Chapter 14 - The Hearing After the Hearing
I wanted to call Camille immediately.
Eleanor did not.
"No spontaneous phone calls."
I stared at her.
"She contacted me."
"Through my office, which suggests she understands there are lawyers involved."
"What if she changes her mind?"
"Then chasing her will not improve the evidence."
I hated patience almost as much as I hated maybe.
Eleanor's assistant replied to Camille and proposed a call for the next morning with counsel present.
Camille accepted within six minutes.
That frightened me.
People who needed time to decide usually took it.
Camille sounded like someone who had already decided and had been waiting for the door to open.
The next problem arrived before dinner.
Vincent's attorney sent a demand accusing me of interfering with his parenting time because the neutral exchange center could not accommodate the schedule Vincent wanted after his return.
I read the email twice.
"He is still in New York."
Eleanor nodded.
"His requested time begins two hours after his scheduled landing tomorrow."
"So he wants me waiting with an eleven-day-old baby in a parking lot because his plane might arrive on time?"
"The child is thirteen days old now."
I looked at her.
"That is your correction?"
"Accuracy is free."
I sighed.
"What do we do?"
"Offer a reasonable time after his arrival and feeding window."
"Will that make me look cooperative?"
"Do it because it is good for Lucas, not because of optics."
She was right.
I was beginning to see how easily Vincent could still control me if every decision became a response to what a judge might think.
I needed a life, not a performance.
We proposed a visit at the apartment building's family room with a professional parenting coordinator present for the first exchange.
Vincent rejected it.
He wanted the marital home.
I refused.
He wanted his office.
I refused.
He wanted a Carter Security driver to pick up Lucas without me.
I refused.
Eleanor finally wrote one sentence that ended the argument for the evening.
The court ordered a neutral exchange, and my client will comply with the court's order.
Vincent's lawyer stopped responding.
At eight, Mom arrived with dinner.
She had made chicken soup because apparently all family crises could be improved by boiling something for several hours.
I ate at the kitchen counter while Lucas slept.
"What do you think Camille wants?"
Mom asked.
"I don't know."
"You have a guess."
"A lot of them."
"Give me the worst one."
I looked at her.
"She is pregnant."
Mom froze with her spoon halfway to her mouth.
"Do not say that into the universe."
Despite everything, I laughed.
"You asked."
"I withdraw the question."
I looked down at my soup.
"Or maybe she wants money."
"From you?"
"Maybe she thinks I have evidence that can hurt Vincent."
"Do you?"
"Some."
Mom lowered her voice.
"Or maybe she is afraid of him too."
I had not considered that seriously.
In my mind, Camille had been elegant, confident, and protected by proximity to power.
But so had I.
From the outside, I had been the wife in the limestone house.
People probably imagined I was the safest woman in the room.
The next morning, Camille joined the video call at nine exactly.
She was not wearing makeup.
Her dark hair was pulled back.
She looked younger than I remembered and far more tired.
Eleanor began.
"Ms. Mercer, before we start, I represent Mrs. Carter only."
"I understand."
"Nothing about this call creates an attorney-client relationship with you."
"I understand."
"You may want your own counsel."
Camille looked directly into the camera.
"I have one."
"Is your lawyer aware you are speaking with us?"
"Yes."
Eleanor nodded.
"Then tell us what you believe my client needs to know."
Camille looked at me.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
I expected an apology.
I expected tears.
I expected defensiveness.
She gave me none of those.
"Vincent told me your marriage was functionally over before I slept with him."
The sentence landed harder than I wanted it to.
"You still knew he was married."
"Yes."
Her answer was immediate.
No excuse.
No softening.
"I did."
I appreciated the honesty and hated her at the same time.
Both feelings fit.
"How long?"
I asked.
"Nine months."
My throat tightened.
Nine months.
Almost the entire pregnancy.
Camille continued before I could speak.
"The first time was in January, before you announced the pregnancy publicly."
"He knew I was pregnant."
"I know that now."
I stared at her.
"He told you he didn't?"
"He told me you had already agreed to separate and that the pregnancy complicated the timing."
I felt physically cold.
"We had never discussed separation."
"I know."
Her voice broke slightly for the first time.
"I know because I saw the draft plan later."
Eleanor leaned forward.
"What draft plan?"
Camille looked toward someone off-screen, probably her lawyer.
Then back at us.
"Vincent had Martin prepare a separation contingency file."
I closed my eyes.
"I found part of it."
Her face changed.
"Where?"
"In my bedroom."
Camille looked down.
