather had written the date Aaron first asked me to dinner.
