Chapter 11 - The Account With My Name on It
The account was in Luxembourg.
I had never been to Luxembourg.
Yet according to documents Rachel received from investigators, an investment account there had been opened eighteen months earlier using identification connected to me.
My passport.
My tax information.
My signature.
Except I had never signed anything.
“Identity fraud,” Rachel said.
I stared at the account statement.
Twelve million dollars had moved through it.
Then disappeared into layered entities.
“Where did it go?”
“We're tracing it.”
“Grant?”
“Probably.”
“Probably isn't enough.”
“No.”
I was tired of uncertainty.
Tired of people using my name.
Tired of discovering new rooms inside a house I thought I knew.
That afternoon, Grant appeared at my hotel.
Security called first.
“Send him away.”
Then my phone rang.
Grant.
I ignored it.
He called again.
And again.
Finally a message:
Victoria is going to destroy both of us.
I stared at it.
Then:
Please give me ten minutes.
I showed Rachel.
“Absolutely not.”
“What if he knows something?”
“He always knows something.”
“Exactly.”
We arranged the meeting in a hotel conference room with security outside.
Grant entered alone.
He looked terrible.
Unshaven.
No tie.
The man who once treated appearance like armor suddenly looked human.
“Emma.”
I said nothing.
His eyes dropped to my stomach.
“How's the baby?”
“Don't.”
Pain crossed his face.
Maybe real.
Maybe not.
“I deserve that.”
“You deserve considerably more.”
He sat.
“Victoria set this in motion.”
“You forged my signature.”
His silence answered.
“You stole from me.”
“I borrowed—”
I laughed.
He stopped.
“Do not insult me with vocabulary.”
He looked down.
“The company was going to fail.”
“So you took my money.”
“I was going to replace it.”
“When?”
“When the refinancing closed.”
“And when it didn't?”
He rubbed his face.
“I panicked.”
“You planned.”
“Yes.”
At least that was true.
“Did you open the Luxembourg account?”
“No.”
“Grant.”
“I swear.”
I studied him.
“Then who did?”
“My mother.”
That surprised me.
“She used your identity to create a channel I wouldn't control.”
“For what?”
“To move money out if the company collapsed.”
“Whose money?”
“Some hers.”
He looked at me.
“Some yours.”
I felt sick.
“So both of you were stealing from me independently?”
His face crumpled.
When spoken plainly, their sophistication sounded pathetic.
“What about Lena?”
Grant looked away.
“You love her?”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
I hated that it still hurt.
“Then why?”
“Because she listened.”
“I listened for eight years.”
“You believed in me.”
He whispered it as if that were the problem.
“And she didn't?”
“She didn't care if I failed.”
I stared.
Grant's affair hadn't been about love.
It had been about finding someone before whom he didn't need to maintain the illusion of greatness.
“How romantic.”
“Emma.”
“The ring?”
“I gave it to her because she had evidence.”
“So you paid her.”
“Yes.”
“And slept with her.”
He closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
There are moments when rage burns so hot it becomes silence.
I felt one then.
But I had more important questions.
“Why did you investigate my father's trust?”
Grant looked at me sharply.
So Lena had told the truth.
“Answer.”
“Because Victoria told me your father's structure would change when the baby was born.”
“How?”
“Certain voting rights become protected for descendants.”
“Meaning you couldn't pledge them.”
“Yes.”
“And that's why you needed me to sign before delivery.”
“Yes.”
I stood.
Grant stood too.
“Emma, listen.”
“No.”
“I never intended to hurt you.”
“You forged my signature.”
“I know.”
“You stole from me.”
“I know.”
“You tried to portray me as mentally unstable.”
His face tightened.
“That was Victoria's idea.”
“You said it.”
“I was desperate.”
“And the baby?”
Grant's expression changed.
“What about her?”
“At the theater, Lena asked what would happen to the baby.”
He froze.
“You heard that?”
I didn't answer.
“You were there.”
“Yes.”
His face collapsed.
“You recorded us.”
“Yes.”
Grant sat down.
For the first time, he understood how long I had known.
“What did you mean?” I asked.
He looked at my stomach.
“When I said she'd be taken care of?”
“Yes.”
His eyes filled.
“I meant financially.”
“That's all?”
“Yes.”
“Swear.”
“On my life.”
I believed that part.
Not because Grant deserved belief.
Because fear looked different from deception, and I had become very good at recognizing both.
He reached into his coat.
Security moved outside the glass.
Grant slowly removed a key.
He placed it on the table.
“Safe-deposit box.”
“Where?”
He gave me the bank.
“What's inside?”
“Everything Victoria thinks I destroyed.”
Rachel leaned forward.
“What everything?”
Grant looked at me.
“Proof that my mother started taking your money before I did.”
Then he stood.
“Use it.”
I stared at him.
“Why help me now?”
He looked toward the window.
“Because I'm finally starting to understand that there isn't anything left for me to save.”
He walked toward the door.
Then stopped.
“Emma?”
I waited.
“I did love you.”
My eyes burned.
“That was never the question.”
He left.
And the next morning, Rachel and I opened the safe-deposit box.
Inside was enough evidence to destroy Victoria.
But beneath the financial records was something neither of us expected.
A sealed envelope.
May you like
Written across the front in Grant's handwriting:
IF ANYTHING HAPPENS TO EMMA.
