Chapter 6 - The Mansion They Tried to Sell
"THEY'RE TRYING TO SELL A HOUSE THEY DON'T OWN?"
Naomi Fischer's disbelief came through the conference call.
She was the managing director of Briarstone Capital, the development company listed in the fraudulent purchase agreement.
Leah had contacted her within an hour of our meeting with Celia.
By Wednesday morning, Naomi had agreed to speak with us and her own attorneys present.
"I was told the sale had been authorized by Apex Holdings," Naomi explained. "Mr. Hayes represented himself as the executive responsible for the property."
"He has never held that position," I said.
"Then we've been seriously misled."
She sounded furious.
And she had every right to be.
Briarstone had spent weeks examining the property, preparing financing, and negotiating what it believed was a legitimate transaction.
Garrett and Delilah hadn't merely attempted to steal from my company.
They had drawn another business into their scheme.
Naomi continued.
"We paid a substantial earnest-money deposit into an escrow account. My counsel will immediately instruct the title company to suspend closing pending verification."
Leah nodded.
"We've already notified the escrow agent and title insurer that the seller authorization is disputed. We're also taking steps to place the appropriate parties on notice of the ownership issue."
"Do you expect the transaction to be canceled?" Naomi asked.
"Unless Apex independently authorizes a sale, there will be no legitimate closing."
I spoke for the first time in several minutes.
"Ms. Fischer, I'm sorry your company became involved."
She paused.
"Mrs. Hayes, you didn't forge these documents."
"No. But I understand that you're suffering consequences because someone used my company to deceive you."
Her voice softened.
"I appreciate that."
When the call ended, Leah looked at me.
"Most people in your position would be demanding damages before they apologized."
"Briarstone didn't put a chain on my refrigerator."
"No," she agreed. "They didn't."
I looked at the purchase agreement on the table.
Eight million four hundred thousand dollars.
That was what Garrett and Delilah had been prepared to sell our family home for.
Not because they owned it.
Not because I had agreed.
But because they believed I would never challenge them.
I wondered what their plan had been for Noah and Sophie.
Had Garrett intended to tell the children we were moving?
Had Delilah already chosen another mansion?
Would they have expected me to accept the disappearance of an entire corporate property as another unfortunate misunderstanding?
I rubbed my temples.
"Leah, explain something to me."
"Of course."
"If Garrett truly believed the mansion belonged to him, why create all these documents?"
She regarded me carefully.
"That's the question, isn't it?"
A man making an honest ownership claim generally didn't need forged corporate resolutions.
He didn't need hidden accounts.
He didn't need a former treasury employee to manufacture approvals.
Garrett knew the difference between what he wanted and what he owned.
He simply believed he could close that difference by force.
That afternoon, he called me.
I almost let it go to voicemail.
Then I answered.
"Garrett."
"Victoria, please don't hang up."
I remained silent.
"I know things have gotten out of control."
"That's one way to describe it."
He sighed.
"Mom says you're trying to put us in prison."
I looked at the ceiling.
"Your mother is responsible for her own decisions."
"She's sixty-five."
"She's also an adult."
"She's my mother."
"And Noah is your son."
Silence.
I had spent two days trying not to ask the question burning inside me.
Now I couldn't stop.
"Why, Garrett?"
He exhaled.
"Why what?"
"Why did you lock our refrigerator?"
"We've been through this."
"No. You've explained your anger. You've explained your mother's feelings. You haven't explained why you were willing to hurt our children."
His voice became defensive.
"I wasn't trying to hurt them."
"Then what were you trying to do?"
"Make you understand how it feels to have no control!"
I stared at the wall.
There it was.
Not money.
Not groceries.
Control.
"You could have told me you were unhappy," I said.
"I did!"
"You told me I embarrassed you. You told me I worked too much. You told me every success I achieved made you look small."
"Because it did!"
His words struck harder than I expected.
I swallowed.
"Then you should have asked yourself why you needed your wife to become smaller so you could feel important."
He didn't answer.
After a while, he said quietly, "You don't understand what it's like being married to someone everyone admires."
I closed my eyes.
"No, Garrett. I understand exactly what it's like loving someone who resents you."
His breathing changed.
"Victoria—"
"Did you sign those loan documents?"
Silence.
"Did you instruct Celia Moore to use my signature?"
He said nothing.
"Did you try to sell the estate?"
Finally, he spoke.
"Mom said it would all work out."
I felt something inside me collapse.
Nine years.
Two children.
Thousands of ordinary memories.
And when confronted with evidence of a multimillion-dollar fraud, my husband could offer only one explanation.
His mother had told him it would work out.
"Goodbye, Garrett."
I ended the call.
For several minutes, I sat without moving.
I expected anger.
Instead, I felt grief.
The man who had once promised to build a life beside me had spent years trying to build one on top of me.
And I had mistaken my willingness to endure it for strength.
That evening, Rowan met me at the hotel.
She had contacted Garrett's attorney regarding the allegations in the custody petition.
"The attempted property sale may become relevant to financial disclosure," she explained. "But we need to keep the parenting issues focused on the children's welfare."
"Is there any chance he'll take them?"
"Courts consider many factors. There's no automatic outcome. But we've documented the incident, your response, and the children's current arrangements."
I nodded.
"What about the corporate fraud?"
"Separate investigation. Your company and its attorneys will handle that with the bank and law enforcement."
I looked down at my hands.
"I used to think if I worked hard enough, I could solve any problem."
Rowan smiled sadly.
"Marriage isn't a logistics problem, Victoria."
"I know."
"Sometimes the hardest thing isn't finding a way to fix someone else's behavior. It's accepting that you cannot."
After she left, I joined my mother and the children for dinner.
We ate spaghetti.
Sophie accidentally dropped a meatball onto the carpet.
She froze.
"I'm sorry!"
I knelt beside her.
"It's okay, honey."
"Are you mad?"
"No."
"But I made a mess."
I helped her pick it up.
"Then we clean it together."
She smiled.
Such a small thing.
Yet I wondered how many times Garrett's anger had taught our children that ordinary mistakes were dangerous.
Later, after bedtime, Leah called again.
I expected good news about the suspended property sale.
Instead, her tone was grave.
"Victoria, the company's independent directors have called an emergency board meeting."
My stomach tightened.
"About the fraud?"
"About the fraud, the residence, and your decision to relocate the corporate furnishings during a marital dispute."
"But legal authorized it."
"They know. The records support that. Still, the board has a responsibility to review whether corporate resources were handled appropriately."
I sat down.
"What are they proposing?"
Leah hesitated.
"An independent investigation into the company's internal controls and executive housing arrangements."
"Fine. I'll cooperate."
"Victoria..."
Her silence warned me.
"Say it."
"Several directors believe you should temporarily step away from executive authority while the review takes place."
I stared at the phone.
For fifteen years, Apex had been the one thing I could always rely on.
Now my husband's betrayal was threatening that, too.
"Are they trying to remove me as CEO?"
May you like
Leah answered quietly.
"Tomorrow morning, they may vote to do exactly that."
