Chapter 3 - The Mistress Blamed My Husband for Everything—Then a Hidden Recording Proved Which One of Them Had Planned to Steal Millions From My FamilyThere are moments when your heart breaks.
And there are moments when it simply becomes tired.
Seeing Kyle's initials on that account did not break my heart.
Denver had done that.
The messages had done that.
The gala had finished the job.
The account made me tired.
I sat in Ethan's office the following morning with my shoes off because pregnancy had transformed my ankles into something I no longer recognized.
My brother pushed a bowl toward me.
“What is this?”
“Oatmeal.”
“I can see that.”
“Eat.”
“You're CEO of a multibillion-dollar company.”
“Yes.”
“And you're supervising oatmeal.”
“Dad would be proud.”
I looked at the bowl.
Then him.
“Dad would have added brown sugar.”
Ethan opened a drawer.
Brown sugar.
I laughed.
“You planned this.”
“I know my audience.”
For several minutes, we said nothing.
Then I asked:
“Do you think Kyle stole from us?”
Ethan's expression changed.
“Do you want the brother answer or CEO answer?”
“Both.”
“Brother answer?”
He leaned back.
“I want to throw him off the roof.”
“Ethan.”
“You asked.”
“CEO.”
“We don't know.”
I appreciated that.
Not defending.
Not condemning.
Facts.
“The account?”
“Created eighteen months ago.”
“Before the affair?”
“As far as you know.”
That hurt.
“What was it for?”
“Originally?”
“Yes.”
“An investment partnership.”
“With Brooke?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“We're investigating.”
I looked out the window.
Raleigh spread below us.
Somewhere down there was the neighborhood where Kyle and I had met.
The folding tables.
The grocery-store flowers.
The eleven-dollar coffee.
Was that man real?
I believed he was.
That was the difficult part.
People wanted betrayal stories to be simple.
Bad man pretends to be good.
Good woman discovers truth.
But sometimes the good moments were real.
The love was real.
Then something changed.
Or someone allowed the worst parts of themselves to grow.
Reality is less satisfying than villainy.
My phone rang.
My attorney.
“Kyle has retained counsel.”
“Good.”
“And he filed for temporary access to the marital home.”
I closed my eyes.
“Expected.”
“There is something else.”
Of course.
“He says the investment account was funded with compensation earned during the marriage.”
“Meaning?”
“He's arguing it is marital property.”
I laughed.
Ethan frowned.
“What?”
I put the call on speaker.
My attorney continued:
“He's also asserting that your ownership stake in Reed Meridian increased substantially during the marriage.”
Ethan stopped smiling.
I understood immediately.
Kyle wanted money.
Not necessarily half the company.
North Carolina law didn't work that simply.
But he was positioning himself.
After six years telling everyone I didn't matter at Reed Meridian, my husband suddenly remembered exactly how much I owned.
“How much is he asking for?”
“Negotiations haven't started.”
“Then why raise it?”
“Leverage.”
I looked at Ethan.
His face had become dangerously calm.
“Brother answer?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“No roof.”
“Fine.”
The investigation accelerated.
Brooke hired attorneys.
Her father distanced Carver Development from her.
Kyle claimed he had invested in the joint account without knowing Brooke intended to buy Hollis shares.
Brooke claimed the opposite.
According to her, Kyle created the account.
Kyle provided the confidential information.
Kyle suggested the purchase.
Two people who had betrayed me together were now betraying each other.
Romantic.
Then Brooke asked to speak with me.
Absolutely not.
I declined.
She asked again through counsel.
I declined again.
On the third request, she offered evidence.
I agreed under one condition.
Lawyers present.
We met in a conference room.
Brooke looked different.
No perfect hair.
No diamond bracelet.
No contempt.
She wore a plain navy suit and looked exhausted.
I sat across from her.
My attorney beside me.
Her attorney beside her.
Brooke looked at my stomach.
“How's the baby?”
“Don't.”
She nodded.
“I deserved that.”
“You deserve several things. My daughter's health isn't one of them.”
Her eyes filled.
“I’m sorry I hit you.”
“I know.”
“No. I really—”
“Brooke.”
She stopped.
“I didn't come for an apology.”
She swallowed.
“Okay.”
“What evidence?”
Brooke looked at her attorney.
Then slid a flash drive across the table.
“Recordings.”
“Of?”
“Kyle.”
My stomach tightened.
“Why were you recording him?”
“Because I stopped trusting him.”
I almost laughed.
Of course.
“What did you think he was doing?”
“Using me.”
That time I did laugh.
Brooke flinched.
“Sorry.”
“No. I understand.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
I leaned back.
“You slept with my husband and eventually became concerned that the married man lying to his pregnant wife might also lie to you.”
Her face reddened.
“When you phrase it that way—”
“How else would I phrase it?”
She looked down.
“Fair.”
The recordings began six weeks earlier.
Kyle's voice.
Brooke's.
Restaurant noise.
KYLE:
Once Hollis is announced, it'll jump.
BROOKE:
How do you know the board approves?
KYLE:
Trust me.
BROOKE:
Does Mara know?
Silence.
Then Kyle laughed.
KYLE:
Mara doesn't pay attention to operations anymore.
My chest hurt.
Another recording.
BROOKE:
What happens when you leave her?
