Chapter 3 - THE WOMAN WHO NEVER EXISTED
Camille Laurent did not exist.
Not legally.
Not under that name.
By midnight, Cross Dominion’s private intelligence unit had confirmed it.
No birth certificate.
No university transcript.
No legitimate tax history before age twenty-eight.
The Paris address she claimed as her childhood home belonged to an elderly couple who had never heard of her.
The Sorbonne degree listed on her private biography was fabricated.
Even the photograph attached to an old French passport turned out to have been digitally altered.
Arthur dropped the folder onto Isabella’s desk.
“Whoever built her identity knew what they were doing.”
Isabella stood by the window.
Manhattan glowed below.
“Marcus knew?”
“We don’t know.”
“Find out.”
“He’s refusing to speak to anyone.”
“Good.”
Arthur raised an eyebrow.
“Good?”
“Fear makes Marcus loud.”
She finally turned around.
“If he’s silent, somebody has frightened him more than I did.”
Arthur could not argue with that.
At 12:43 a.m., Marcus finally called.
Not Isabella.
Arthur.
The chairman put the call on speaker.
Marcus sounded different.
No arrogance.
No threats.
Just controlled panic.
“I need to speak to Isabella.”
“She’s here.”
Silence.
Then Marcus whispered,
“Are we alone?”
Isabella almost smiled at the absurdity.
The man who had humiliated her in front of fourteen executives now sounded afraid of being overheard through his own phone.
“Talk.”
“I didn’t move that money.”
Isabella’s expression did not change.
“What money?”
Marcus inhaled sharply.
“So you found it.”
“You signed the transfers.”
“No.”
“The documents say otherwise.”
“They gave me papers.”
“Who?”
Silence.
“Marcus.”
He lowered his voice.
“Camille.”
Arthur looked at Isabella.
“She told me they were contingency authorizations.”
“For what?”
“In case the board tried to remove me.”
“You signed documents you didn’t read?”
“They were prepared by outside counsel.”
“You always read contracts.”
“Not hers.”
That answer revealed more than Marcus intended.
“You trusted her.”
Marcus said nothing.
Isabella continued.
“How long have you known Camille?”
“Six years.”
That surprised her.
He had claimed three.
“Where did you meet?”
“Geneva.”
“Who introduced you?”
“Victor Soren.”
Arthur went still.
Isabella noticed.
“You know the name?”
Arthur closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
“Who is he?”
“My predecessor.”
The room became silent.
Arthur had become chairman of Cross Dominion nine years earlier.
Victor Soren had supposedly retired after a health crisis.
Isabella had met him only twice.
A polished Swiss financier.
Elegant.
Quiet.
The kind of man who never raised his voice because he had never needed to.
“Where is Soren now?”
Arthur looked unsettled.
“I thought he was dead.”
Marcus heard him.
“He isn’t.”
Isabella stepped closer to the phone.
“How do you know?”
“Because I met him three weeks ago.”
“Where?”
“Zurich.”
“Why?”
“He told me you were preparing to remove me.”
Isabella’s stomach tightened.
Three weeks ago, she had not decided to remove Marcus.
That decision came only after he publicly humiliated her and attempted to force Cross Dominion into backing an acquisition she had explicitly rejected.
“How did Soren know?”
“I assumed he had contacts inside your company.”
Arthur cursed softly.
“Did he tell you to move the money?”
Marcus hesitated.
“Camille did.”
“Where is she?”
“I don’t know.”
“Try harder.”
“I swear.”
His voice cracked.
“She left me.”
For the first time, Isabella heard something almost childlike beneath Marcus’s fear.
Not heartbreak.
Abandonment.
Camille had used him.
And Marcus finally knew it.
“What did Soren want?”
“He said Hale Meridian was only temporary.”
“Temporary for what?”
“He wouldn’t tell me.”
“Then why cooperate?”
Marcus laughed bitterly.
“Because he promised me control of Cross Dominion.”
Arthur stared at Isabella.
She felt nothing.
Marcus had planned to take her company.
Not merely insult her.
Not merely use her financing.
Take it.
“How?”
“He said your ownership structure had a weakness.”
“What weakness?”
“He never showed me.”
“Marcus.”
“I don’t know.”
His voice rose.
“I swear to God, Isabella, I don’t know.”
She believed that part.
Then he said something she did not expect.
“But Camille knows.”
“Why?”
“Because she has the original trust agreement.”
Isabella’s blood turned cold.
Cross Dominion was not held through ordinary shares.
Her father had built a private trust structure decades earlier.
Only three originals existed.
One with Isabella.
One with the trustees.
One disappeared from her father’s safe after his death.
Police believed a disgruntled employee had taken it.
Isabella had spent eleven years assuming it was destroyed.
Marcus whispered,
“She showed it to me.”
“When?”
“Three weeks ago.”
“What did it say?”
“I didn’t understand half of it.”
“What did she show you?”
“A clause.”
Isabella waited.
Marcus swallowed.
“If the founder’s direct heir is found incapable of controlling the group…”
Her fingers tightened around the desk.
“…voting authority transfers temporarily to the emergency stewardship board.”
Arthur’s face drained of color.
Nobody had used that term in eleven years.
The emergency stewardship board had been created by Isabella’s father.
Then dissolved.
Or so Isabella believed.
Marcus continued.
“Soren says the board still exists.”
Isabella stared at Arthur.
“And he says he chairs it.”
The call went dead.
No goodbye.
No warning.
Just silence.
Arthur immediately called Marcus back.
No answer.
Security traced the phone.
Last location:
Marcus Hale’s penthouse.
Police arrived thirteen minutes later.
The apartment was empty.
Front door unlocked.
Furniture untouched.
Marcus’s phone lay on the kitchen counter.
Beside it was a glass of bourbon.
Still cold.
May you like
And written across the bathroom mirror in black marker were five words.
THE WRONG WOMAN SIGNED FIRST.
