Chapter 6 - THE HOUSE HE STOLE BEFORE THE DIVORCE

By noon, Nathan had changed the locks on our house.

I found out from the housekeeper, Rosa, who called me from her car in tears.

“Mrs. Mercer, my key won’t work.”

“Mine won’t either.”

“He told me not to come back.”

“Did he pay you what he owes you?”

“No.”

“Then don’t sign anything he sends.”

Rosa hesitated.

“Mrs. Mercer, there is a moving truck outside.”

I looked at Abigail.

“What kind of moving truck?”

“They’re taking boxes in.”

“Whose boxes?”

Rosa lowered her voice.

“Miss Arden’s.”

I closed my eyes.

It had been less than twenty-four hours since Nathan slapped me onto the floor.

He had already moved his mistress into my home.

Abigail reached for the phone.

“Rosa, this is Abigail Ross.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Please take photographs from a public location and then leave.”

“Am I in trouble?”

“No.”

“But do not confront anyone.”

Rosa promised she would not.

After the call ended, Abigail looked at me.

“He wants a reaction.”

“He’ll get one.”

“No.”

I stood and reached for my coat.

“He’ll get the reaction he deserves.”

Abigail blocked the conference-room door.

“Emma.”

“I’m not going to scream at them.”

“That is exactly what he wants the judge to believe you’ll do.”

“I’m not going to the house.”

“Then where are you going?”

“The county recorder’s office.”

Her eyebrows lifted.

Ten minutes later, I showed her the document on my phone.

Our home had been purchased two months before the wedding.

Nathan chose it.

I paid the down payment from my inheritance account.

He insisted the deed be placed in both names because we were “starting our life together.”

My mother’s attorney refused.

At the time, Nathan had been furious.

I had almost overruled the attorney.

Then my mother got sick.

The paperwork remained unfinished.

The deed was still in my name alone.

Nathan had forgotten.

So had I.

Abigail smiled for the first time in twenty-four hours.

“That helps.”

“How much?”

“Enough that changing the locks becomes very stupid.”

By four o’clock, a court order restored my access and prohibited either party from removing property.

Nathan received it while a mover carried one of Celeste’s garment racks through my front door.

Rosa sent me a photograph from across the street.

Nathan stood on the porch reading the order.

Celeste stood behind him in one of my bathrobes.

My bathrobe.

I stared at the picture for several seconds.

Then another arrived.

Celeste was holding the framed photograph of my mother she had thrown onto the couch the night before.

This time, she carried it toward a trash bag.

I felt something tear loose inside me.

Abigail saw the photograph.

“Do not go there.”

“I know.”

“Say it.”

“I will not go there.”

The restraint cost me more than I expected.

At six, Nathan finally called.

I answered from Abigail’s office.

“What?”

His voice was controlled.

“You sent a court officer to my house.”

“My house.”

“Our house.”

“Read the deed.”

He was silent.

That silence felt good.

“You always were petty about paperwork,” he said.

“You always were careless with things you thought women handled for you.”

“Do you want this divorce to become ugly?”

“It became ugly when you hit me.”

“You provoked me.”

Abigail closed her eyes.

I let the words sit there.

Then I said quietly.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For saying that on a recorded line.”

Nathan hung up.

Thirty seconds later, his attorney called Abigail.

She declined.

Five minutes later, the business news channel changed its banner.

MERCER LUXE CEO DENIES ASSAULT ALLEGATIONS.

Nathan walked out of his attorney’s office surrounded by microphones.

“I have never struck my wife,” he said.

The lie was broadcast live.

Abigail stared at the screen.

“He just contradicted himself within six minutes.”

“Can we use it?”

“We can use everything.”

My phone buzzed again.

Unknown number.

A photograph loaded.

It showed my bedroom.

Celeste was sitting on the edge of my bed.

She wore my mother’s pearl earrings.

I stopped breathing for a moment.

Those pearls had been inside a locked jewelry drawer.

I had not worn them since the funeral.

Another message arrived.

THEY LOOK BETTER ON ME.

Abigail took the phone from my hand before I could type.

“Evidence.”

“She is wearing my mother’s jewelry.”

“I know.”

“She went into a locked drawer.”

“I know.”

“She knew my mother.”

“I know.”

I stood so quickly the chair rolled backward.

“What if this was never random?”

Abigail’s expression changed.

“What do you mean?”

“What if Nathan didn’t just meet Celeste eighteen months ago?”

“He may have known her earlier.”

“No.”

I turned toward the old staff photograph on the laptop.

“What if she came to Mercer Luxe because of me?”

Abigail stared at me.

I opened the archived page showing Cecilia Ward beside my mother.

Then I enlarged the photograph.

There was a man partly cropped from the far right edge.

Only half his face was visible.

Dark hair.

Young.

Smiling.

I knew that face.

Nathan.

The photograph had been taken nine years ago.

Two years before Nathan claimed we first met.

The court order restoring access to the house was served just after sunset.

Nathan did not leave immediately.

He made the court officer wait on the porch while he called three lawyers.

Then he carried one suitcase to his car and left the rest of Celeste's things inside as if daring me to touch them.

I returned only after a locksmith, an inventory specialist, and Abigail's investigator arrived.

The house smelled like Celeste's perfume.

A champagne glass sat on my mother's piano.

My bedroom drawers had been opened.

Two dresses were missing.

So were the pearl earrings and gold watch.

The investigator photographed everything.

I stood in the center of the bedroom and felt rage rise through me.

Then I saw something beneath the bed.

A thin white card.

It was a temporary access credential from Mercer Luxe headquarters.

Issued to Cecilia Ward.

Not Celeste Arden.

The issue date was eight months before Nathan supposedly hired her.

Abigail turned it over.

On the back was a handwritten code.

I recognized the first four digits.

They were the access prefix for the old design archive.

Celeste had been inside Mercer Luxe months before her official employment began.

Nathan's lie about when they met was no longer only personal.

It could place her inside restricted records during the exact period when the forged ownership documents appeared.

I looked around my bedroom one last time.

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Nathan had moved her into my home to humiliate me.

Instead, he had left evidence under my bed.