Chapter 5 - WHY I REALLY LOST MY JOBThe meeting with Aaron Pike took place two days later.
He arrived with a criminal-defense attorney.
That told me everything before he spoke.
We met in a private conference room at Evelyn’s office.
Aaron looked older than I remembered.
At our wedding, he had been loud, charming, permanently sunburned from golf.
Now his face was gray.
He would not meet my eyes.
His lawyer, Dana Cho, placed a recorder on the table.
“This conversation is for settlement and informational purposes only unless separately agreed,” she said.
Evelyn nodded.
“We understand.”
Aaron finally looked at me.
“Rachel, I’m sorry.”
I said nothing.
He swallowed.
“I should have stopped it earlier.”
“Stopped what?”
“Julian.”
The story began eighteen months earlier.
Julian had approached Aaron with what he described as a legitimate side consulting business.
Some clients, he said, preferred not to contract directly with Mercer Advisory because of conflict-of-interest concerns.
Aaron owned a small bookkeeping company.
Julian asked him to serve as nominal manager of JRM Strategic Holdings.
“For privacy,” Aaron said.
“Whose privacy?” I asked.
He looked down.
“Julian’s.”
At first, the money seemed legitimate.
Consulting fees.
Referral payments.
Business-development commissions.
Then the transfers grew larger.
Aaron began asking questions.
Julian told him the clients were paying success fees associated with procurement contracts.
One client was a vendor named Northlake Data Systems.
I knew Northlake.
Hartwell Financial had hired them for compliance software implementation.
My stomach tightened.
“How much did Northlake pay JRM?” I asked.
Aaron’s attorney objected to specifics.
Evelyn leaned forward.
“We can subpoena it.”
Dana whispered to Aaron.
Finally he said, “Just over nine hundred thousand dollars.”
I stared at him.
“Why?”
“Julian said he facilitated the Hartwell contract.”
I felt physically sick.
Hartwell had paid Northlake nearly fourteen million dollars over two years.
My division had reviewed parts of the relationship.
There had been concerns about inflated implementation fees.
Before we completed the review, senior leadership announced restructuring.
Twenty-seven employees lost their jobs.
Including me.
“When did Julian get involved?” I asked.
“About two years ago.”
“My husband had a financial relationship with a vendor my department was reviewing?”
Aaron nodded.
“Did he know I was part of the review?”
“I think so.”
The room narrowed.
I remembered Julian asking casual questions at dinner.
How was work?
Any interesting cases?
Was Hartwell cutting costs?
Had my department found anything significant?
I had never disclosed confidential information.
But I had talked generally about stress.
Audit deadlines.
A difficult vendor project.
Married people talk about work.
Julian had listened because money depended on it.
“What did he do?” I whispered.
Aaron rubbed his hands together.
“He got nervous when your department started requesting documentation.”
“How do you know?”
“He told me.”
“When?”
“October.”
Two months earlier.
“He said if the review continued, Northlake could lose the contract.”
“And his payments?”
Aaron nodded.
I felt Evelyn’s hand touch my wrist.
Grounding me.
“What happened next?” she asked.
Aaron looked miserable.
“Julian told me he had relationships with two members of Hartwell’s board.”
I knew one immediately.
Thomas Keene.
A longtime friend of Julian’s father.
I had attended dinner with him twice.
“Did he influence the layoffs?” I asked.
“I don’t know.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“I genuinely don’t know.”
“Did he say anything about me?”
Aaron hesitated.
Dana looked at him.
He spoke.
“He said you were becoming a problem.”
The words hurt more than I expected.
I had been his wife.
Not Rachel.
Not a person.
A problem.
“What exactly did he say?”
Aaron closed his eyes briefly.
“‘If Rachel’s group keeps digging, I’ll lose the Northlake stream.’”
No one spoke.
My career had not necessarily been targeted.
Corporate restructuring could still have been legitimate.
But the possibility existed that my own husband had financially benefited from a vendor I was responsible for scrutinizing.
And he had viewed my professional integrity as an obstacle.
“Did Julian tell you he caused my layoff?”
“No.”
“Did he celebrate it?”
Aaron looked at me.
That was answer enough.
“Say it.”
“He called me that afternoon.”
“The day I lost my job?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
Aaron’s voice dropped.
“He said, ‘Problem solved.’”
My lungs stopped working.
Evelyn asked for a break.
I walked into the hallway.
I did not cry.
I wanted to.
Instead, I stood beside a window overlooking Wacker Drive and watched people move far below.
My phone contained a photograph from eleven years earlier.
Me outside Hartwell on my first day.
Twenty-six years old.
Cheap blazer.
Terrified smile.
Dad had taken the picture.
I had worked weekends.
