Chapter 3 - My Husband's First Real Mistake
I didn't sleep that night.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the blonde woman wearing my engagement ring.
Natalie.
Whoever she was, someone wanted me to know about her.
And someone else had worked very hard to make sure I didn't.
At six thirty the following morning, I received a message from Adrian.
Come home. We need to handle this privately.
I deleted nothing.
Twenty minutes later, another message arrived.
Dad is willing to forgive your behavior if you apologize.
I stared at those words until they blurred.
Then I forwarded them to Maya.
Her response came immediately.
Please tell me you're not actually considering going back.
I'm considering breakfast.
Excellent. Revenge is easier after pancakes.
For the first time in twelve hours, I smiled.
Maya joined me in her kitchen carrying two cups of coffee.
"I made an appointment with an independent criminal attorney," she announced. "Someone who can advise you about last night's incident and the recording without any connection to the Mercers."
"Who?"
"Rachel Collins. She's very good."
I nodded.
"Thank you."
"And before we do anything else, we need to discuss your finances."
That conversation proved enlightening.
During our engagement, Adrian had insisted on combining our household expenses.
I had agreed to a joint account for shared bills while retaining my personal savings separately.
He had described the arrangement as practical.
Now, when I opened our banking application, I discovered three unfamiliar transactions.
Two large withdrawals.
And a transfer request pending against the joint account.
The destination account belonged to an unfamiliar company.
Mercer Family Management LLC.
I showed Maya.
Her expression darkened.
"Did you authorize those?"
"No."
"Screenshot everything."
I did.
Then I called the bank, reported the disputed activity, and requested restrictions on further transfers from the joint account.
While I was speaking with the representative, another notification appeared.
Someone had tried to access my personal email account.
Three incorrect password attempts.
Then five.
Then a security alert from an unfamiliar device.
I knew the location displayed on the alert.
It was the Mercer estate.
I changed my passwords, revoked unfamiliar sessions, and contacted the provider's security team.
Adrian had just made his first truly spectacular mistake.
He assumed being my husband entitled him to everything I owned.
Including information.
At nine fifteen, his attorney called me.
"Mrs. Mercer, my name is Thomas Whitaker. I represent your husband and the Mercer family."
"Good morning, Mr. Whitaker."
"I understand there was an unfortunate domestic disagreement last night."
"Is that what we're calling it?"
"I would prefer to avoid inflammatory language."
"Then perhaps your client should avoid inflammatory behavior."
He paused.
"Mr. Mercer believes the situation can be resolved amicably."
"Excellent. He can stop contacting me."
"Your husband is understandably concerned about certain recordings you may have made."
I leaned back against Maya's kitchen counter.
There it was.
Not concern about his marriage.
Not concern about whether I was safe.
The recording.
"Does your client wish to make a formal request?"
"Mrs. Mercer, I strongly advise you against distributing private family conversations."
"I'm an attorney, Mr. Whitaker. I'm familiar with the difference between receiving legal advice and receiving a threat."
Another pause.
Then he said something peculiar.
"Your continued cooperation may affect certain financial arrangements currently under consideration."
"What arrangements?"
"I'm not authorized to discuss them."
"Then this conversation is over."
I ended the call.
Maya was staring at me.
"Financial arrangements?"
"Apparently."
"Why would they be considering financial arrangements three days after a wedding?"
I looked toward my laptop.
That question stayed with me.
At eleven, we met Rachel Collins.
Rachel was a compact woman in her early forties with short black hair, intelligent eyes, and the manner of someone who never wasted a sentence.
She listened to my account without interruption.
Then she asked practical questions.
Had Adrian struck me?
Had I sustained any injuries?
Were there witnesses?
Was I afraid of further contact?
Had I preserved the original recording?
When I mentioned Illinois recording laws, she nodded approvingly.
"We need to examine the circumstances carefully before deciding whether or how that recording can be used. Don't post it, edit it, or send it around."
"I haven't."
"Good. We'll also explore other evidence, including messages, testimony, photographs, and any surveillance footage obtained through appropriate legal channels."
Maya folded her arms.
"What about Victor threatening her?"
Rachel wrote something down.
"We'll document that too."
For the next hour, we discussed safety, legal options, and the practical consequences of separating from Adrian.
It was exhausting.
I had entered the office as a newlywed.
I left feeling like a witness in an investigation.
Outside the building, my phone rang.
An unknown number.
I answered.
"Claire Bennett?"
A woman's voice.
"Speaking."
"My name is Natalie Price."
I stopped walking.
Maya noticed immediately.
"I believe you've seen a photograph of me," the woman continued.
My mouth went dry.
"You're the woman who was engaged to Adrian."
"Yes."
"How did you get my number?"
"I asked someone who still works at the estate to contact you."
Rosa.
Suddenly, her strange words in the hallway made sense.
"Why?"
Natalie took a long breath.
"Because I watched your wedding photographs appear online, and I couldn't stand the thought of another woman making the same mistake I did."
"What happened to you?"
She was silent for several seconds.
Then she asked a question instead.
"Has Victor told you to quit your job yet?"
My blood ran cold.
"Yes."
"Has Adrian asked you to apologize for something his father did?"
"Yes."
Another pause.
"Has anyone mentioned the family foundation?"
I frowned.
"No."
Natalie's voice dropped to a whisper.
"Claire, you weren't chosen because Adrian fell in love with you."
I gripped the phone.
"What are you talking about?"
"Victor needed an attorney with your exact professional background."
"Why?"
"Because three years ago, I found something inside his company."
The street noise seemed to disappear.
Natalie continued.
"When I refused to help him hide it, he destroyed my life."
"What did you find?"
May you like
Her answer made my knees feel weak.
"A forty-million-dollar problem."
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