Chapter 6 - THE WOMAN WHO WAS NEVER JUST THE MISTRESS
"Paige is going to betray Grant."
I said it aloud because hearing the words made them easier to believe.
Samuel Reed nodded.
"She's certainly preparing to exclude him from the money."
Harlan studied the memorandum.
"That doesn't mean she's acting alone."
"Who else?"
"We need to find out."
I looked at the signature.
Paige Lennox.
The woman who stood beside my husband while I was sentenced to ten years in prison.
The woman who smiled when he threatened to take Evan from me.
I had pictured her as a younger woman enjoying the money and attention my husband gave her.
I had underestimated her.
That mistake had already cost me too much.
"How long has she been planning this?" I asked.
Samuel opened another file.
"The earliest confirmed connection we've found is six years ago."
"Before Grant and I married?"
"After you married, but well before he claims they met."
I thought about our wedding.
Evan hadn't been born yet.
Grant had cried during his vows.
He had held both my hands and promised to choose me every morning.
I remembered believing every word.
"Was she at our wedding?"
Samuel looked up.
"I don't know."
I did something I hadn't done since the trial began.
I opened my old wedding photographs.
The images were stored in a cloud account Grant apparently hadn't bothered to close.
There I was in an ivory dress.
Grant beside me.
My mother smiling.
Friends dancing.
My stepfather, Richard, who had raised me, had died two years before the wedding. I'd carried a small photograph of him inside my bouquet.
I had been happy that day.
Truly happy.
Then I found the group photograph taken outside the reception hall.
My mother stood beside a young woman in a navy dress.
The woman had darker hair.
A rounder face.
But the eyes were unmistakable.
Paige.
I enlarged the image.
She was looking directly toward Grant.
Not smiling.
Watching.
"She's there," I whispered.
Samuel leaned over.
"You're certain?"
"Yes."
Harlan examined the photograph.
"Your mother invited her?"
I nodded slowly.
"I never knew who she was."
My phone felt heavy in my hand.
For seven years, I had carried a memory of my wedding as proof that Grant once loved me.
Now the memory had a stranger standing at its edge.
That evening, Jennifer Park brought news about Evan.
The court had appointed a neutral representative to assess his immediate needs, and Grant had agreed to preserve the stuffed dinosaur and its contents.
But the custody dispute was getting uglier.
Grant's attorney had submitted a statement claiming Evan was anxious after speaking with me.
I read it.
Then read it again.
"He was anxious because he thinks I'm abandoning him."
Jennifer nodded.
"We're requesting a child-sensitive evaluation. Not to make him choose between parents, but to establish what he's being told."
"Can I see him in person?"
"We have a temporary hearing scheduled."
"When?"
"Monday."
Three days had once felt like nothing.
Now they felt unbearable.
I spent the night writing Evan a letter.
Not about Grant.
Not about prison.
About ordinary things.
I told him I missed making pancakes shaped like dinosaurs.
I told him his blue bicycle was waiting.
I reminded him that when he got scared during thunderstorms, we counted backward from twenty.
And I wrote one sentence three times.
Nothing you do can make me stop loving you.
I asked Jennifer to make sure he received it.
The next morning, Samuel located Arthur Phelps.
Arthur had not retired voluntarily.
He had been removed after refusing to approve a change in the trust's administrative procedures.
"Removed by whom?" I asked.
"The trust's oversight committee."
"Who's on that committee?"
Samuel hesitated.
"Three people. Two have changed recently."
"Names?"
"One is a retired banker. The other is Margaret Bennett."
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
But the third name was unfamiliar.
Eleanor Voss.
Samuel described her as a commercial attorney who had worked on Thomas Bennett's old partnership disputes.
"Can we speak with Arthur?"
"Yes. He's agreed to meet."
We met him at a quiet restaurant in Scottsdale.
He was seventy-four, thin, and walked with a careful stiffness.
He hugged Harlan.
Then looked at me.
"I should have spoken sooner."
I pulled out a chair.
"Then please speak now."
Arthur ordered coffee but never touched it.
He explained that Thomas's disputed partnership interest had remained unresolved because its beneficiary language was unusually broad.
For decades, the money had been held under restrictive rules.
"Thomas wanted Valerie included," Arthur said.
"Even though he wasn't my father?"
Arthur nodded.
"He cared for you. That was enough for him."
I felt an unexpected ache.
A man I'd been taught barely existed had apparently tried to leave me something.
Arthur continued.
Three years earlier, someone requested access to old records.
The request appeared to come from Margaret.
Soon afterward, questions emerged about the trust's beneficiaries.
"Who raised them?"
"A consultant working through Crosspoint."
"Grant?"
"Eventually."
Arthur took a breath.
"I initially believed they were reviewing routine succession arrangements."
"When did you become suspicious?"
"When someone proposed removing Valerie as a beneficiary due to alleged misconduct."
My hands tightened.
"Before I was charged?"
"Nearly two years before."
The room went silent.
Arthur looked ashamed.
"I rejected it. There was no evidence."
"What happened?"
"They removed me."
Harlan stared at him.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I tried."
Arthur looked directly at my father.
"I sent a letter to your office. Your general counsel acknowledged receipt."
Harlan frowned.
"Martin?"
Arthur nodded.
"Yes."
My stomach tightened.
Martin Ellis.
The man who had rushed to the transport van.
The man now helping investigate the fraud.
Could he have known about the earlier attempt?
Harlan looked unsettled.
"We'll review that."
Arthur reached into his jacket.
He removed a small envelope.
Inside was a copy of the letter.
Across the bottom was a handwritten note.
Reviewed. No action required.
The initials were M.E.
Martin Ellis.
Then Arthur handed me something else.
A photograph.
This one was not old.
It showed Paige standing beside Margaret outside a conference room.
The date printed on the back was seventeen months earlier.
On the table behind them sat a distinctive blue binder.
Arthur pointed at it.
"That's the original beneficiary register."
"Why was Paige allowed near it?"
"She wasn't supposed to be."
I looked up.
"Who took the photograph?"
Arthur hesitated.
"Someone who worked in that office."
"Who?"
"An assistant named Leah Moreno."
"Where is she now?"
"She left Arizona."
I felt disappointment rise.
Another person gone.
Another trail fading.
But Arthur shook his head.
"Before she left, Leah copied several pages because she believed the register had been replaced."
"Where are the copies?"
Arthur looked at Harlan.
"That's why I agreed to meet."
He slid a receipt across the table.
It was from a secure records storage company.
A storage box had been deposited in Leah's name.
The pickup authorization listed one additional person.
I read the name.
Valerie Cross.
"That's impossible," I whispered.
Arthur nodded.
"Leah said she was instructed to release the box only to you."
"But I've never met her."
"Apparently, she knew something about your husband."
I looked at the receipt again.
A handwritten description appeared below the box number.
Wedding photographs. Original signatures. Security records.
Then I noticed the deposit date.
Seven years earlier.
Four days before my wedding.
I looked at Arthur.
"She prepared this before I married Grant?"
He nodded.
"And there was a message attached."
"What message?"
Arthur unfolded a small sheet of paper.
May you like
The handwriting was neat and unmistakably deliberate.
Valerie, if you're reading this, the man you're marrying has already lied about why he chose you.
