Chapter 6 - THE DECLARATION SERENA NEVER WROTE
Serena read the declaration three times.
Each time, her face lost more color.
"This isn't mine."
Mara did not answer immediately.
She was studying the notary block at the bottom of the page.
"The signature looks like yours."
"It is my signature."
"But the statement isn't?"
"No."
Serena pointed at the first paragraph.
"I have never seen Camilla threaten an employee."
She pointed at the second.
"I don't know anything about her misusing company money."
Then she looked at me.
"I'm sorry."
I wanted to say something generous.
I could not.
The woman sitting across from me had slept with my husband for more than a year.
Her remorse did not erase that.
But the document in front of us was bigger than my hurt.
"What did Lucas tell you that you were signing?" Mara asked.
"A vendor affidavit."
"Did you read it?"
Serena looked ashamed.
"Not carefully."
"Why not?"
"Because the first page was exactly what he said it was."
Mara flipped to the next page.
"And the signature page?"
"It was separate."
"He said the final packet would be assembled later."
Mara leaned back.
"Never sign detached signature pages."
Serena nodded.
"I know that now."
I looked at the date beside the signature.
Three weeks earlier.
The same week Lucas had entered my office at night.
The same week Gavin's dormant admin account was used.
The same week Serena said she found the L Project folder.
Everything was converging around the same five days.
"What happened that week?" I asked.
Serena frowned.
"What do you mean?"
"Something accelerated."
"He came into my office."
"He reactivated credentials."
"He had you sign documents."
"He started moving larger amounts of money."
"Why then?"
Serena looked down.
"Because you turned down the investor."
I stared at her.
"What investor?"
"Brent Holloway."
The name landed like a dropped plate.
Brent was a restaurant investor Lucas had introduced me to at a charity dinner two months earlier.
He had offered to inject eight hundred thousand dollars into Lumina in exchange for forty percent of the business.
I had laughed politely and told him I was not looking for money.
Lucas had been furious afterward.
He told me I had embarrassed him.
He called me shortsighted.
He said I did not understand how real businesses scaled.
I thought he was wounded because his friend had been rejected.
Now I understood something else.
"Brent was part of Mercer Coastal?"
Serena nodded.
"He was supposed to be one of the outside investors."
Mara wrote the name down.
"Do you have documents tying him to the plan?"
"On the drive."
"Emails?"
"A draft cap table and two messages."
Mara looked at me.
"Do you know him well?"
"No."
"Did you sign anything with him?"
"Nothing."
"Good."
Serena leaned forward.
"When you rejected him, Lucas came to the condo furious."
"He kept saying you had ruined the easy version."
My stomach tightened.
"The easy version of what?"
"Getting control."
She looked miserable.
"He said now he would have to pressure you harder."
I stood and walked to the window.
On the floor below, lunch service was beginning.
A server carried two bowls of soup past the kitchen doors.
A couple near the window clinked glasses.
Outside, San Diego was bright and ordinary.
Inside my office, I was discovering that the past year of my marriage had been a campaign.
Mara closed the court packet.
"We have a hearing in two days on the emergency request."
"Can he really remove me from my own restaurant?"
"He can ask."
"Will the judge do it?"
"Not based on a declaration we can rebut and ownership documents that contradict him."
She looked at Serena.
"But we need you to sign a truthful declaration today."
Serena nodded.
"I will."
"And you need independent counsel."
"Why?"
"Because if your signature was attached to a false statement, your interests are not identical to Camilla's."
Serena looked frightened.
"Am I in trouble?"
"I don't know."
Mara's tone was not comforting.
"That is why you need your own lawyer."
Serena rubbed her forehead.
"I can't afford one."
I surprised myself by speaking.
"I can give you names of legal aid organizations."
She looked at me.
"Why would you help me?"
"I'm not helping you."
I held her gaze.
"I'm helping the truth stay usable."
She nodded slowly.
There was relief in her face.
Not forgiveness.
Relief that I had not thrown her out.
Mara spent the next hour documenting Serena's account.
She asked where every file came from.
She asked what Serena had personally seen.
She separated memory from assumption.
She made Serena repeat dates until we were sure.
Then she asked about Beatrice.
"How often did Beatrice visit the condo?"
"Maybe six times."
I turned toward her.
"Six?"
"Sometimes for dinner."
That hurt in a new way.
Beatrice had sat in my dining room on Sundays and complained that I worked too much.
Then she had gone to dinner with my husband's mistress.
"Did she know Lucas was married?" Mara asked.
Serena gave her a confused look.
"She's his mother."
"I need clear answers."
"Yes."
"Did she ever discuss Camilla with you?"
