Chapter 2: The Secret Behind the Locked Bedroom
I didn't confront Camden about the message.
Not in the hangar.
Not in front of the employees.
And certainly not while he still believed he could talk his way out of everything.
Instead, I slipped my phone into my handbag and turned to Nora.
“Have the security footage secured. I want a complete copy, including the exterior cameras.””
Nora nodded.
“Which property?””
“The Connecticut house.””
Camden's expression changed.
“What security footage?””
I looked at him.
“Why? Is there something I should know?””
He laughed, but it came out too quickly.
“You're seriously going to start investigating me in my own house?””
“Our house,” I corrected.
“Whatever.””
He adjusted his cuff.
“Vivian, this is becoming ridiculous.””
I didn't respond.
I had learned something during my father's years in business.
When someone was desperate to control the conversation, the smartest thing you could do was stop participating.
I left the hangar with Nora.
Behind us, Camden was still arguing with George.
Lila stood near the worktable, staring at the financial documents.
For a moment, I felt sorry for her.
Then I remembered the scarf.
And the way she had looked at me.
Pity could wait.
The drive to Manhattan took forty minutes.
Rain began falling against the windows halfway through the journey.
I sat in the back of the car, staring at the silver buildings passing outside.
Nora sat beside me with her tablet.
“Mrs. Pierce?””
“Yes?””
“May I ask something?””
“Of course.””
“Did you know about the Northstar transfer?””
“No.””
“Did you know Mr. Pierce had been using the aircraft for personal travel?””
“I suspected he was being careless with expenses. I didn't know about Nantucket.””
She hesitated.
“I'm sorry.””
I turned toward her.
“Why?””
“Because I should have noticed.””
“Nora, you are not responsible for my husband's dishonesty.””
She looked down.
“I know. But I've worked with him for four years. I saw things.””
“What things?””
She took a breath.
“Unusual hotel expenses. Gifts charged to the corporate account. Meetings that were never entered into the calendar. He also asked me to delete a few flight requests.””
My stomach tightened.
“Did you?””
“No.””
“Why not?””
“Because the requests didn't have proper authorization.””
I studied her.
“You did the right thing.””
She nodded, but she still looked troubled.
“There is something else.””
I waited.
“Mr. Pierce asked me last month to prepare a list of the company's major assets. Aircraft, hangars, leases, property interests, everything.””
“That's part of his position.””
“Yes. But he specifically asked for the ownership documents and the names of the trusts behind them.””
I felt a cold sensation move through my chest.
“Did you provide them?””
“No. I told him the legal department maintained those records.””
“Good.””
Nora turned her tablet toward me.
“There was also a request to schedule a meeting with a private investment group called Westbridge Capital.””
“Who attended?””
“Mr. Pierce, Ms. Monroe, and someone named Adrian Cole.””
I recognized the name.
Adrian Cole was a private equity attorney who specialized in corporate acquisitions.
“Do we have the meeting notes?””
“No. But I found the calendar invitation.””
She opened it.
The subject line read:
*Project Independence — Ownership Restructuring.*
I stared at the screen.
“Send that to legal.””
“Already done.””
I looked out at the rain.
Project Independence.
Camden had not merely been cheating.
He had been planning something.
The Connecticut estate stood behind a row of old maple trees, its white stone exterior shining beneath the afternoon rain.
It was the house where Camden and I had spent our first Christmas together.
The house where he had proposed.
The house where I had once imagined raising children.
I remembered standing in the kitchen six years earlier, holding a pregnancy test with shaking hands.
Camden had kissed my forehead.
“We're going to be a family,” he had whispered.
Three miscarriages later, the nursery remained unfinished.
We had eventually converted it into a study.
I hadn't entered that room in almost two years.
Now, as I stepped through the front door, the familiar smell of cedarwood and lemon polish greeted me.
Everything looked exactly as I remembered.
Except the small details.
A pair of unfamiliar heels stood near the staircase.
A pink makeup bag rested on the console table.
And there was a coffee cup on the kitchen island with lipstick along its rim.
I stopped.
Nora looked at it.
“Do you want me to call security?””
“No.””
I walked toward the kitchen.
