Chapter 4
The painting was worth far more than money.
My father, Samuel Carter, had given it to me on the day I graduated from law school.
He had worked two jobs to help pay my tuition.
He had attended every ceremony.
Every graduation.
Every milestone.
And when I became a judge, he stood in the back of the courtroom with tears in his eyes.
He died four years later.
The painting was one of the last gifts he ever gave me.
It showed a Black woman standing on the steps of a courthouse.
Her head was lifted.
Her shoulders were straight.
And sunlight shone behind her.
My father told me it reminded him of the day I first announced that I wanted to become a judge.
"Never let anyone make you feel small," he said.
I had carried those words through every difficult moment of my career.
And now Daniel had taken that painting into the apartment he shared with another woman.
I sat in Margaret's office staring at the photograph.
"He's going to return it."
Margaret nodded.
"We'll demand its return and document the ownership."
I looked at her.
"And if Lauren damages it?"
"We'll seek appropriate protection."
I swallowed.
The thought of that painting being destroyed hurt more than I wanted to admit.
Margaret placed another document in front of me.
"This is a property ownership summary."
I leaned closer.
"Okay."
"Daniel's company acquired the penthouse two years ago."
I frowned.
"He told me he couldn't afford a vacation two years ago."
Margaret continued.
"The purchase appears to have been financed partly through funds moved from an account linked to your personal investment business."
I stared.
"What?"
She pointed to a transfer.
Two hundred and eighty thousand dollars.
My stomach dropped.
"That's impossible."
"Do you recognize the account?"
I nodded.
"It belonged to Carter Legal Consulting."
Before becoming a judge, I had operated a small legal consulting company.
I closed it after taking the bench.
The money left in that account was supposed to remain in conservative investments.
Daniel had occasionally helped with administrative paperwork before I entered judicial service.
But I never authorized him to withdraw hundreds of thousands of dollars.
Margaret watched my face.
"Victoria, did you approve this transfer?"
"No."
"Then we need the full banking records."
I closed my eyes.
The betrayal kept growing.
I had expected an ugly divorce.
I had not expected to discover that the man I married might have been using my finances for years.
"What happens if the bank says I authorized it?"
"We challenge that with evidence."
I nodded.
"Do you think Daniel forged more documents?"
"I think we need to investigate every transaction before deciding."
I appreciated her caution.
Because I knew the difference between suspicion and proof.
I had spent my career making that distinction.
Still, my heart was breaking.
That afternoon, I visited my mother.
She lived in a small brick house outside the city.
When I arrived, she was working in her garden.
She looked up and smiled.
"Victoria!"
I hugged her.
Then she saw my face.
"Baby, what's wrong?"
I tried to answer.
But my voice cracked.
She led me inside.
We sat at her kitchen table.
I told her everything.
The affair.
The slap.
The courtroom.
The forged signatures.
The hidden properties.
The painting.
By the time I finished, my mother was crying.
"Oh, sweetheart."
I looked down.
"I feel stupid."
She reached across the table.
"Don't you dare."
"Mom, I'm a judge. I should have noticed."
"Being educated doesn't mean nobody can betray you."
I swallowed.
"I trusted him."
"That's what marriage is supposed to allow."
I wiped my eyes.
She squeezed my hand.
"Your father warned me about Daniel once."
I froze.
"What?"
She looked away.
"Years ago."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I didn't want to interfere in your marriage."
My chest tightened.
"What did Dad say?"
"He said Daniel was too interested in what you owned."
I stared at her.
"When?"
"Before your wedding."
My stomach dropped.
"Mom."
She nodded sadly.
"He noticed Daniel asking about your savings, your investments, and the property your grandmother left you."
I pressed a hand over my mouth.
"Why didn't Dad tell me?"
"He tried."
I remembered an argument.
A month before my wedding.
My father had asked whether Daniel and I planned to sign a prenuptial agreement.
I became angry.
I accused him of not trusting the man I loved.
My father never mentioned it again.
Now I understood.
He hadn't been trying to control me.
He had been trying to protect me.
Tears ran down my face.
"I wish I had listened."
My mother pulled me close.
"Baby, you can't change what happened."
"I know."
"But you can decide what happens next."
I nodded.
She held me for a long time.
Then she whispered, "Your father would still be proud of you."
Those words broke something open inside me.
For months, I had held my emotions tightly.
At work.
In meetings.
During legal appointments.
I had convinced myself that staying calm meant staying strong.
But sitting in my mother's kitchen, I finally cried.
I cried for my marriage.
For my father's memory.
For the money I had worked so hard to save.
And for the years I had spent loving someone who might never have loved me honestly.
My mother held me until I could breathe again.
Then she made tea.
And for a little while, I felt like her daughter instead of a judge fighting to protect her own future.
That evening, I received another message from Lauren.
This one was different.
PLEASE CALL ME.
I stared at it.
Then another appeared.
DANIEL IS LYING TO BOTH OF US.
I frowned.
Margaret had told me not to respond.
So I forwarded the messages.
A minute later, Lauren sent a photograph.
It showed a document.
At the top were the words:
BENNETT CAPITAL HOLDINGS.
Near the bottom was Daniel's signature.
And beneath it was another name.
Lauren Hayes.
I enlarged the image.
Then I saw the heading.
IRREVOCABLE BENEFICIARY DESIGNATION.
My heart began pounding.
Because Lauren wasn't simply Daniel's mistress.
May you like
According to the document she had photographed, Daniel had named her as the beneficiary of a policy worth five million dollars.
And the insured person's name was mine.
