Chapter 4 - My Husband's Other LifeSavannah arrived seventeen minutes early.
That alone told me she was afraid.
Women like Savannah Price did not arrive early.
They made entrances.
The woman who stepped into Rachel Sloan's office the next morning looked nothing like the composed brunette who had watched from my bedroom doorway.
No silk robe.
No wineglass.
No smug smile.
She wore jeans, a beige sweater, and oversized sunglasses.
Rachel pointed toward the chair opposite us.
“Phone.”
Savannah frowned.
“What?”
“Put it on the table.”
“Why?”
“Because if you're recording this meeting, I want to know.”
Savannah placed her phone face down.
Rachel looked at me.
“Your decision.”
I nodded.
Savannah removed her glasses.
She had barely slept.
“You hate me.”
“I don't know you well enough to hate you.”
“That might be worse.”
“I haven't decided.”
She swallowed.
“I didn't know he was hurting you.”
I said nothing.
“He told me your marriage was finished.”
“Classic.”
“He said you lived separate lives.”
“We ate breakfast together Tuesday.”
She looked down.
“He said you refused to divorce because you wanted his money.”
Rachel actually laughed.
Savannah looked offended.
“Sorry,” Rachel said. “Continue.”
Savannah's eyes returned to mine.
“I believed him.”
“Why?”
“Because I wanted to.”
That answer earned the first ounce of respect I had felt for her.
No excuses.
“I met Chase two years ago,” she continued. “Blue Harbor was my company before him.”
“So the consulting firm is real?”
“It was. Marketing research, site analysis, brand strategy. Small company. Maybe eight hundred thousand dollars in annual revenue.”
“And then?”
“Chase started feeding us Whitmore contracts.”
“Twenty-six million dollars' worth?”
Her cheeks flushed.
“Not all of that was consulting.”
“We know.”
Savannah closed her eyes briefly.
“The land purchases were his idea.”
“Using confidential development plans.”
“Yes.”
“And you agreed?”
“Yes.”
Rachel leaned forward.
“Understand something, Ms. Price. You may need criminal counsel.”
“I have one.”
“Good.”
Savannah reached into her bag.
Rachel tensed.
Savannah slowly removed a small encrypted drive.
“This is why I'm here.”
She placed it on the table.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Copies of everything Chase asked me to keep.”
“Why would he ask you?”
“Because he stopped trusting Alan Pierce.”
The CFO.
Savannah continued.
“Chase thought someone at Whitmore might discover the transfers, so he kept records outside company systems.”
“You were his backup.”
“I thought I was his future.”
Pain flickered across her face.
For all the damage she'd helped cause, Chase had apparently lied to her too.
Rachel picked up the drive.
“You said something had Richard Hawthorne's signature.”
Savannah nodded.
“Chase has been negotiating with Calder Ridge Partners.”
I knew the name.
Private credit.
Aggressive.
Predatory when opportunities appeared.
“They're one of Dad's competitors.”
“Chase wanted them to refinance the Hawthorne debt.”
“That isn't illegal.”
“No.”
She looked at me.
“But Calder Ridge wouldn't refinance without consent from Hawthorne Capital because of intercreditor restrictions.”
My stomach tightened.
Savannah continued.
“So Chase gave them consent.”
Rachel stopped writing.
“What consent?”
“A letter approving the refinancing.”
“Signed by whom?”
“Your father.”
I stared at her.
“My father didn't sign anything.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Because Chase made me scan samples of Richard Hawthorne's signature.”
The room became very quiet.
Rachel's voice sharpened.
“Where did you get them?”
“Annual reports. Foundation documents. Public filings.”
“And Chase created the signature?”
“No.”
Savannah hesitated.
“His attorney did.”
“Name.”
“Gavin Cross.”
I knew Gavin.
He'd attended our wedding.
He had toasted Chase at our rehearsal dinner.
Rachel wrote the name down.
“Continue.”
“The forged letter was sent to Calder Ridge eleven days ago. They're preparing to close a $900 million refinancing.”
My heart began hammering.
If true, this wasn't some messy divorce dispute.
It could become a major financial fraud investigation.
“When?” Rachel asked.
“When is closing?”
“Friday.”
Two days.
Rachel immediately stood and walked into the conference room next door to call my father's general counsel.
I remained with Savannah.
“Why tell me?”
She laughed bitterly.
“Because he threw me away yesterday.”
“Yesterday?”
“After the board meeting.”
“He called you?”
“He came to my apartment.”
I waited.
“He blamed me for everything. Said I talked too much. Said if investigators found Blue Harbor, he'd say I stole the money.”
“Did you?”
“Some.”
The honesty stunned me again.
“I took money I shouldn't have,” she said. “I participated in deals I knew were wrong. I'm not pretending otherwise.”
“Then why help him?”
She looked at me.
“You know how Chase makes you feel in the beginning.”
Unfortunately, I did.
“You walk into a restaurant with him and every waiter learns your name. He remembers exactly what wine you like. He calls at midnight because he says you're the only person he trusts. He makes you feel like the two of you are running toward something enormous.”
Her voice broke slightly.
“Then one day you realize you aren't running beside him. You're carrying him.”
