Chapter 3 - THE WOMAN WHO KNEW TOO MUCHBy Monday morning, the story of our anniversary gala had spread through half of Atlanta.
The gossip was predictable.
A cheating husband.
An angry wife.
A beautiful mistress wearing the wrong necklace.
People loved a scandal they could understand in a single sentence.
What they didn't understand was that our company was fighting for survival.
I spent the weekend in my office with Rebecca and Nathan, reviewing contracts, payment schedules, and the growing list of decisions Grant had made without my knowledge.
Every new document seemed to reveal another door I hadn't known existed.
But one question kept returning.
Why had Marla helped him?
I had known her for nine years.
She wasn't careless.
She wasn't easily manipulated.
And she certainly wasn't naive.
She understood budgets, vendor contracts, and approval procedures better than most of our senior managers.
Whatever had happened, I couldn't believe she had simply signed whatever Grant placed in front of her.
At ten on Monday morning, Rebecca called.
“Marla has retained an attorney.”
I stared through my office window.
“Good.”
Rebecca sounded surprised.
“Good?”
“If she has a lawyer, maybe she'll finally tell us the truth.”
“Possibly. But her attorney has requested that all communication go through counsel.”
“Then that's what we'll do.”
I hung up and looked around my office.
The framed magazine covers.
The architectural models.
The photographs from groundbreaking ceremonies.
So much of my life was displayed on those walls.
Yet I had never noticed how many photographs showed Grant standing at the center while I stood beside him.
I began taking them down.
Not because I wanted to erase the past.
Because I needed to see the walls underneath.
Celeste's confessionAt eleven forty-five, my assistant told me Celeste Warren was downstairs.
I almost refused to see her.
Then I remembered her expression at the gala when Grant had told her to be quiet.
“Send her up.”
Celeste entered wearing dark slacks and a cream-colored sweater.
Without the silver gown and sapphire necklace, she looked younger.
More nervous.
She held a small leather handbag in both hands.
“Thank you for seeing me.”
I remained behind my desk.
“What do you want, Celeste?”
She swallowed.
“I want to explain.”
“You can explain whatever you believe is relevant. But I'm not interested in excuses.”
She nodded.
“I understand.”
For several seconds, she stared at the floor.
Then she looked up.
“Grant told me you were separated.”
I felt a familiar pain move through my chest.
“Did he?”
“He said you stayed married for the business.”
“And you believed him?”
“At first.”
I waited.
Celeste's eyes filled with tears.
“Later, I knew things didn't add up.”
“Then why did you stay?”
She looked ashamed.
“Because I wanted to believe I was special.”
There it was.
Not a defense.
Not an excuse.
Just an ugly truth.
I understood it better than I wanted to.
For years, I had wanted to believe I was special to Grant, too.
Celeste opened her handbag.
“I brought something.”
She placed a folder on my desk.
Inside were printed emails, messages, and bank statements.
I didn't touch them immediately.
“What are these?”
“Grant asked me to create marketing materials for a development company. He said it was his private business.”
“Which company?”
“Ashcroft Holdings.”
My pulse quickened.
“What kind of marketing materials?”
“Investor presentations. Property renderings. Promotional brochures.”
I looked at her.
“Did you use our company's architectural drawings?”
She hesitated.
“Grant gave me files.”
“Did he tell you where they came from?”
“He said he owned them.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course he had.
Celeste continued.
“I thought he was going to leave you and start a new company. He told me we'd build something together.”
The words stung more than I expected.
Not because I still wanted Grant.
But because I remembered when he had said those same words to me.
She reached into her bag again.
This time she removed a small velvet pouch.
The sapphire necklace.
“I want you to have this.”
I looked at it.
“No.”
She blinked.
“But it's yours.”
“The design is mine. The purchase and payment trail are part of an investigation. Give it to Rebecca so it can be documented and preserved properly.”
Celeste nodded.
Then she whispered something I hadn't expected.
“I'm sorry.”
I studied her face.
She seemed sincere.
But sincerity couldn't undo choices.
“I'm glad you're sorry,” I said. “What matters now is what you do next.”
She nodded again.
Then she hesitated.
“There's something else.”
I waited.
“Grant wasn't the one who first contacted me about the marketing work.”
“Who was?”
“Marla.”
I sat straighter.
“When?”
“Almost two years ago.”
“And what did she say?”
Celeste's voice dropped.
“She told me Grant needed someone discreet. Someone who understood luxury branding and wouldn't ask too many questions.”
I felt my hands turn cold.
Marla had introduced Grant to Celeste.
The woman who had organized our anniversary gala had also helped arrange the relationship that humiliated me at it.
“Did Marla know about the affair?”
Celeste looked at me.
“She knew before you did.”
I stared at her.
Then she said the words that changed everything.
“Elena, I don't think Marla was helping Grant because she liked him.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because three weeks ago, I heard them arguing.”
“About what?”
“Money. The company. And something called the Mercer file.”
I frowned.
“The Mercer file?”
Celeste nodded.
“Grant told her he wanted out. Marla said it was too late.”
“What exactly did she say?”
Celeste took a shaky breath.
“She said, ‘You don't get to walk away after what happened to Daniel Mercer.’”
I stopped breathing for a moment.
Daniel Mercer.
I knew that name.
Five years earlier, Daniel had been a structural engineer working on one of our largest commercial projects.
He had resigned suddenly after a dispute over design changes.
Grant had told me Daniel was difficult, unreliable, and possibly facing disciplinary problems.
I had believed him.
A month later, Daniel moved away.
I hadn't heard his name since.
Now Celeste was telling me that whatever had happened to him was connected to our financial conspiracy.
“Are you sure that's what she said?”
“Yes.”
I stood.
“Rebecca needs to see these documents.”
Celeste rose, too.
“Elena?”
I looked at her.
“There's one more thing.”
She pulled out her phone.
“I recorded part of the argument because Grant had started frightening me.”
She opened an audio file.
Marla's voice emerged from the speaker.
Cold.
Controlled.
“You think Elena finding out about the money is your biggest problem?”
Then Grant's voice.
“What do you want from me?”
A pause.
May you like
And Marla's reply.
“I want what you promised me when we buried the Mercer report.”
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