Chapter 3 - THE WATCH ON THE NURSERY TABLE
I stared at Vincent's watch.
He had owned it since before we were married.
I had given it to him on our second anniversary.
He had laughed when I presented it.
“You spent too much.”
“You're worth it.”
Back then, I had believed every word I said.
Now the watch felt like evidence.
“Why would Camille give this to you?”
Marisol shook her head.
“She didn't say.”
“Did she come inside?”
“No.”
“Did she look afraid?”
Marisol hesitated.
“Yes.”
That single word stayed with me.
Afraid of what?
Of Vincent?
Of me?
Of whatever was coming next?
I called Eleanor.
She told me to bring the watch to her office.
I couldn't leave Lucas, so she came to our house instead.
Mom stayed with the baby while Eleanor and I sat in the dining room.
She examined the watch carefully.
“Did Vincent give this to you?”
“No.”
“Has he ever mentioned Camille?”
“No.”
“Has he ever mentioned account 814?”
“No.”
She turned the watch over.
“There's something etched inside the clasp.”
I leaned closer.
A tiny sequence of letters and numbers.
CR-814.
Eleanor looked at me.
“That's not an engraving a husband puts on a sentimental watch.”
“What does it mean?”
“I don't know yet.”
She placed the watch in an evidence envelope.
“We need to assume it means something.”
“Can you tell whether it belonged to Vincent?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Watch repair records.”
She looked at me.
“Do you still have your husband's old receipts?”
“I don't know.”
“Then we're going to find out.”
That afternoon, Vincent came home.
He walked through the front door carrying flowers.
Two dozen red roses.
Exactly as though we were still the couple from before.
He smiled when he saw me.
“You're up.”
I stared at him.
“You brought flowers.”
“I wanted to make things right.”
“Why now?”
He set the roses down.
“Because I've been a terrible husband.”
That almost made me laugh.
Not because it wasn't true.
Because it was the first truthful sentence he had offered me.
He crossed the room.
“How are you feeling?”
“Better.”
“And Lucas?”
“Asleep.”
Vincent looked toward the stairs.
“Can I see him?”
I moved in front of him.
“Why?”
He stopped.
“Because he's my son.”
“And I'm his mother.”
“Yes.”
His expression tightened.
“What is this?”
“You left me bleeding on an operating table.”
“I know.”
“You didn't come when my mother called.”
“I couldn't.”
“You didn't ask whether I was alive.”
“I was dealing with something.”
“What?”
He looked away.
“Business.”
I watched his face.
There was guilt there.
But not the guilt I expected.
He looked frightened.
That surprised me.
“Who is Camille?”
The change was immediate.
He didn't blink.
He didn't move.
But the warmth disappeared from his face.
“Where did you hear that name?”
“Answer me.”
“She works for a company I invest in.”
“Why was she in our house?”
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“She left your watch.”
He stared at me.
“What watch?”
I knew then.
He had expected the watch to be gone.
Or hidden.
Or lost.
Not in my hand.
“Your watch.”
He looked at it.
Then suddenly became very quiet.
“Where did you get that?”
“From Marisol.”
He turned toward the nanny.
Marisol stepped back.
“Don't involve her.”
Vincent looked at me.
“She shouldn't have gone through my things.”
“She didn't.”
“Then how did she get it?”
“Camille gave it to her.”
His jaw tightened.
“Camille shouldn't have come here.”
“So you know she came.”
Silence.
He realized the mistake too late.
I felt something inside me settle.
“You lied.”
“I didn't lie.”
“You just admitted she was here.”
He took a breath.
“She was desperate.”
“For what?”
“She thinks she's in trouble.”
“With whom?”
“People connected to my business.”
Eleanor's warning came back to me.
Don't tell him what you know yet.
I forced myself to remain calm.
“Why would she have your watch?”
“I gave it to her.”
That answer made no sense.
“When?”
“A few months ago.”
“Why?”
“I was helping her.”
“With what?”
He stepped closer.
“Please stop.”
“Why?”
“Because you don't understand what's happening.”
I looked at him.
“Then explain it.”
He couldn't.
Instead, he reached for my hand.
I moved away.
For a second, I saw genuine pain on his face.
Then it disappeared.
He looked toward the stairs.
“I need to see Lucas.”
“No.”
“You can't keep my son from me.”
“I am not keeping him from you.”
“Then let me upstairs.”
“Not tonight.”
His voice became colder.
“This is still my house.”
I looked him straight in the eye.
“Then prove it.”
He stared at me.
Finally, he walked away.
That night, Eleanor returned.
She brought documents.
“Your house isn't entirely yours.”
My stomach sank.
“What does that mean?”
“The property was refinanced eighteen months ago.”
“By whom?”
“Vincent.”
“For what?”
She placed a copy on the table.
A line of credit had been secured against the house.
The amount was enormous.
But that wasn't the worst part.
The borrower was not Vincent.
It was one of his private companies.
“I never signed this.”
“You did.”
She showed me the signature.
It looked like mine.
But I knew I hadn't signed this page.
“I didn't.”
“Then someone used a signature from another document.”
I felt sick.
“What happens if the company fails?”
“The house could become part of the collateral dispute.”
I looked upstairs toward Lucas.
I had thought my husband was cheating.
Now I was discovering that the roof over my son's head might be tied to a business I barely understood.
Eleanor lowered her voice.
“I also found something else.”
“What?”
“The account labeled 814.”
She placed a bank statement on the table.
The account belonged to an investment company Vincent controlled.
But one of the authorized users wasn't Vincent.
It was Camille Reed.
“And the money?”
“Transfers out.”
“To where?”
“Three different companies.”
I read the names.
One belonged to a construction firm.
One to a security company.
And one had a name I had never heard.
Carter Family Holdings.
“What is that?”
Eleanor looked at me.
“That's what we're going to find out.”
Then she turned over the final page.
May you like
The registered beneficiary wasn't Vincent.
It was Lucas.
