Chapter 4 - THE MISTRESS WANTED TO TALKI read Rachel's message six times.
Then I took screenshots and sent them to Rebecca.
Her response came almost immediately.
Do not meet her alone. Call me in the morning.
At 7:15 a.m., Rebecca called.
“What do you want to do?”
“I want to know what she knows.”
“Understandable.”
“Do you think she's setting me up?”
“Possibly. Or Marcus has started distancing himself from her, and she's frightened. Either way, assume anything you say may be repeated.”
We arranged the meeting at noon in the conference room of Rebecca's office.
Rachel agreed.
At 12:09, she walked in.
She wasn't what I expected.
I don't know what I expected, exactly.
Maybe someone glamorous and triumphant.
Instead Rachel Collins looked exhausted.
She was twenty-nine, with dark hair pulled into a low ponytail and a camel-colored coat buttoned too tightly across her body.
Her eyes landed on me.
Then my abdomen.
Perhaps she was thinking about the fact that I had given birth only three weeks earlier.
Perhaps she felt guilty.
Perhaps not.
Rebecca sat beside me.
Rachel had brought an attorney too.
Good.
That meant everybody understood this was serious.
Rachel spoke first.
“I know you hate me.”
I answered, “I don't know you well enough to hate you.”
That seemed to hurt more than anger would have.
She looked down.
“I met Marcus last January.”
“While I was pregnant.”
“Yes.”
“Did you know?”
“Not at first.”
I stared at her.
“How could you not know?”
“He told me you were separated.”
Of course he did.
“He said you still lived together because of the pregnancy and because a public divorce would be bad for the company before a major contract decision.”
Rebecca leaned forward.
“When did you learn they were not separated?”
Rachel swallowed.
“April.”
“And you continued the relationship?”
“Yes.”
At least she didn't lie.
I asked, “Why?”
Rachel's eyes filled with tears.
“Because by then I loved him.”
I felt nothing.
Maybe I had already exhausted that particular reservoir of pain.
“What changed?”
“He changed.”
“When?”
“When I told him I was pregnant.”
That surprised me.
“He filed for divorce because you're pregnant.”
“I thought so too.”
She took out her phone.
Her attorney nodded.
Rachel slid the device across the table.
A conversation with Marcus was open.
Two days before he served me the papers.
Rachel: I went to the doctor. Everything looks okay.
Marcus: Good.
Rachel: That's it?
Marcus: I'm in meetings.
Then later:
Rachel: When are we telling people?
Marcus: We're not. Not yet.
Rachel: You said once Natalie signed, we could stop hiding.
Marcus: Plans changed.
I looked at Rachel.
“What changed?”
“I don't know.”
Rebecca asked, “Why contact Natalie?”
Rachel opened her bag.
She removed a stack of printed documents.
“My company laptop was remotely disabled yesterday.”
“What company?”
“Bennett Strategic Systems.”
I stared.
“You work for Marcus?”
“Communications consulting.”
Eight hundred and forty thousand dollars.
Rebecca asked, “Through your personal consultancy?”
Rachel nodded.
“I didn't earn that amount.”
Silence.
“How much did you earn?” Rebecca asked.
“About one hundred sixty thousand last year.”
Rebecca exchanged a glance with me.
“What happened to the rest?”
“I don't know. That's why I'm here.”
Rachel pushed the papers forward.
“I started going through invoices when my access disappeared.”
They were payment records.
Multiple transfers.
Some labeled consulting retainers.
Others campaign strategy.
Public affairs.
Reputation management.
Rachel pointed at one.
“This is supposedly a $210,000 payment to my firm.”
“Was it?”
“No. I received twenty thousand that month.”
“Where did the rest go?”
“I don't know.”
Her attorney added, “We believe Ms. Collins's company information may have been used as a pass-through without her full knowledge.”
Rebecca's skepticism was obvious.
“You're claiming nearly seven hundred thousand dollars was invoiced under your company without you noticing?”
Rachel flushed.
“Marcus handled the accounting.”
I almost laughed.
Of course he did.
The same sentence could have come from me.
For the first time, Rachel and I looked at each other not as wife and mistress but as two women who had handed the same man access to things we didn't inspect closely enough.
I didn't feel sympathy.
Not yet.
But I recognized the pattern.
Rebecca asked, “Why were you looking through records now?”
Rachel hesitated.
Then whispered:
“Because Marcus asked me to sign something.”
My body went still.
“What?”
“A statement.”
She unfolded another document.
It said Rachel had provided legitimate strategic consulting services at the full invoiced amounts and had independently authorized various subcontractor payments.
“Did you sign it?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because it isn't true.”
I stared at her.
“And that's when he cut your access?”
“Two hours later.”
I leaned back.
Everything about Marcus suddenly looked different.
The affair might not have been separate from the financial deception.
It might have become useful to him.
Rachel had a business.
Marcus had access.
Money flowed through it.
And now, when investigators might ask questions, he wanted her signature confirming everything was legitimate.
“How much does Marcus know about your meeting with us?” Rebecca asked.
“Nothing.”
“Keep it that way.”
Rachel looked at me.
“There is something else.”
My stomach clenched.
She opened her phone again.
A photograph.
Marcus standing beside a woman I didn't recognize.
Older.
Professional.
They were outside a restaurant.
“When was this?” I asked.
“Six months ago.”
“Who is she?”
“Elaine Porter. Chief financial officer.”
I knew Elaine.
Not personally, but by name.
“What am I looking at?”
Rachel enlarged the photograph.
Marcus was handing Elaine a folder.
“Marcus told me Elaine had been helping restructure his personal holdings before the divorce.”
Rebecca immediately said, “How did you get this?”
