Chapter 7 - REBECCA’S SECRET
Rebecca did authorize a private investigator.
She told me before Laura finished asking.
“Yes.”
No denial.
No stalling.
“Why?”
“Board security.”
“When?”
“The morning after your photograph.”
“You tracked me?”
“We protected you.”
“Without telling me?”
“Yes.”
I stared at her.
“That sounds like tracking.”
She nodded.
“It does.”
The investigator had followed me between the pharmacy, police station, hotel, and attorney’s office.
Not to intimidate.
To document threats.
At least that was Rebecca’s explanation.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because the board was afraid your location could leak.”
“From who?”
“We didn’t know.”
“Do you know now?”
“No.”
That did not help.
“Did your investigator photograph my hotel?”
Rebecca went still.
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Can you prove it?”
She called him.
Records showed he was in another location when the photograph was taken.
So someone else was following me too.
Two surveillance teams.
One protective.
One unknown.
Rebecca then admitted something else.
She had known about Daniel Price’s complaint.
Not the details.
But the existence.
Months earlier, Lydia told her Procurement Compliance had reviewed a vendor concern.
Lydia said it was unsupported.
Rebecca accepted that conclusion.
“I should have asked for the underlying file.”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t.”
“Why?”
“Because Lydia had been here fourteen years.”
There it was.
Trust.
Again.
“I’m sorry.”
I believed her.
Belief did not erase failure.
“You’re telling the board that?”
“I already did.”
That was why I continued trusting her.
She did not hide when hiding became easier.
The stalking photograph was eventually traced to a freelance investigator hired through a law firm.
The law firm represented Thomas Bell.
Arden’s suspended CFO.
Bell claimed the investigator was gathering evidence for his defense.
The investigator photographed me because Bell’s lawyers believed I had communicated with Rebecca before sending the original email.
They wanted to claim collusion.
Ridiculous.
But legal.
The anonymous website was not.
Investigators traced payments supporting it to a marketing consultant used by Grant’s personal PR firm.
Grant denied knowledge.
His PR firm fired the consultant.
Another wall of distance.
Everyone knew.
No one knew.
That phrase began to define powerful people.
Then the divorce case delivered a new blow.
Grant produced the forged postnuptial agreement.
He claimed it was authentic.
Despite the signature analysis.
Despite my denial.
Melissa Shaw, the notary, submitted an affidavit saying she had watched me sign it.
Lydia’s sister was willing to lie under oath.
Laura smiled when she read it.
“You look happy.”
“I am.”
“Why?”
“Because she picked a date.”
The notarization date was March 14.
At 2:00 p.m.
According to Melissa, I signed in her office.
On March 14, I was in Vancouver.
At a wedding.
Photographs.
Airline records.
Hotel receipts.
Credit card charges.
Two hundred guests.
I had even posted a picture online at 1:48 p.m. local time.
Grant and Melissa had forged a document but failed to check my calendar.
The affidavit collapsed.
Melissa obtained her own lawyer.
Then stopped cooperating with Grant.
Lydia panicked.
Sisters apparently have limits.
Within a week, Melissa told investigators Lydia asked her to notarize the document without me.
Grant had provided the signature page.
Melissa knew it was wrong.
She did it anyway.
Why?
Lydia promised to help pay off her debts.
One more person trading integrity for convenience.
The forged loan guarantee followed.
The bank froze enforcement.
My assets were protected.
For the first time, something in my personal life moved in the right direction.
Then Grant’s criminal case escalated.
Federal prosecutors charged Evan Roth and Thomas Bell with conspiracy and fraud-related offenses tied to the procurement scheme.
Lydia entered negotiations.
Grant remained uncharged federally.
For two days.
Then a grand jury returned an indictment.
Conspiracy.
Wire fraud.
Honest-services fraud-related counts.
Obstruction.
Unauthorized use of confidential business information.
The specific legal theories would be fought for months.
The headline was simpler.
FORMER ARDEN EXECUTIVE INDICTED IN HOSPITAL PROCUREMENT SCHEME
Grant surrendered.
This time, cameras waited.
He wore a dark suit.
No tie.
Looked straight ahead.
I watched on television from Laura’s office.
I felt nothing.
Then the reporter said,
“Mercer is also facing a separate domestic battery charge involving his estranged wife.”
Estranged wife.
Me.
My fractured finger had become a line in his corruption story.
I turned off the television.
“I don’t want to be described as the wife who exposed him forever.”
Laura looked at me.
“You won’t be.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you still have a whole life after this.”
I wanted to believe her.
Then Vanessa called.
She was crying.
“My father knows I gave them the USB.”
“What happened?”
“He cut me off.”
“Financially?”
“Everything.”
I almost said welcome to the club.
Instead:
“Are you safe?”
Silence.
That surprised her too.
“Yes.”
“Then listen to your lawyer.”
“I’m going to testify.”
“Good.”
“Emily.”
“Yes?”
“There’s something Grant never told you about the house.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“He was planning to sell it.”
I frowned.
“He couldn’t without me.”
“He thought he could.”
“How?”
“The postnup.”
Of course.
“He had a buyer?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
Vanessa paused.
“Thomas Bell.”
Arden’s CFO intended to buy my home.
Not because he wanted the house.
Because there was something inside Grant’s home office they believed had to disappear permanently.
A server.
Hidden behind the wall.
May you like
Grant had installed it years earlier.
And according to Vanessa, it contained every message he was too afraid to keep in Arden’s systems.