A woman appeared in the doorway.
She was in her late fifties, with silver hair and a cardigan buttoned neatly over a pale blue blouse.
Margaret Ellis.
Our housekeeper.
She had worked for my family for almost twenty years.
“Mrs. Pierce?””
Her voice sounded relieved.
I smiled faintly.
“Hello, Margaret.””
She approached me, but her eyes moved nervously toward Nora.
“I'm sorry. I wasn't expecting you.””
“Apparently, nobody was.””
Margaret swallowed.
“Would you like some tea?””
“Not yet.””
I glanced at the coffee cup.
“Whose is that?””
She looked down.
“Mr. Pierce had a guest.””
“What guest?””
Her lips pressed together.
I waited.
Margaret had once told me that the hardest part of working in wealthy homes wasn't the work.
It was learning when not to speak.
But she had never been comfortable lying.
“Mrs. Pierce, I think you should see something.””
She led me upstairs.
We stopped outside the master bedroom.
The door was open.
Inside, the bed had been made with fresh white linen.
A woman's perfume lingered in the air.
I stepped closer to the dressing table.
There were two photographs.
One showed Camden and me at our wedding.
The other showed Camden with a brunette woman.
The woman was holding his face.
He was kissing her.
I recognized her immediately.
Not because I knew her personally.
Because I had seen her before.
On the company website.
In the annual report.
In the photographs from the aviation group's charity gala.
Her name was Vanessa Cole.
The chief financial officer of Pierce Aviation.
I picked up the photograph.
“When was this taken?””
Margaret's eyes filled.
“Three weeks ago.””
“Who took it?””
“I don't know.””
“Does she come here often?””
Margaret looked toward the hallway.
“Every Thursday.””
I felt my fingers tighten around the frame.
“Every Thursday?””
“Yes, ma'am.””
“How long?””
She hesitated.
“Since February.””
February.
Nine months.
I placed the photograph back on the table.
“Does Camden know you've seen these?””
Margaret nodded.
“He told me not to mention anything.””
“Did he threaten you?””
“No.””
She looked down.
“He said you were unwell. That you and he had an arrangement. He said you wouldn't want to know.””
I closed my eyes.
An arrangement.
What a convenient word for betrayal.
I walked toward the dressing room.
A second toothbrush sat beside Camden's.
A woman's robe hung behind the bathroom door.
And on the shelf was a small velvet box.
I opened it.
Inside was a diamond bracelet.
The same bracelet I had seen in a photograph from the company's summer gala.
Vanessa had been wearing it.
I placed the box down.
Nora stood quietly behind me.
“Mrs. Pierce, we should probably contact your attorney.””
“Yes.””
I looked at the bracelet again.
“But first, I want to know why the chief financial officer is spending every Thursday in my bedroom.””
Margaret suddenly spoke.
“There's something else.””
I turned.
“What?””
She took a folded piece of paper from her cardigan pocket.
“I found this in the study. I didn't know what to do with it.””
I unfolded it.
It was a printed email.
The sender was Vanessa Cole.
The recipient was Camden.
The subject line:
*Phase Two — Trust Transfer.*
I read the first paragraph.
Then the second.
My hands began to tremble.
The email described a proposed transfer of several aircraft leases and two hangar properties into a newly formed holding company.
The plan depended on a change in the trust's voting structure.
A change that would give Camden control.
At the bottom was a sentence that made my blood run cold.
*Once Vivian signs the marital settlement, the remaining obstacles disappear.*
I read it twice.
Then I looked at Margaret.
“Did you find anything else?””
She nodded slowly.
“There was a document in the study drawer.””
“What document?””
She hesitated.
“A divorce agreement.””
I stared at her.
“Signed?””
“No, ma'am.””
She looked frightened.
“But there was another signature on it.””
“Whose?””
Margaret swallowed.
“Your father's.””
My entire body went still.
My father had died eleven years earlier.
And he had never met Vanessa Cole.
I turned the page over.
At the bottom, beneath the proposed settlement terms, was a scanned signature.
Richard Alden.
My father's signature.
May you like
But something was wrong.
The date printed beside it was three months after his death.