“I took it.”
“Why?”
“Because I'd started becoming suspicious.”
I almost smiled bitterly.
Even while sleeping with my husband, Rachel had known enough not to trust him fully.
Smart.
Just not smart soon enough.
“Is Elaine involved?” I asked.
Rachel shrugged.
“I don't know.”
Rebecca did.
At least her expression suggested she had a theory.
She stood.
“We're done for now.”
Rachel looked frightened.
“That's it?”
“For today.”
Rachel turned to me.
“Natalie, I know saying sorry is meaningless.”
“It isn't meaningless.”
She waited.
“It just isn't enough.”
Her eyes lowered.
“I know.”
I continued.
“You knew he was married. You knew I was pregnant. Whatever Marcus told you after April, you made choices.”
“I know.”
“So don't ask me to make you feel better about them.”
“I won't.”
“But if you have evidence that he committed fraud, give it to your lawyer and cooperate.”
She nodded.
As she reached the door, I asked one question.
“Rachel.”
She turned.
“Did Marcus ever tell you he loved the twins?”
Her expression changed.
“Yes.”
I hadn't expected that.
“He talked about them constantly,” she said. “Before they were born.”
“Then why did he act like they were an obstacle?”
Rachel looked toward her attorney.
Then back at me.
“He didn't.”
“What?”
“He acted like you were.”
That sentence followed me home.
Not the twins.
Me.
I began thinking about the divorce paperwork again.
About custody.
About the missing trust assets.
This wasn't simply a man impulsively abandoning one family for another.
Marcus had prepared.
Perhaps for years.
That afternoon, Rebecca brought in a forensic accountant named Julian Park.
Julian spoke quietly and carried a laptop covered in tiny numbered tabs.
Within two hours, he had created a diagram.
Trust.
Holding company.
Consulting entity.
Real estate vehicle.
Management company.
Payments.
Loans.
Stock transfers.
Lines went everywhere.
But one name appeared repeatedly.
Bennett Strategic Systems.
“The company is the center,” Julian said.
“What does that mean?”
“It means either these transactions were designed to move marital assets into the company…”
He pointed at another line.
“…or money moved out of the company into personal entities.”
“Which is worse?”
“Depends whose money it was.”
Then his screen changed.
“Here's what concerns me most.”
A loan had been made from an entity connected to the marital trust to Bennett Strategic Systems eighteen months earlier.
Twenty-four million dollars.
I stared.
“Where would we get twenty-four million?”
“You didn't.”
Julian enlarged the record.
“The trust guaranteed financing. The company received the money.”
Rebecca asked, “Who authorized the guarantee?”
Julian looked at me.
“Natalie did.”
“No, I didn't.”
“According to the document, you did.”
Another forged signature.
My anger changed.
It wasn't emotional anymore.
It became precise.
I remembered every time Marcus had handed me papers while I was cooking.
Every electronic signature link.
Every time he'd said, It's routine, babe.
Had he been gradually creating a paper trail designed to make my consent believable?
Rebecca's phone rang.
She answered.
Listened.
Then stood.
“I'll call you back.”
Her face had become serious.
“What happened?” I asked.
“Marcus just filed an emergency custody motion.”
I felt the floor disappear beneath me.
“Emergency?”
“He's alleging you're emotionally unstable following childbirth.”
My entire body went cold.
Rebecca continued.
“He claims Daniel's presence at the house created a hostile environment and that you're preventing him from safely accessing the twins.”
“That isn't true!”
“I know.”
“He held Noah yesterday!”
“I know.”
“Then how can he—”
“Anyone can allege things. Evidence determines what survives.”
I paced.
“He planned this.”
Rebecca didn't answer.
She didn't need to.
My phone rang.
Marcus.
“Don't answer,” Rebecca said.
It stopped.
Then came a message.
Marcus: I tried to avoid this. You brought my father and lawyers into our family. Now the court can decide what's best for Noah and Liam.
My hands shook.
I wanted to respond.
Rebecca held out her palm.
I gave her the phone.
“Let him keep talking,” she said.
Another message arrived.
I hope you understand that exhaustion and postpartum instability aren't crimes, but they do matter when two newborns are involved.
Rebecca smiled.
Not because it was funny.
Because Marcus had just made a mistake.
“He's attempting to manufacture a record,” she said.
“What do we do?”
“We build a better one.”
The next morning, we filed our response.
Medical records.
Pediatric records.
Messages showing Marcus voluntarily leaving the home.
Photographs of him visiting the twins peacefully.
Texts from him complaining about night feedings.
And one particularly useful message he'd sent Rachel—which her attorney provided voluntarily.
It was dated two weeks before the twins were born.
Once Natalie has the babies, she'll be too exhausted to fight the divorce properly.
I stared at that sentence until my eyes blurred.
Marcus hadn't simply chosen a cruel time.
He had chosen it because I would be weak.
That knowledge burned away the last pieces of grief.
I looked at Rebecca.
“What happens now?”
“A judge reviews the emergency filing.”
“And the money?”
“Julian keeps digging.”
“And Marcus?”
Rebecca closed the folder.
“Marcus has made one major mistake.”
“What?”
“He assumed you would still behave like his wife.”
I frowned.
She said, “Meaning he assumed you'd protect him.”
That night, Colonel Bennett came over.
He sat beside the bassinets for nearly an hour without speaking.
Finally, he said:
“I need to tell you something about Marcus.”
I turned.
Daniel looked devastated.
“Something happened before he started the company.”
“What?”
“Something I helped him bury.”
And suddenly I understood.
May you like
The colonel hadn't come to my house only because he was angry at his son.
He had come because he was afraid history was repeating itself.
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