Chapter 4
I forwarded Vanessa's message to Rebecca before I even left my father's office.
Her response came immediately.
Do not answer her.
For once, ignoring Vanessa felt better than defending myself.
My father had already called our forensic accountant.
The anonymous emails contained enough specific financial information to make them dangerous.
Not because the accusations were true.
Because whoever wrote them knew exactly which numbers to distort.
“They had access to your household records,” our accountant said.
My stomach tightened.
Nathan.
Or someone Nathan had given access to.
I called him.
“Did you give Vanessa our financial statements?”
“What?”
“Answer me.”
“No.”
“Did your mother have access?”
“Emily, what's happened?”
I told him.
He went silent.
Then he said, “Vanessa wouldn't do that.”
I closed my eyes.
There it was again.
Even separated.
Even after everything.
His first instinct was still to defend her.
“I have a text from her saying she wants war.”
“She says things when she's angry.”
“So do children. Vanessa is thirty-eight.”
“Let me talk to her.”
“No.”
“Emily—”
“No more family conversations behind my back.”
I hung up.
The emails spread.
One hotel client delayed a contract.
Another requested financial documentation.
My staff grew nervous.
I called an emergency meeting.
I told them the truth.
Not every detail.
But enough.
“There is a personal dispute involving my husband's relatives. False allegations have been circulated about this company.”
My creative director, Maya, raised her hand.
“Are we in trouble?”
“No.”
I hoped I sounded as certain as Rebecca did.
“Our books are clean. We will cooperate with every audit and answer every client.”
Then I added, “Nobody here is losing a job because someone in my personal life decided to behave badly.”
My employees deserved certainty.
Even if I didn't have any.
Three days later, the forensic review found something.
The anonymous emails referenced an account that only four people knew existed.
Me.
Our accountant.
Nathan.
And Judith.
It was an emergency household reserve my mother had encouraged me to establish years ago.
I stared at the report.
“Judith knew?”
Our accountant nodded.
“Your husband requested a statement copy eighteen months ago. According to his email, it was for estate planning. He copied Judith.”
I almost became sick.
Why would Nathan copy his mother on our private financial information?
I confronted him at Rebecca's office.
He looked horrified.
“I forgot.”
“You forgot you gave your mother access to our reserve account?”
“It was just a statement.”
“Why?”
He rubbed both hands over his face.
“Mom said she needed proof of our liquidity.”
“For what?”
Nathan hesitated.
That hesitation changed the entire room.
Rebecca leaned forward.
“Nathan?”
“My mother was trying to get a commercial loan.”
I stared at him.
“She used our finances to qualify for a loan?”
“No.”
“That is exactly what you just said.”
“She needed a guarantor profile.”
“Did you guarantee it?”
“No.”
“Nathan.”
“I didn't sign the final papers.”
The wording mattered.
“What did you sign?”
He looked at the table.
“A preliminary letter.”
My heart slammed.
Rebecca's voice became sharp.
“What letter?”
Nathan admitted he had signed a statement indicating he intended to provide financial backing for Cole Catering if needed.
He had listed marital household assets.
Including my separate home.
Rebecca went completely still.
“You represented Emily's separately owned property as potentially available collateral?”
Nathan looked sick.
“I didn't understand the wording.”
“You're an architect who signs commercial contracts.”
“I trusted the loan officer.”
“Who was the loan officer?”
“Vanessa's friend.”
I laughed.
It came out cold.
Nathan flinched.
“I never signed the mortgage documents.”
“That is your defense?”
“No.”
“Because right now, Nathan, your defense seems to be that you nearly gambled my house without realizing it.”
“I would never have let them take the house.”
“You shouldn't have let them say it was available!”
My voice cracked.
For the first time, Nathan started crying.
Not tears designed to change my mind.
He simply broke.
“I know.”
I wanted to comfort him.
My body almost moved automatically.
Twelve years of marriage doesn't disappear because your trust does.
I stayed in my chair.
Rebecca asked him for every document.
Nathan agreed.
He gave her access to his emails.
His business records.
His texts with Judith and Vanessa.
That decision changed everything.
Because Vanessa had lied.
The smear campaign had not started after our separation.
For more than a year, she had been collecting information about my company.
Nathan's messages showed her repeatedly asking questions.
How much did Emily's firm make?
How dependent was Hayes Construction on Emily's designs?
Would Emily inherit her father's shares?
Who controlled the trust my grandmother created?
Nathan had answered some questions casually.
Others he ignored.
But Judith answered almost all of them.
The messages made my skin crawl.
They weren't planning a crime.
At least not at first.
They were mapping my life.
Then Rebecca found one message from Judith to Vanessa.
It was dated six months earlier.
If Emily ever leaves him, Nathan needs leverage. That girl thinks everything belongs to her because her father handed it to her.
Vanessa replied:
Then make sure she can't leave clean.
I stared at those words.
Nathan sat beside me.
His face looked gray.
“I never saw that.”
The message came from a family group thread Nathan had muted.
I believed him.
It didn't absolve him.
But I believed him.
He whispered, “What were they planning?”
Rebecca looked at me.
“I don't know yet.”
We found out the next morning.
A process server came to my office.
Cole Family Catering had filed a civil claim against Hayes & Hart Interiors.
They alleged my company owed them $240,000.
“For what?”
I nearly shouted.
Rebecca read the complaint.
Consulting.
Event referrals.
Brand development.
Business expansion services.
Work I had supposedly authorized over eight years.
I laughed in disbelief.
“I did most of those things for them.”
“I know.”
“Vanessa is claiming they consulted for me?”
“Yes.”
“And they want almost a quarter million dollars?”
Rebecca looked grim.
“There is more.”
Attached to the complaint were copies of agreements.
My name appeared at the bottom.
My signature.
Except I had never seen them.
Nathan looked over my shoulder.
Then whispered, “Oh my God.”
“What?”
His eyes locked onto one document.
“I've seen that signature file.”
My chest tightened.
“Where?”
May you like
He looked sick.
“On my mother's computer.”
