Chapter 3

It was nearing midnight by the time I got home.

Grace, the nanny, was already fast asleep.

My seven-year-old son, Leo, was out cold, a sweet little smile playing on his face.

I sat by his bed, watching him in silence. My heart was in pieces.

Richard hadn't told Claire about us. Did that mean that in his mind, my son and I were the dirty little secret that had to stay hidden? While Claire and her newborn daughter were the real family he wanted to show off to the world?

This realization was like a venomous barb driven deep into my heart. I didn't sleep a wink that night.

*****

The next day was Saturday. I went through the motions—making breakfast for Leo and dropping him off at his favorite Lego class.

The sun was brilliant, streaming through the car window onto my face, but it couldn't warm my frozen heart.

After dropping him off, I didn't go home. Instead, I drove to a café downtown to meet my college classmate and best friend, Monica Chase.

She was a partner at a prestigious law firm, specializing in divorce cases.

I told her everything. I didn't cry, and I didn't get hysterical. I was so calm I might as well have been telling someone else's story.

When I finished, Monica slammed the table in rage. "That absolute bastard! Richard is a piece of work!"

After her outburst, she reached for my cold hand, her eyes full of worry and concern. "Helen, what are you going to do?"

I stared out the window at the heavy flow of traffic. "I want a divorce."

I said those words softly, but they were rock-solid.

Monica nodded. "Damn right! Get that divorce. Why keep a piece of trash like him around for a rainy day?"

She quickly composed herself, shifting back into her ace attorney mode. "Helen, listen to me. Keep this under your hat for now. Whatever you do, do not let Richard know you're planning to leave him."

"Why?" I asked, confused.

"Don't be naive." Monica tapped my forehead. "Right now, he thinks he's got you under control. If you suddenly want a divorce, he'll smell a rat. What if he starts shifting his assets?"

Her words were a wake-up call.

Richard and I had been married for eight years. He'd climbed the ladder from a mid-level manager to executive vice president. Although he was competent, his rise was mostly fueled by my family's resources.

My father was the chairman of Grantwell Corporation.

Back when Richard's company was on the brink of collapse, my father stepped in and bailed them out with a massive capital injection for my sake.

Since then, Grantwell had funneled countless major projects his way. One could say that at least half of his current success was built on my family's back.

"Your marital assets consist mainly of real estate, savings, and his company shares, right?" Monica asked.

I nodded. "We have three houses. Two are in my name, and one is in his. As for savings... I'm not entirely sure. I've always handled the household expenses, so I never kept tabs on his salary account."

"And the shares?" Monica pressed. "Did he acquire those after you were married?"

"Yes," I replied.

Monica's eyes lit up. "That makes things much simpler. Any shares acquired during the marriage are marital assets. Helen, what you need to do now is discreetly collect evidence regarding his finances."

"And one more thing," Monica said, her face suddenly serious. "When you get home, make sure you find one thing."

"What exactly?" I asked.

"A ledger," Monica replied. "A detailed record of every cent, every project, and every bit of support your father or Grantwell Corporation ever gave his company since day one of your marriage.

"That record is going to be our ace up our sleeve."

A realization clicked in my mind.

My father was a meticulous man. Back then, even though he agreed to help Richard, he had insisted behind closed doors that I keep a separate record.

"Business is business," he had said. "Whether it's family or a husband, keep a ledger."

That ledger recorded every "favor" my family had done for him over the last eight years.

I used to think it was unnecessary, even a bit cold, but I never imagined that today, it would become my final line of defense.

I arrived home to find Grace in the middle of cleaning. I told her to take a break and headed into the study. The ledger was tucked away on the very top shelf of the bookcase, hidden inside a locked box.

I climbed onto a stool and took it down. Inside the box, the familiar leather-bound notebook lay still. I flipped to the first page.

The date was eight years ago. The first entry: [Grantwell Corporation injected 1.6 million dollars to help Richard's company through its Series A funding crisis.]

I went through it page by page. Every cent was accounted for.

But as I reached the final page, a folded piece of paper slipped out from between the leaves. I picked it up and smoothed it out. It was a paternity test.

The subjects were Richard and Leo. And in the results column, the words stared back at me in black and white: [Paternity Excluded.]

My mind went blank.