KYLE:
I haven't decided.
BROOKE:
You said after the gala.
KYLE:
I said we'd talk after the gala.
BROOKE:
Kyle.
KYLE:
Do you know what divorce from a Reed looks like?
BROOKE:
You said her shares were inherited.
KYLE:
Some appreciation happened during marriage.
BROOKE:
So you're staying for money?
Long pause.
KYLE:
I'm staying until I know what leaving costs.
I closed my eyes.
Brooke stopped the recording.
“I’m sorry.”
“Keep going.”
“Mara—”
“Keep going.”
The third recording destroyed whatever remained.
Kyle was discussing an upcoming executive position.
He believed Ethan planned to appoint him executive vice president.
Brooke asked whether my family connection helped.
Kyle laughed.
KYLE:
Mara is useful when she doesn't realize she's being useful.
I stopped breathing.
BROOKE:
What does that mean?
KYLE:
Ethan won't admit it, but he trusts me because I'm family.
BROOKE:
You told everyone your marriage had nothing to do with your promotions.
KYLE:
Officially.
BROOKE:
And unofficially?
KYLE:
Why do you think I married a billionaire's daughter?
Silence.
My father’s watch was on my wrist.
I stared at it.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
My attorney paused the audio.
Brooke whispered:
“I didn't know.”
I looked at her.
“Neither did I.”
For six years, I had wondered when Kyle changed.
Maybe that was the wrong question.
Maybe love and ambition had existed inside him simultaneously from the beginning.
Maybe he had loved me.
Maybe he had also loved what being near me could become.
Human beings can contain contradictory truths.
That doesn't make the damage smaller.
Brooke pushed another document forward.
“Kyle approached my father before we started sleeping together.”
“What?”
“He proposed a development partnership.”
“When?”
“Eight months ago.”
“Why didn't your father disclose it?”
“He thought Kyle had authority.”
“He was a senior vice president.”
“Kyle implied he had more.”
Of course he did.
“What did he say?”
“That his relationship with the Reed family made approval essentially guaranteed.”
I became very still.
My attorney asked:
“Do you have that in writing?”
Brooke nodded.
Emails.
Messages.
Presentations.
Kyle had used my family name while publicly pretending I was irrelevant.
The hypocrisy was almost elegant.
Then Brooke began crying.
“I loved him.”
I stared at her.
I expected anger.
Instead I felt exhausted.
“So did I.”
She looked up.
“I thought he was leaving you.”
“You knew I was pregnant.”
“Yes.”
“You still thought that made this okay?”
“No.”
“At the gala, you acted like I was stealing him from you.”
“I know.”
“You hit me.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
Brooke wiped her face.
“Because he told me you threatened to destroy his career if he left.”
I almost stood.
“What?”
“He said you controlled him through your family.”
My attorney looked at me.
I felt sick.
Kyle had built two different women.
For coworkers, I was insignificant.
For Brooke, I was powerful and abusive.
Whichever lie served him.
“He told me you used Ethan to keep him trapped.”
I whispered:
“I never once asked Ethan to promote him.”
“I believe you now.”
“Convenient.”
“Yes.”
At least she admitted it.
The meeting ended.
I went home.
Not our house.
A smaller property I owned before marriage.
The first apartment I bought after college had been sold, but this townhouse felt closer to that life.
Quiet.
Mine.
I sat on the floor because the furniture had not arrived.
My daughter kicked.
“Your father is an idiot,” I told her.
She kicked again.
“Good. We agree.”
Then someone knocked.
Ethan.
Holding grocery-store flowers.
I opened the door.
He looked at the empty room.
“You're sitting on the floor.”
“I noticed.”
He held out the flowers.
I started crying.
“Seriously?”
“What?”
“Grocery-store flowers?”
“They were twelve dollars.”
“Robbery.”
“I knew you'd say that.”
I hugged my brother.
He held me.
Not chairwoman.
Not billionaire.
Not largest shareholder.
Sister.
After a while, he said:
“There's more.”
I pulled back.
“What?”
“We finished reviewing Kyle's personnel file.”
“And?”
“His first application.”
My stomach tightened.
“What about it?”
“He applied to Reed Meridian before he met you.”
I stared.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“How long before?”
“Four months.”
I stopped breathing.
“He told me he first heard about the opening years later.”
“I know.”
“Was he rejected?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Insufficient experience.”
The room became very quiet.
Four months before the neighborhood fundraiser.
Before the folding table.
Before the laughter.
Before eleven-dollar coffee.
Kyle Lawson had already wanted into Reed Meridian.
Ethan continued:
“There is one more thing.”
I didn't want it.
“Tell me.”
“Kyle volunteered for that fundraiser through the same professional association that organized several Reed Meridian community events.”
“That proves nothing.”
“No.”
“Say that again.”
“It proves nothing.”
Good.
Facts.
Not assumptions.
But then Ethan handed me a photocopy.
A volunteer sign-up sheet.
Kyle's handwriting.
At the top was the event coordinator's note:
REED FAMILY REPRESENTATIVE EXPECTED — MARA REED.
My name.
Written before Kyle and I supposedly met by chance.
May you like
And for the first time, I had to ask the question I had avoided since the gala.
Had my husband ever met me accidentally at all?
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