I typed back.
Your money is yours. Your mother’s home is hers. Her Thanksgiving dinner is her responsibility.
His response appeared almost immediately.
WHAT DOES MONEY HAVE TO DO WITH THIS?
More than he realized.
Three weeks earlier, Hawthorne Capital had hired me to conduct a financial review of a regional construction company they were considering purchasing.
That company belonged to Eric’s father, Martin.
And Eric was responsible for much of its financial management.
Neither Eric nor Martin knew Hawthorne had contracted me through an independent forensic-accounting firm.
And what I had discovered during the review had raised serious questions.
Invoices that appeared unusually inflated.
Personal expenses categorized as business payments.
Company funds used for loans to relatives.
And nearly $420,000 transferred into an account connected to Brooke’s struggling boutique.
Several of those transfers appeared to have been authorized by Eric.
I had spent the previous week verifying every document before reaching any conclusions.
My original plan had been simple.
After Thanksgiving, I would sit down privately with Eric.
I would show him what I had found.
And I would give him an opportunity to explain.
Then I remembered the smile on his face while his mother mocked me.
At 5:08 p.m., Diane called again.
This time, I answered.
“Finally!” she said immediately. “Where are you?”
“Having Thanksgiving dinner.”
“With whom?”
“People who seem to like my cooking.”
She went silent.
Then she said sharply,
“You embarrassed this family.”
“I removed food from a house where I was told it wasn’t good enough.”
“You need to learn how to accept criticism.”
“And people need to learn that someone’s time and effort aren’t automatically theirs.”
A moment later, Eric took the phone from her.
“Claire, enough. Come home.”
“No.”
His voice became quieter.
“You’re my wife.”
“Yes.”
I paused.
“And that’s going to make tomorrow’s meeting particularly uncomfortable.”
Silence.
“What meeting?”
I looked around Harbor House.
Maya was speaking with a woman who had just been served a slice of pumpkin cheesecake.
“My audit meeting.”
Eric said nothing.
“Hawthorne Capital. Nine tomorrow morning. Your father’s company.”
The silence grew longer.
Then Eric finally asked,
“What audit?”
For a moment, I almost felt sorry for him.
Almost.
“The one I’ve been working on for the last three weeks.”
I heard movement in the background.
Then Martin’s voice.
“Give me the phone.”
A second later, he spoke.
“Claire, exactly what have you reviewed?”
That question told me far more than he probably intended.
He didn’t ask what I was talking about.
He asked what I had seen.
I smiled.
“Enough to have questions.”
Then I ended the call.
The following morning, at 8:52, I entered Hawthorne Capital’s conference room carrying a black leather folder.
Martin was already sitting at the table.
Eric sat beside him.
He looked as if he had barely slept.
Somehow, Diane had decided she belonged at the meeting too.
Brooke sat beside her, nervously turning a designer bracelet around her wrist.
Across from them were members of Hawthorne’s acquisition team, two attorneys, and Julian Hawthorne, the firm’s managing partner.
Eric stared at me.
“You set this up.”
I placed the folder on the table.
“No. Your company generated financial records. I reviewed them.”
Diane scoffed.
“This whole thing is ridiculous. Claire is upset because I criticized Thanksgiving dinner.”
Julian looked at her calmly.
“I don’t know what happened at your family dinner, Mrs. Mercer.”
Then he gestured toward me.
“But Claire is one of the forensic consultants our firm trusts most.”
Diane’s expression changed.
Brooke stopped moving her bracelet.
Eric stared at me.
Julian continued.
“She was selected for this review specifically because our team believed no one at Mercer Construction was familiar with her professional reputation.”
I opened my folder.
“Over approximately twenty-seven months, I found repeated transactions where company funds appear to have been categorized in ways that don’t match their actual purpose.”
Martin leaned forward.
“Those were legitimate company expenses.”
I slid several pages across the table.
“Spa memberships?”
Nobody answered.
I turned another page.
“Luxury vacations?”
Martin tightened his jaw.
Another document.
“Payments connected to Brooke’s boutique rent?”
Brooke went pale.
Then I opened another section.
“And $86,000 paid to Vanessa Cole Consulting.”
Eric’s expression changed instantly.
Vanessa.
His ex.
The same woman Diane had praised at Thanksgiving.
I looked directly at my husband.
“You told me you hadn’t been in contact with Vanessa for six years.”
Diane turned toward him.
“Eric?”
He swallowed.
“It isn’t what you think.”
“Then explain it.”
