Chapter 7 - Natalie’s Version
I did not open Natalie’s email for forty-three minutes.
That was partly self-control.
Mostly fear.
Some truths hurt even when you already know you have been betrayed.
At 11:51, I finally clicked.
Claire,
You have no reason to believe me, and I understand that.
Grant told me your marriage had been effectively over for almost two years.
He said you were living together because of fertility treatment and family pressure.
He told me that when you became pregnant, everything changed legally and emotionally, and that he needed time to leave without “destroying you while you were vulnerable.”
I know how terrible that sounds now.
I believed him.
I should not have.
I am sorry.
There was more.
Much more.
Natalie wrote that Grant had pursued her.
That he told her he slept in a guest room.
That he said we had discussed divorce.
That he claimed my parents pressured us to continue fertility treatment.
All lies.
Then came the part I had not expected.
He told me the nursery would become a guest room after the divorce.
For now.
I closed my eyes.
The camera recording.
Are you really keeping this room exactly like this?
For now.
Natalie had not been mocking my baby.
She had been asking why Grant was decorating a nursery inside a marriage he told her was ending.
That did not erase what she had done.
She knew I was pregnant.
She entered my house.
She wore my robe.
She slept with my husband.
But the story was no longer as simple as wife versus mistress.
Grant had created two women who each believed the other understood an arrangement that did not exist.
I continued reading.
The apartment was not a gift.
Grant told me it belonged to Whitmore Urban Holdings and was temporary executive housing. I now believe he structured it through East Mercer because he did not want anyone connecting it to him.
The jewelry was for me.
I returned it Saturday morning after he called and said you had left.
I did not know he later claimed it was for you.
My jaw tightened.
Grant had taken back the bracelet.
Then sent it to my lawyer.
His anniversary gift story had been invented after Natalie returned it.
The email continued.
There is something else you should know.
I have documents related to Vale Advisory that your lawyers may misunderstand.
Grant asked my company to issue invoices for work performed by outside consultants on several developments. He said Whitmore’s internal procurement system was temporarily frozen during an audit.
I believed him at first.
Later, I realized some services never happened.
When I questioned him, he told me not to worry and said his finance team would reconcile everything.
I am now afraid my company was used to move money.
I stopped breathing.
Natalie was not merely his mistress.
She might have been one of his financial vehicles.
At the bottom of the email:
I will speak to your attorney if you want me to.
I do not expect forgiveness.
But you deserve to know he lied to both of us.
I called Margaret the next morning.
By noon, Natalie was sitting in the same conference room where I had met Rebecca.
She looked different without event makeup.
Younger.
Tired.
Scared.
Her eyes moved to my stomach and immediately away.
For almost a minute, nobody spoke.
Then Natalie said:
“I’m sorry.”
I had imagined this moment.
In several versions, I slapped her.
In others, I delivered a devastating speech.
Reality was quieter.
“Why did you wear my robe?”
She looked stunned.
Of all my possible questions, that was apparently not the one she expected.
“The ivory one?”
“Yes.”
Her face flushed.
“I spilled coffee on my blouse.”
I stared at her.
“He gave it to me.”
“Grant?”
“Yes.”
“He said it belonged to his mother.”
I almost laughed.
Of course he did.
“It was my wedding robe.”
Natalie’s eyes filled instantly.
“Oh my God.”
I believed her reaction.
That annoyed me.
I wanted everything about Natalie to be calculated.
It would have been easier.
“When did he tell you he was leaving me?”
“Fourteen months ago.”
The same timeline Sophie provided.
“Did you know we were trying to have a baby?”
“No.”
“He told you we were?”
“He said you had stopped.”
My stomach tightened.
“When did you learn I was pregnant?”
“The charity auction.”
The first time we met.
Her reaction.
Oh.
“That’s why you looked at my stomach.”
“Yes.”
“What did he say afterward?”
“That you had done one final fertility transfer without telling him you intended to.”
I actually laughed.
A single sharp sound.
Natalie flinched.
“Claire…”
“That is insane.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t understand. Grant gave me the progesterone injections himself.”
She covered her mouth.
“He came to every appointment until week eight.”
Natalie looked physically ill.
“He told me…”
“I know what he told you.”
The room became silent.
Two women.
Two realities.
One man moving between them.
Margaret redirected us toward the financial documents.
Natalie brought everything.
Emails.
Invoices.
Bank records.
Text messages.
Voice notes.
That last category interested Margaret most.
Grant liked voice messages.
I knew that.
He hated typing long explanations.
Natalie played one.
Grant’s voice:
Run the Harbor invoice through your company. Forty percent back to Mercer. I’ll explain later.
Margaret looked at Daniel.
Daniel looked at Margaret.
Natalie whispered:
“I thought Mercer was a vendor.”
Daniel shook his head.
“East Mercer Holdings owns the Tribeca apartment.”
Natalie went pale.
Another voice note:
Don’t ask finance. They’ll make this complicated. Just do what we discussed.
Another.
I need Vale to show the full amount. We’ll adjust your piece separately.
Margaret stopped the recording.
“We need copies of all of these.”
Natalie nodded.
I watched her hands shake.
“What happens to me?” she asked.
Margaret answered carefully.
“You need your own attorney.”
That frightened Natalie more than anything.
Afterward, she and I stood near the elevators.
“I know you hate me,” she said.
“I don’t know you well enough to hate you.”
She looked down.
“That’s probably worse.”
“Maybe.”
The elevator arrived.
Before entering, Natalie turned.
“There’s one thing I didn’t put in the email.”
“What?”
“The night before you left, Grant asked me to wait three more months.”
“Why?”
“He said once the baby was born, he could make the separation look mutual.”
The words hit hard.
“Mutual?”
“He said nobody would blame a pregnant woman, but after delivery…”
She stopped.
“What?”
“He said people would believe the marriage had already been broken.”
I stared at her.
Grant had not merely been waiting.
He had been planning the narrative.
My pregnancy was not only emotional leverage.
It was a public-relations obstacle.
Natalie stepped into the elevator.
“Claire.”
“Yes?”
“I thought he was choosing me.”
The doors began closing.
“I think he was only choosing himself.”
The elevator disappeared.
My phone rang.
Margaret.
Although she stood fifteen feet away.
She had returned to the conference room.
I answered.
“What?”
“Come back.”
Her voice sounded strange.
“What happened?”
“We found something inside Natalie’s records.”
I entered the room.
Daniel had an email displayed on his laptop.
Grant had sent it to Natalie seven months earlier.
One sentence was highlighted.
Once C has the baby, the optics get easier.
I stared at the screen.
Below it was another sentence.
Mom agrees.
I looked at Margaret.
“Mom?”
Margaret did not need to answer.
May you like
Diane Whitmore had not merely known.
She had been part of the plan.
