Chapter 4 - The Folder in Aaron’s Hand
The police arrived eleven minutes later.
By then, whoever had been outside Jasmine's door was gone.
Hotel security reviewed the hallway footage.
A man in a baseball cap appeared briefly near the elevator, but he kept his face turned from the camera.
Professional enough to avoid identification.
Careless enough to want us to know he'd been there.
That distinction bothered me.
This wasn't an attempt to hide.
It was intimidation.
After giving statements, Nathan arranged for Jasmine to stay somewhere else under a different reservation.
I kept the photograph of Aaron.
At eleven that night, I finally agreed to meet him.
Not at home.
Not at Prescott Global.
Nathan's office.
Aaron arrived alone.
He walked into the conference room and stopped when he saw me.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
He looked terrible.
I had never seen my husband look terrible.
Even when his mother died, grief had somehow made him more composed.
Tonight his shirt was wrinkled.
His tie was gone.
His eyes were red from exhaustion.
“Where's Jasmine?”
“Safe.”
He closed his eyes briefly.
“Thank God.”
I placed the photograph on the table.
“Explain.”
He picked it up.
His expression hardened.
“Where did you get this?”
“Doesn't matter.”
“It matters to me.”
“Then we're even. A lot of things suddenly matter to you.”
He sat across from me.
“My father gave me that folder.”
“I can see that.”
“He told me someone inside the company was stealing.”
“Was he right?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
I watched his face.
Three years of marriage had taught me the difference between Aaron withholding information and Aaron lying.
He was withholding.
“What was inside?”
“Financial reports.”
“Show me.”
“I can't.”
“Why?”
“Because I gave them to federal investigators this afternoon.”
That silenced me.
Aaron leaned forward.
“I've been cooperating with them for six weeks.”
I stared.
“With whom?”
“The FBI and federal financial-crimes investigators.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
His expression almost became disbelief.
“Because it's a confidential investigation.”
“I was your wife.”
“And I was trying to keep you out of it.”
“By staying out all night with another woman?”
His jaw tightened.
“That isn't fair.”
I laughed once.
“Fair?”
“I didn't sleep with Jasmine.”
“That doesn't erase everything else.”
“I know.”
The answer came too quickly.
Too quietly.
I wasn't prepared for it.
Aaron looked at his hands.
“I know, Claire.”
Something in me shifted.
Not forgiveness.
Nothing close.
But for the first time, Aaron wasn't defending himself.
He was admitting damage.
“My father came to me two months ago,” he continued. “He claimed irregularities were coming from middle management. But his numbers didn't make sense.”
“So you investigated him.”
“I investigated everyone.”
“Including Jasmine?”
“Yes.”
“And me?”
He looked up.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because you had nothing to do with the company.”
I almost smiled at the irony.
“You really never knew.”
“Knew what?”
I slid a document across the table.
Hale Meridian Partners.
Aaron read the heading.
Then looked at me.
“What is this?”
“Part of what you never bothered to ask.”
He read.
His face slowly changed.
“Your grandfather?”
“Yes.”
“You own this?”
“A minority stake.”
“How much?”
“Enough.”
Aaron stared at me.
“Hale Meridian is one of our largest private lenders.”
“I know.”
“How long have you known?”
“Longer than I've known you.”
He stood and walked toward the window.
For once, Aaron Prescott had no words.
Finally:
“Why didn't you tell me?”
I almost couldn't believe the question.
“Why didn't you ask?”
“Claire, people don't casually forget to mention something like this.”
“I didn't forget.”
“Then why?”
“Because I wanted one relationship in my life where my value wasn't attached to money.”
He turned.
“You thought I'd marry you for money?”
“No.”
“Then—”
“I wanted to know whether you would remain interested in me when you thought I had nothing useful to offer your company.”
His expression changed.
“And I failed.”
I didn't answer.
He did not need me to.
Aaron sat again.
“How exposed are you?”
“To your company?”
“Yes.”
“Hale Meridian is exposed. I personally don't manage daily investment decisions.”
“Could you influence them?”
“Probably.”
“Will you?”
“No.”
His shoulders relaxed slightly.
“Don't mistake that for helping you,” I said.
“I didn't.”
“This investigation needs to remain separate from our divorce.”
“Agreed.”
“And Jasmine?”
“She needs protection.”
“Agreed.”
It was perhaps the first productive conversation we'd had in a year.
Then Aaron said:
“There is something else.”
Of course there was.
“What?”
“My father doesn't control Northbridge.”
“Who does?”
“We don't know.”
“But?”
Aaron looked directly at me.
“The beneficial owner traces through an offshore trust.”
“Whose?”
“That is what investigators are trying to determine.”
I waited.
Aaron hesitated.
Then:
“The trust's original settlor was someone named Evelyn Hale.”
My blood went cold.
My grandmother.
Aaron saw the recognition.
“You know that name.”
“She was my grandfather's wife.”
“Your grandmother?”
“Yes.”
“Claire, the trust was established thirty-two years ago.”
“That doesn't make sense.”
“Why?”
“My grandmother died before Hale Meridian became what it is today.”
Aaron slid another sheet toward me.
At the bottom was a signature.
Evelyn Hale.
My grandmother's signature.
I recognized it immediately.
Except there was one problem.
The document was dated September 14, 2002.
My grandmother had died in 1998.
I stared at the date.
Aaron whispered:
“Somebody has been using your family’s identity for more than twenty years.”
May you like
And suddenly the secret threatening Prescott Global wasn't only Aaron's family secret.
It belonged to mine too.
