Chapter 6 - THE FIRST LIE IN OUR MARRIAGE
Dominic and I met in a bookstore.
At least, that was what I had believed for four years.
A tiny shop in Brooklyn.
Rain against the windows.
One remaining copy of a biography we both reached for at the same time.
He laughed.
I let go.
He bought me coffee.
It had always been my favorite story.
The accidental beginning.
The proof that our marriage had started before his family, before money, before anything complicated.
By afternoon, that story was dead too.
Malcolm arrived with a printed background report.
Not on me.
On Dominic.
“We reviewed Mr. Rourke’s employment history against your timeline.”
My father sat beside me.
Serena remained standing.
Nobody looked comfortable.
That told me enough.
“What?”
Malcolm placed a document on the table.
“Four months before you met Dominic, he worked as a consultant for Griffin Strategy.”
I knew the firm.
Corporate intelligence.
Due diligence.
Competitive research.
“Okay.”
“Griffin Strategy was retained by Rourke Development.”
My pulse changed.
“For what?”
“To identify possible relationships between members of the Arden family and several charitable organizations.”
I stared at him.
“One of those organizations was the Brooklyn Housing Initiative.”
My former employer.
The room became very quiet.
My voice sounded far away.
“I worked there.”
“Yes.”
“Did his assignment include me?”
Malcolm hesitated.
That hesitation hurt more than confirmation.
“Yes.”
My father swore softly.
I had almost never heard him swear.
Malcolm slid another page forward.
An internal email from Griffin Strategy.
Subject:
MERCER CONTACT OPPORTUNITY
The email mentioned me.
My job.
My age.
My father.
My estrangement from him at the time.
My habit of attending author events at a particular bookstore in Brooklyn.
I stopped reading.
“No.”
My father reached for the paper.
I held it.
“No.”
Rain.
The biography.
His surprised smile.
The coffee.
None of it had been accidental.
Malcolm spoke carefully.
“We cannot prove Dominic was instructed to establish a romantic relationship.”
I laughed once.
“What can you prove?”
“That he knew who you were before introducing himself.”
My throat closed.
Four years of memories rearranged themselves.
Dominic asking casual questions about my father.
Dominic joking that wealthy families were “basically small governments.”
Dominic encouraging me to reconcile with Dad.
Dominic becoming irritated when I refused to ask my father for investment capital.
At the time, I had thought he wanted me to heal.
Now I wondered whether he wanted access.
My father looked devastated.
“I should have investigated him.”
I turned.
“No.”
“I had resources.”
“And I told you not to.”
“I should have ignored you.”
“You respected me.”
“That may have been a mistake.”
“Dad.”
He stopped.
“This is his shame.”
I tapped the email.
“Not yours.”
Saying it aloud helped me believe it.
A little.
Then Serena opened another file.
“There is something else.”
I almost laughed.
“Of course there is.”
“A Rourke Development investor presentation from two years ago.”
She turned the screen toward me.
One slide contained a list of “strategic relationship opportunities.”
Arden Hospitality appeared under expansion targets.
Beside it:
Family connection — developing.
Two years ago.
One year into our marriage.
I closed my eyes.
I remembered that year.
Trying to get pregnant.
Dominic holding me after my first miscarriage.
His tears against my neck.
His hand squeezing mine in the hospital.
Had that been real?
I hated myself for wondering.
People are rarely one thing.
Maybe he had loved me.
Maybe he had also used me.
The second possibility did not erase the first.
It poisoned it.
My phone rang.
Dominic.
This time, I answered.
“Did you know who I was before we met?”
Silence.
Then:
“Vivienne—”
“Yes or no.”
A long exhale.
“Yes.”
The word entered me like glass.
I said nothing.
He continued quickly.
“It wasn’t what you think.”
“You knew where I would be.”
“I knew you went to the bookstore.”
“You pretended we met by accident.”
“I wanted a chance to talk to you.”
“Why?”
“At first? My father.”
There.
A clean truth.
Finally.
“He wanted information about Sebastian.”
My father heard.
He looked away.
Dominic kept talking.
“But then I liked you.”
I stared out at the city.
“I need you to understand that.”
“Do I?”
“Yes.”
“The first coffee was because of my father.”
“Yes.”
“The first date?”
He hesitated.
“I wanted to see you again.”
“The second?”
“Real.”
“The proposal?”
“Real.”
“The marriage?”
“Yes.”
“The forged guarantee?”
Silence.
I almost smiled.
He still could not tell the truth where it mattered most.
“Dominic.”
“I love you.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
“I have loved you for years.”
“That still wasn’t the question.”
His voice broke.
“I didn’t forge your signature.”
“Who did?”
“My father.”
My eyes opened.
My father looked at me sharply.
“Richard forged it?”
“I think so.”
“You think?”
“I found out afterward.”
“And you did nothing.”
“If that loan failed, twelve hundred people could lose their jobs.”
There it was.
The justification.
The noble language people use when they want their betrayal to sound necessary.
“So you decided my identity was expendable.”
“No.”
“You planned to force me into approving it.”
“I planned to ask you.”
“With a stolen ring in my purse.”
His silence answered.
I felt the last fragile thread connecting me to him snap.
“You knew Chloe’s plan.”
“I knew part of it.”
“You knew enough.”
“Vivienne, please. My father is panicking. If you go after him now, he will do something reckless.”
“Is that another warning?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
Dominic lowered his voice.
“He has files.”
My father turned toward the phone.
“What files?”
Dominic realized he was on speaker.
He stopped.
“Dominic,” I said.
“What files?”
“Old Arden records.”
My father’s face hardened.
“From Bellweather?”
“Yes.”
“What do they show?”
“I don’t know.”
“You just said—”
“I know Richard thinks they can hurt your father.”
My father took the phone.
“Listen carefully. If Richard possesses stolen corporate documents, tell him to preserve them.”
Dominic laughed bitterly.
“You really think he’ll listen to me?”
My father’s voice became cold.
“No.”
“Then why say it?”
“So there is no confusion later about what he was told.”
He handed the phone back.
Dominic whispered:
“Vivienne.”
I waited.
“I never meant for any of this to happen.”
I looked at the torn dress folded across a chair.
“No one ever means the consequences.”
Then I ended the call.
Five minutes later, Malcolm received another alert.
Someone had entered Rourke Development’s headquarters.
Richard Rourke.
May you like
And according to the building’s overnight guard…
He was carrying two large boxes toward the records room.