"Constantly."
I gripped the back of a chair.
"What did she say?"
Serena looked at me carefully.
"Do you really need this part?"
"Yes."
"She said you were cold."
"She said you cared more about the restaurant than Lucas."
"She said you made him feel small because you earned more."
I almost laughed.
Lucas had never told me my success made him feel small.
He told other women instead.
"Anything else?"
Serena hesitated.
"She said the restaurant should have belonged to Lucas from the beginning."
There it was.
The obsession under everything.
Beatrice did not merely resent me.
She believed my success had been misplaced.
In her world, anything impressive near Lucas should automatically belong to him.
"Did she talk about the lunch before it happened?" Mara asked.
"Yes."
"How far in advance?"
"About two weeks."
"Did she say why she was bringing thirty-eight women?"
Serena nodded.
"She said she wanted witnesses."
Mara stopped writing.
"Witnesses to what?"
"To Camilla losing control."
My skin prickled.
"Those were her words?"
"Yes."
"Did she think I would?"
"She was sure."
Serena looked at me.
"She said you had been under pressure for months and were close to snapping."
I thought about every manufactured problem.
Late invoices.
Missing cash.
Supplier confusion.
Lucas picking fights when I came home exhausted.
Beatrice arriving without reservations.
The strategy was not one big act.
It was erosion.
Mara wrote something in capital letters on her pad.
"Who selected the thirty-eight women?"
Serena frowned.
"Beatrice did."
"Random friends?"
"No."
"Why those women?"
Serena thought for a moment.
"She said they were useful."
"Useful how?"
"Some were in charity boards."
"Some were donors."
"Some were connected to local press."
"A few had large social media followings."
My anger became cold.
The audience was curated.
Beatrice had not brought friends.
She had brought distribution.
"Diane Holloway," I said.
Serena nodded.
"Brent's wife."
I stared at her.
"What?"
"Diane is married to Brent Holloway."
I remembered Diane standing first.
Diane insisting on paying her own check.
Diane telling Beatrice a hostess should bring a credit card.
Had she known her husband was part of the proposed takeover?
Or had she been as manipulated as everyone else?
Mara wrote again.
"Do not contact her."
"Why?"
"Because I want to know what she does without prompting."
As if summoned by the sentence, my phone rang.
Diane Holloway.
Mara and I looked at each other.
"Answer," she said.
I put it on speaker.
"Hello?"
"Camilla?"
Diane sounded nervous.
"Yes."
"I'm sorry to bother you."
"You're not."
There was a pause.
"I need to ask you something strange."
"Okay."
"Did Beatrice tell you we all paid her before lunch?"
I felt the room stop.
"What?"
Diane swallowed audibly.
"She collected four hundred dollars from each of us last week."
"She said it covered the meal and a charitable donation."
I looked at Mara.
Mara's pen froze above the page.
"How many of you paid?" I asked.
"All thirty-eight."
I did the math instantly.
Fifteen thousand two hundred dollars.
"And you still paid six hundred eleven dollars yesterday?"
"Yes."
Diane's voice tightened.
"I thought the four hundred was partly for charity."
"I only realized last night that Beatrice never mentioned the charity at the restaurant."
I looked at Serena.
Serena's eyes were wide.
"Diane, what charity?"
"The Mercer Women's Education Fund."
I had never heard of it.
"Do you have the payment request?"
"Yes."
"Can you send it to me?"
"I already sent screenshots to your attorney's office."
Mara checked her phone.
A new email had arrived.
She opened it.
The first screenshot showed a group message from Beatrice.
Ladies, Friday will be my treat at Lumina.
Please send $400 each in advance so I can bundle our charitable contribution and reserve a surprise for the group.
My hands went cold.
Beatrice had collected $15,200 before announcing that she was paying for everything.
Then she had planned to leave me with the entire bill anyway.
Mara looked at me.
"This changes the lunch."
"How?"
"Because now there may be a separate issue between Beatrice and those women."
Diane was still on the line.
"Camilla?"
"I'm here."
"There's something else."
"What?"
"Brent and I had a fight last night."
I looked at Mara again.
"About what?"
"About you."
"Why?"
"Because when I told him what happened at Lumina, he said I should have stayed out of it."
Diane's voice became quieter.
"Then he said Beatrice was supposed to make you look unstable, not herself."
No one in my office moved.
"Diane," Mara said.
"This is Camilla's attorney."
"I think we should speak privately and carefully."
"I was hoping you would say that," Diane replied.
"Because I checked Brent's home office this morning."
She took a breath.
May you like
"And I found a folder with your restaurant's name on it."
