Chapter 2
The next morning, I woke to forty-three missed calls.
Twenty-one were from Nathan.
Fourteen were from Judith.
Eight were from Vanessa.
There were messages too.
Most were demands.
A few were threats.
And not one contained a genuine apology.
I sat on the edge of my childhood bed, staring at my phone.
Then I opened the message Vanessa had sent at two seventeen that morning.
You embarrassed me in front of my family. You're going to pay for that.
My stomach tightened.
Another message followed.
Don't forget how much the Coles helped you become who you are.
I almost laughed.
Helped me?
I had paid for their business equipment.
Covered their overdue bills.
Designed their storefront.
And given Vanessa money when her catering contracts fell apart.
Still, she somehow believed I owed her everything.
I placed the phone on the nightstand.
Then I heard a small voice.
"Mommy?"
Lily stood in the doorway wearing her pajamas.
Her hair was messy.
Her eyes were swollen from crying.
I opened my arms.
She climbed onto the bed.
"Are you and Daddy getting divorced?"
The question hit me harder than Vanessa's slap.
I held her close.
"I don't know yet, sweetheart."
She looked up.
"Did I do something wrong?"
My heart broke.
"No!"
I pulled her closer.
"Absolutely not."
She started crying.
"Grandma Judith said families fall apart when women don't respect their husbands."
I froze.
"When did she say that?"
"Last month."
My stomach turned.
Lily continued.
"She said you argue too much."
I closed my eyes.
Judith hadn't only been criticizing me.
She had been teaching my daughter to blame me.
I gently lifted Lily's chin.
"Listen carefully."
She nodded.
"Nobody has the right to hurt someone because they're angry."
"Even family?"
"Especially family."
Her eyes filled.
"Then why did Aunt Vanessa hit you?"
I swallowed.
"Because she made a terrible choice."
Lily was quiet.
Then she whispered, "I'm glad you stood up."
I hugged her tightly.
But her words frightened me too.
Because I didn't want my children believing violence was how people solved problems.
I kissed her forehead.
"Sweetheart, I wish none of that had happened. I should have helped us leave before things got that bad."
She nodded.
"I just want everyone to stop fighting."
"So do I."
Later that morning, my father called an attorney.
Her name was Rachel Morgan.
She specialized in family law and complex financial disputes.
Rachel had represented several clients whose marriages involved family businesses and inherited property.
She agreed to meet with me that afternoon.
When I arrived, she shook my hand.
"Emily, your father explained some of what happened."
I sat down.
"I don't know where to start."
"Start with what you're most worried about."
"My children."
She nodded.
"Then we'll begin there."
I explained the anniversary dinner.
The physical confrontation.
Nathan's refusal to intervene.
The threats afterward.
Rachel listened carefully.
Then she asked about the house.
"Whose name is on the deed?"
"Mine."
"Was it purchased before the marriage?"
"No. Six years ago."
"How was it financed?"
I explained that I had used income from my design business and a substantial gift from my parents.
Nathan had contributed to household expenses but hadn't provided the purchase funds.
Rachel made notes.
"We'll need the deed, financial records, and documentation showing the source of the purchase money. Ownership and marital rights aren't always the same thing."
I nodded.
Then she asked about my company.
"Does Nathan own any part of your design studio?"
"No."
"Does he work there?"
"Not directly. He occasionally helps with architectural plans."
"Has he signed contracts on its behalf?"
I hesitated.
"Sometimes."
Her pen stopped.
"Emily, I need you to be very specific."
I thought about it.
Nathan occasionally attended meetings with developers.
He introduced clients.
And two years earlier, he insisted I give him administrative access to our business accounts.
He claimed it would simplify taxes.
My stomach tightened.
"He's had access to some accounts."
Rachel leaned forward.
"Then we need to review that immediately."
I stared at her.
"Why?"
"Because separation can create financial conflict. We need to know exactly who has authority over your business."
I suddenly remembered something.
Three weeks earlier, Nathan had asked me to sign documents related to a proposed expansion.
He said his family's catering company wanted to create an event venue.
I refused because the project looked financially risky.
He became unusually angry.
At the time, I thought he was disappointed.
Now I wondered whether something else had been happening.
Rachel noticed my expression.
"Emily?"
I swallowed.
"Nathan wanted my company to finance a property development."
"What kind?"
"A wedding and event venue."
"Who owned the proposed property?"
I hesitated.
"His mother."
Rachel made another note.
"Did you agree?"
"No."
"Did you sign anything?"
"Not that I remember."
She looked at me carefully.
"Then let's verify that."
After the meeting, I drove to my design studio.
My assistant, Grace, greeted me.
She was twenty-nine and had worked for me for five years.
The moment she saw my face, her smile disappeared.
"Emily, are you okay?"
I tried to smile.
"Long story."
She came around the desk.
"Do you need anything?"
"Actually, yes."
I lowered my voice.
"I need copies of every financial document Nathan has accessed during the past six months."
Grace looked uncomfortable.
My stomach tightened.
"What?"
She hesitated.
"Emily, I was going to ask you about something."
My heart began pounding.
"What happened?"
"Yesterday afternoon, Nathan came here."
I stared at her.
"Yesterday?"
"Yes."
"During the anniversary dinner preparations?"
She nodded.
"He said you authorized an urgent transfer."
My blood turned cold.
"What transfer?"
Grace swallowed.
"Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars."
For a moment, I couldn't hear anything.
"From where?"
"The company's reserve account."
I gripped the edge of her desk.
"Where did it go?"
Grace looked terrified.
"To Cole Family Hospitality LLC."
My husband's family's company.
The business they had been begging me to invest in.
I slowly lowered myself into a chair.
"Grace, I never authorized that."
She covered her mouth.
"Oh my God."
I looked toward my office.
The glass door was open.
My desk was visible.
Everything appeared exactly as I'd left it.
But suddenly, the place I'd spent twelve years building felt vulnerable.
I took out my phone.
Then called Rachel.
When she answered, I could barely speak.
"Nathan didn't just betray me at dinner."
Rachel's voice became serious.
"What happened?"
May you like
I stared at Grace.
Then whispered, "I think he stole money from my company."