"Then you know he planned the allegations before you gave birth."
"Yes."
"You may not know why."
Eleanor spoke.
"Tell us."
Camille took a breath.
"Carter Holdings has been under liquidity pressure for almost a year."
"How much pressure?"
"Enough that one failed refinancing could trigger defaults across several entities."
I thought of the eighteen-point-four-million-dollar bridge loan.
"The Mercer obligation?"
Camille's mouth tightened.
"That is what Vincent calls it privately because my firm arranged the lender group."
"Did you personally lend him money?"
"No."
"Then why is your name everywhere?"
"Because I structured the transaction."
She paused.
"And because I made the worst professional decision of my career by mixing it with him."
Eleanor cut in.
"What does Mrs. Carter's signature have to do with the refinancing?"
Camille looked at me again.
"A portion of the collateral traces back to an interest that appreciated during the marriage."
"I don't understand."
"Your original prenuptial agreement preserves certain rights differently than the version Vincent gave the lender."
My hands went cold.
"So the altered prenup was used in the deal?"
"A version with the added schedule was included in diligence."
Eleanor's expression changed.
"Do you have a copy?"
"Yes."
"How did you get it?"
"Vincent sent it to our deal room."
"When?"
"Five months ago."
I stared at the screen.
Five months.
This had not started when Lucas was born.
It had not started when I found perfume on Vincent's clothes.
He had been building a financial version of my consent while I was building a nursery.
Camille continued.
"The lender's counsel later asked for fresh spousal consent because there were questions about the schedule."
"Questions like what?"
"Metadata."
Eleanor leaned forward.
"Explain."
"The PDF schedule appeared to have been created years after the date of the prenup."
My stomach turned.
"So they knew it might be fake."
"They knew there was a discrepancy."
"And they still continued?"
"They demanded new consent from you."
There it was.
The leather folder.
The notary.
The urgency.
Everything snapped into place.
"He didn't need my signature to protect Lucas."
"No."
Camille's answer was quiet.
"He needed it to cure the problem."
I looked at Eleanor.
She was already writing.
"Why immediately after birth?"
Camille swallowed.
"Because the closing schedule was fixed."
"That is not enough."
I heard anger rise in my voice.
"Why did he think I would sign after giving birth?"
Camille looked away.
"Because he said you always signed what he put in front of you."
I stopped breathing.
The humiliation was almost worse than the affair.
He had not only betrayed me.
He had studied my trust as a business asset.
Camille looked back at me.
"I am sorry."
"Do not apologize yet."
My voice shook.
"Tell me where he was while I was hemorrhaging."
Silence.
Camille's face changed.
Eleanor spoke gently.
"Ms. Mercer?"
Camille closed her eyes for a second.
"At the Langham."
"With you?"
"Yes."
My chest hurt.
"Did he know I was bleeding?"
She looked at me.
"Yes."
The room disappeared around me.
I saw the hospital ceiling again.
The lights.
Mom's face.
The phone on speaker.
Your wife could die.
I can not leave right now.
Handle it.
Camille kept talking.
"His phone rang several times."
"And?"
"He told me there was a complication."
"What kind?"
Her eyes filled.
"He said you were hemorrhaging."
I could barely hear myself.
"What did you say?"
"I told him to go."
"Did he?"
"No."
My hands clenched beneath the table.
"Why?"
Camille looked toward the edge of the screen.
Then back at me.
"Because at midnight, the lender's representatives were coming upstairs to finalize terms."
I laughed once.
It sounded wrong in the room.
"So it really was business."
Camille looked ashamed.
"Partly."
"What does partly mean?"
She did not answer immediately.
That was when I understood there was still something she did not want to say.
"What happened after the meeting?"
I asked.
Camille looked at Eleanor.
Eleanor said nothing.
Finally, Camille answered.
"The meeting ended around one thirty."
My heartbeat slowed.
"But his car stayed until four thirty-eight."
Her eyes met mine.
"Yes."
"Why?"
The silence told me before she did.
"He stayed with me."
I closed my eyes.
The affair had continued while I was in surgery.
Not before he knew.
Not because he could not get back.
After he knew.
After the business meeting ended.
After someone told him his wife could die.
He stayed.
Camille spoke again, but her voice sounded distant.
"There is one more thing."
I opened my eyes.
She held up a second phone.
Black.
Small.
Unremarkable.
"Vincent gave me this for deal communications."
Eleanor leaned closer to the screen.
"What is on it?"
Camille looked directly at me.
May you like
"Messages he thinks were deleted."