I looked away.
Too familiar.
“He told me he'd marry me,” Savannah said.
“That sounds like Chase.”
“He also told me something about you.”
I returned my gaze to her.
“What?”
“He knew who your father was.”
My chair seemed to move beneath me.
“No.”
“He knew.”
“When?”
“Before your wedding.”
I stared at her.
“That isn't possible.”
“He said he had your background checked after your third date.”
Rachel had returned unnoticed.
She stopped in the doorway.
Savannah continued.
“He knew Emily Bennett was legally Emily Hawthorne Bennett.”
I felt cold all over.
Five years of memories reorganized themselves in seconds.
Chase acting indifferent whenever my father came up.
Chase declining invitations to meet him.
Chase insisting that we keep finances separate.
Chase taking increasingly aggressive risks after our marriage.
I had assumed he thought I came from nothing.
What if he'd known exactly who I was?
“Why would he pretend not to know?”
Savannah's answer was immediate.
“Because you told him you wanted someone who didn't care about your family.”
My throat tightened.
He had given me exactly what I'd wanted.
An illusion.
Rachel sat down slowly.
“How do you know this?”
“He bragged about it.”
“When?”
“After drinking.”
Savannah looked ashamed.
“He said marrying you was the best strategic decision he'd ever made.”
The words hurt more than I expected.
Not because I still loved Chase.
Because for years I'd protected one memory above all others.
Our wedding.
My mother had been gone.
Dad had walked me down the aisle.
Chase had whispered before the vows, “You and me. Nothing else matters.”
Had even that been calculated?
I stood.
“I need a minute.”
I walked into Rachel's private office and closed the door.
For the first time since Chase had attacked me, I cried.
Not loudly.
No collapse.
Just tears I couldn't stop.
I had spent years wondering when my marriage changed.
Maybe it never had.
Maybe Chase had entered it understanding exactly who my father was and spent five years positioning himself close enough to our family to benefit.
Rachel entered a few minutes later.
“You okay?”
“No.”
“Good answer.”
I wiped my face.
“I feel stupid.”
“Don't.”
“I built the entire relationship around a lie.”
“He built it.”
“I helped.”
“You trusted your husband.”
“Exactly.”
Rachel sat beside me.
“That isn't a crime.”
“No.”
I looked through the glass at Savannah.
“But some of what he did might be.”
At noon my father joined us.
Savannah repeated everything.
He listened without interruption.
When she finished, he asked one question.
“Do you have proof Chase knew Emily's identity before marriage?”
Savannah pointed toward the encrypted drive.
“There are recordings.”
My stomach turned.
“What kind?”
“Chase likes recording his own conversations.”
Dad's expression darkened.
Savannah added, “He says people become honest when they don't know they're being documented.”
Rachel connected the drive to an isolated laptop.
Dozens of folders appeared.
Emails.
Scans.
Audio.
Financial records.
One folder carried my name.
EMILY
Inside was a recording dated six years earlier.
Three months before my wedding.
Rachel clicked it.
Chase's voice filled the room.
Younger.
Confident.
Laughing with another man.
Gavin Cross.
His attorney.
Gavin said, “Does she know you ran the background report?”
“No.”
“And you're really going to pretend you don't know Hawthorne?”
“Of course.”
“She'll eventually tell you.”
“I know.”
“Then what?”
Chase laughed.
“Then I'll act surprised.”
Every person in the room remained still.
The recording continued.
Gavin's voice:
“You love her?”
A pause.
Then Chase answered.
“I like her.”
Another laugh.
“But love doesn't finance skyscrapers.”
I stopped the recording.
My father closed his eyes.
Savannah looked at the floor.
Rachel said nothing.
I expected devastation.
Instead, something settled inside me.
Finality.
Chase hadn't destroyed a beautiful marriage.
He'd revealed that parts of it had never been real.
And strangely, that made leaving easier.
My phone rang.
Chase.
I answered.
“Emily.”
His voice was soft.
Almost warm.
The old Chase.
The charming Chase.
“I think we've both made mistakes.”
I looked at the computer screen containing six years of his lies.
“You first.”
“We should meet privately.”
“No.”
“I know you're angry.”
“You don't know what I am.”
He sighed.
“I loved you.”
Across the room, Savannah closed her eyes.
I pressed play on the recording.
Chase's younger voice came through my phone.
Love doesn't finance skyscrapers.
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Then I asked:
“Still want to meet privately?”
He hung up.
My father looked at me.
“What now?”
I thought about the forged signatures.
The secret accounts.
The fake divorce.
The affair.
The manipulated marriage.
Then I looked at Rachel.
“Now we stop reacting.”
“What do you suggest?”
“We let Chase think Friday's refinancing is still happening.”
Dad immediately understood.
“You want him at closing.”
“Yes.”
Rachel smiled slowly.
“With every document.”
“And every person involved.”
Dad studied me.
“You realize he may run.”
“No.”
I knew my husband.
“He won't.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because Chase has one addiction stronger than money.”
“What?”
I looked at his photograph on Savannah's phone.
May you like
“Winning.”
And men addicted to winning rarely leave the table before the final hand.
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