Chapter 3 - THE NIGHT HE BORROWED MY LAPTOP
“You knew Sloane needed my computer?”
I didn't raise my voice.
I didn't have to.
Every person around the conference table had heard Brent.
Sloane closed her eyes.
“Brent, stop talking.”
But he was staring at me.
And for the first time in seven years, he looked genuinely ashamed.
“She told me she needed to retrieve a financial presentation,” he said. “Her office systems were down, and she had an investor meeting the next morning.”
I felt a cold pressure forming beneath my ribs.
“You gave her access to my laptop?”
“No. I opened it for her.”
“Brent.”
“It wasn't like that. I thought you used it for invoices.”
I looked down at the authorization report.
My old laptop had been kept in the small office beside our bedroom.
Brent knew its password because I had trusted him with the ordinary details of our household.
But the laptop didn't provide direct access to Aegis Capital's secure banking systems.
Someone would have needed additional credentials.
And whoever did this had gone to considerable trouble to make the transaction appear legitimate.
I turned to Rebecca.
“Can we establish whether that device actually authorized the transfers?”
“Not yet. We know the approval record references that device, but that doesn't prove where the money was released.”
Sloane finally spoke.
“Whitney, I would never steal from Lumina.”
Brent turned toward her.
“You told me it was a presentation.”
“It was.”
“Then why does her computer appear in your company's records?”
“I don't know.”
I watched her carefully.
There was something almost convincing about her fear.
Then she added, “I never touched the payment system.”
Rebecca immediately looked up.
“Interesting.”
Sloane frowned.
“What?”
“We haven't told you which system processed the payments.”
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Sloane swallowed.
“I'm the CEO. Of course I know how our payments work.”
“Then you'll understand why we need an independent review.”
I closed the report.
“Brent, you need to leave.”
He stepped closer.
“Whitney, please. I didn't know who you were.”
The words struck me harder than his insults at the restaurant.
Not because they were cruel.
Because they revealed the real problem.
After seven years, he still believed that knowing my title would somehow have changed his behavior.
“You knew I was your wife,” I said. “That should have been enough.”
His eyes dropped.
Margaret escorted him toward the elevator.
But just before he disappeared, he looked back.
“Sloane,” he said quietly, “tell her about the blue folder.”
Sloane went perfectly still.
The board meeting continued for another forty minutes.
Sloane explained that Lumina had been developing a new security platform called Beacon.
The technology could identify suspicious activity across large financial networks.
According to her, Lumina had spent years developing it, and several major financial institutions were interested.
“Beacon is the reason our company is still viable,” she said.
Daniel nodded.
“It's also the reason your development expenses have nearly doubled.”
“Because we accelerated testing.”
“Without obtaining every required budget approval.”
Sloane looked irritated.
“We were weeks away from a breakthrough. If we'd waited for another committee review, we could have lost our market advantage.”
That was the first explanation she'd offered that made business sense.
But it didn't explain the false authorization.
I turned to Rebecca.
“Separate the legitimate development expenses from anything unsupported. Nobody loses their job because we haven't finished asking questions.”
Sloane looked at me with surprise.
“You're not suspending operations?”
“Not today.”
“Why?”
“Because eight hundred employees shouldn't be punished for something we haven't established.”
She nodded slowly.
For a moment, the woman across from me looked less like the glamorous CEO Brent adored and more like an exhausted executive trying to keep a struggling business alive.
Then I remembered the blue folder.
“Ms. Prescott, what was Brent referring to?”
Her expression changed.
“It's nothing.”
“Then explain it.”
She looked at the other directors.
“Could we discuss it privately?”
Rebecca intervened.
“Any relevant company information needs to remain within the review.”
Sloane exhaled.
“The folder contained a personal investment presentation. Brent wanted to help me attract outside capital.”
“Was it Lumina material?”
“Yes.”
“Was he authorized to see it?”
She hesitated.
“No.”
A quiet murmur passed around the table.
Sloane lifted her chin.
“I made a judgment call. I was under pressure.”
“From whom?” I asked.
She looked toward Arthur Harrington's empty seat.
But before she could speak, Daniel placed another document before me.
“I think we should examine the Northbridge contract first.”
By noon, I had discovered something that changed the direction of the investigation.
Northbridge Advisory had not received four million dollars for ordinary consulting.
Its invoices listed services related to intellectual-property valuation, licensing structures, and international expansion.
But the work descriptions were nearly identical across six invoices.
Even the grammatical errors were the same.
Rebecca tapped the paperwork.
“Someone copied the same description and changed the amounts.”
“Who approved these invoices?”
“Lumina's chief financial officer, Martin Kessler.”
“Has he been interviewed?”
“He's attending an industry conference in Boston.”
“Arrange an interview when he returns. Preserve his company communications now.”
Daniel handed me a second report.
“There is another connection. Northbridge was established by a former Aegis consultant.”
“Name?”
“Thomas Vale.”
I recognized him.
Thomas had once worked closely with Arthur Harrington.
He'd left Aegis two years earlier after disagreeing with our investment committee about several acquisitions.
At the time, I had accepted his resignation without much thought.
Now his company was receiving millions from a troubled portfolio business.
And the approval record carried an identifier from the same period.
“Does Arthur know about this?” I asked.
Daniel's silence told me enough.
“He signed off on the original consulting engagement.”
I felt my shoulders stiffen.
Arthur Harrington had been with Aegis for more than fifteen years.
He'd mentored younger executives.
He'd helped us navigate difficult markets.
And he'd attended my father's funeral.
I trusted him.
At least, I had.
Late that afternoon, Margaret brought me a small cardboard box.
“These were delivered from your old house.”
I frowned.
“From Brent?”
“The building concierge said someone left them with your name.”
Inside were several notebooks, an old scarf, and a framed photograph from our third wedding anniversary.
Brent and I were standing beside a Christmas tree.
He had his arm around my shoulders.
I remembered that evening.
He'd been unemployed for four months, embarrassed about attending a family celebration without a job.
I'd told him his worth wasn't measured by his paycheck.
He'd held my hand beneath the table and thanked me.
I studied the photograph.
I didn't miss the marriage as it had become.
But I mourned the people we had once been.
Underneath the photograph lay a blue folder.
My chest tightened.
I opened it.
The first page was a Lumina investor presentation.
Several pages contained charts showing projected revenue from Beacon.
But the final section wasn't a presentation.
It was a proposed consulting agreement.
A new position had been created for Brent Mercer.
Strategic Development Director.
Annual compensation: $420,000.
Signing incentive: $180,000.
I stared at the numbers.
Brent had spent months criticizing my lack of ambition.
Apparently, Sloane had offered him more than half a million dollars to become part of her world.
But one detail bothered me.
The agreement wasn't signed by Sloane.
At the bottom, beneath the approval line, was another name.
Arthur Harrington.
Then I noticed the date.
The employment offer had been approved six weeks before Brent asked me for a divorce.
I reached for my phone, intending to call Rebecca.
But another page slipped from the folder.
It was a schedule of private meetings.
Most were with potential investors.
One entry listed a dinner at The Alder Room.
The date was five days after my divorce.
And beneath the guest names, someone had typed a handwritten-style note:
Brent must confirm Whitney's old computer has been destroyed before the acquisition vote.
I read the sentence twice.
May you like
Then looked at the photograph of my former husband.
Brent hadn't merely married a woman whose company I controlled. Someone had been paying him to make sure a piece of my life disappeared.