Studied for certifications at midnight.
Missed birthdays.
Earned promotions.
Built a reputation.
Julian had reduced all of it to a problem solved.
Evelyn joined me.
“We don’t know yet whether he influenced the restructuring.”
“He was happy.”
“Yes.”
“He benefited.”
“Possibly.”
“I need proof.”
“We’ll look.”
I turned.
“Not just for the divorce.”
“I know.”
“If there was corporate misconduct—”
“You may become a witness.”
“I know.”
“You must be careful.”
“I know.”
She studied me.
“This is the compliance officer talking now.”
“Yes.”
“Good. I was wondering when she’d show up.”
When we returned to the conference room, Aaron provided more.
Julian had used JRM to receive payments from Northlake.
Some money had been transferred to personal accounts.
Some had paid for travel Aaron believed was personal.
Some had been used to cover credit cards.
The business card in my name had apparently financed several expenses connected to JRM.
“Why my name?” I asked.
Aaron shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
Then he remembered something.
“One time Julian said having expenses tied to you made them look less connected to him.”
My hands went cold.
He had used me as camouflage.
“What else?”
Aaron looked at his attorney.
Dana nodded reluctantly.
“There’s another account.”
Evelyn sat forward.
“Where?”
“Cayman Islands.”
I almost laughed because the cliché was too perfect.
Of course.
My husband—the man who criticized my mother’s $180 coat—had an offshore account.
“How much?”
“I never had access.”
“Who did?”
“Julian.”
“Name?”
“Redwood Meridian Trust.”
Evelyn wrote it down.
Then Aaron added something stranger.
“There may be a safe-deposit box.”
“Where?”
“A private bank in Winnetka.”
“Contents?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why do you know about it?”
“I drove Julian there once.”
“When?”
“Last January.”
“Did he say what was inside?”
Aaron hesitated.
“He joked that if everything went bad, he had ‘Christmas insurance.’”
The phrase sent a chill through me.
Christmas insurance.
The meeting ended after nearly three hours.
Aaron agreed, through counsel, to preserve records.
Evelyn would handle formal subpoenas.
I drove to my parents’ house alone.
Snow had begun again.
Dad was in the garage reorganizing tools.
He took one look at my face.
“What happened?”
I told him.
Not everything.
Enough.
When I finished, he sat beside me on an old wooden workbench.
“I spent my whole life thinking success meant my kid wouldn’t have to worry about people taking advantage of her,” he said.
“Dad.”
“Turns out rich men steal too.”
I leaned my head on his shoulder.
“I should have seen it.”
“No.”
“I investigate risk for a living.”
“You investigated companies.”
“People run companies.”
“People you weren’t married to.”
I smiled weakly.
He continued.
“You know why cons work?”
“Why?”
“Because the victim isn’t stupid.”
I looked at him.
“The liar abuses trust,” he said. “Different thing.”
For the first time since Christmas, I cried.
Not dramatically.
Not loudly.
I sat in my father’s freezing garage and cried for seven years I had misunderstood.
Dad said nothing.
He just stayed.
The next morning, Hartwell Financial called me.
Not HR.
General counsel.
A woman named Marissa Cole.
“Ms. Mercer,” she said, “we need to speak with you regarding information that has come to our attention involving Northlake Data Systems.”
My throat tightened.
“How did it come to your attention?”
“I’m not at liberty to discuss that yet.”
“Am I under investigation?”
“No.”
“Then why are you calling?”
A pause.
“Because we believe you may have been placed in an undisclosed conflict created by someone outside Hartwell.”
Someone outside Hartwell.
My husband.
Marissa continued.
“We are also reviewing whether your termination was influenced by improper considerations.”
I gripped the phone.
“Influenced by whom?”
“We’re still investigating.”
“Was Thomas Keene involved?”
Silence.
That silence told me plenty.
“Ms. Mercer, I can’t discuss individuals yet.”
“You just answered me.”
“I understand why you feel that way.”
“What do you need from me?”
“An interview.”
“When?”
“Today.”
I glanced toward Dad, who stood in the kitchen pretending not to listen.
“I’ll be there.”
Before hanging up, Marissa said something unexpected.
“And Ms. Mercer?”
“Yes?”
“Do not contact Northlake.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Or your husband about this matter.”
My heart stopped.
“Why?”
Her answer came carefully.
“Because Hartwell has already referred certain concerns to outside counsel.”
“Outside counsel for what?”
Another pause.
“Potential criminal review.”
When the call ended, I stared at my phone.
Christmas had started with a $180 coat.
Five days later, my marriage had become part of a financial investigation.
May you like
And Julian still believed his biggest problem was divorce.
He had no idea lawyers from my former employer were now opening his books.
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