Chapter 3 - THE MESSAGE FROM THE OTHER WOMAN
I didn't sleep that night.
By morning, the photograph had been forwarded to Rebecca, along with the number that sent it.
I wanted to know who was helping me.
But I also understood that whoever sent the message might have an entirely different motive.
At nine, I received another text.
Check the December board minutes. Look for Resolution 47.
I called Rebecca immediately.
“Can you obtain the board minutes?”
“Possibly. Are you still listed as a shareholder?”
“Yes.”
Before Harrison was born, I'd invested part of my inheritance in Ward Hospitality during its first major expansion.
I owned a minority interest.
Julian had persuaded me to stop taking an active role after our son was born.
He said I deserved to focus on motherhood instead of worrying about financial reports.
I'd believed him.
Now I wondered how many decisions he'd made while counting on me not to look.
Rebecca contacted the company's corporate counsel and requested the information to which I was entitled.
By the following afternoon, we had obtained the relevant resolution.
It authorized management to pursue additional financing for the Aspen project, subject to appropriate approvals and documentation.
But the supporting materials included something I hadn't expected.
A proposed acquisition.
Harbor House.
Not as a family residence.
As the centerpiece of a luxury waterfront development that Ward Hospitality could market to wealthy travelers.
I stared at the architectural renderings.
My mother's old house had been transformed into an enormous glass-fronted resort.
The garden was gone.
The apple trees had disappeared.
Even the porch where she used to sit with me had been demolished.
The proposal described the existing building as commercially obsolete.
I felt physically sick.
Julian had complained about Harbor House for years.
But he'd never told me he intended to turn it into a hotel.
Rebecca examined the planning documents.
“This looks like a proposed project, not an authorized sale. Your consent and the relevant property approvals would still be necessary.”
I nodded.
But I was no longer thinking only about legal authority.
I was thinking about our marriage.
About every conversation in which Julian said the property was too expensive to maintain.
Every time he suggested selling it.
Every time he made me feel childish for wanting to preserve a place that reminded me of my mother.
Had he been preparing me to surrender it all along?
That evening, I called the unfamiliar number.
A woman answered.
“Hello?”
“Who is this?”
A pause.
Then:
“My name is Claire Morgan.”
I didn't recognize it.
“I work in Ward Hospitality's finance department.”
My grip tightened.
“Why are you sending me these messages?”
“Because I reviewed the guarantee.”
I stopped breathing.
Claire explained that the company's chief financial officer had asked her to assemble the financing records.
When she examined the documents, she noticed discrepancies between the signature pages and the supporting identity-verification materials.
She raised the issue internally.
Nobody wanted to hear it.
“Who told you to stop asking questions?” I asked.
Claire hesitated.
Then answered.
“Isabel Hart.”
I closed my eyes.
But Claire wasn't finished.
“Mrs. Ward, there's something else. I don't think Mr. Ward understands what he's agreed to.”
My chest tightened.
“What do you mean?”
Claire lowered her voice.
“Isabel's investment company has a contractual right to acquire a controlling interest in the Aspen project if Ward Hospitality defaults on certain obligations.”
I stared through the window at the dark ocean.
Julian believed he was building an empire with his mistress.
May you like
But if Claire was right, Isabel had structured the financing so that his failure could become her opportunity.
And the property my mother left me was being drawn into the middle of it.
