Chapter 2 - THE RETREAT
The retreat was held at Blackwood Ridge, a private mountain resort three hours from Seattle where the suites cost more per night than our first apartment had cost per month.
Aaron liked places that reminded people how successful he was.
Blackwood Ridge did that before guests even reached the lobby.
The entrance rose four stories beneath cedar beams and glass walls, with fireplaces large enough to stand inside and a view that made the mountains look close enough to touch.
Employees had lined up near the registration tables when we arrived.
Someone applauded when Aaron entered.
Then more people joined.
Aaron smiled the way he smiled on magazine covers.
Warm.
Confident.
Accessible without ever looking ordinary.
Jasmine stood beside him.
I stood four steps behind.
A photographer raised his camera.
"Mr. Prescott, Ms. Vale, right here."
Jasmine did not correct him.
Neither did Aaron.
I continued walking.
The photographer finally noticed me.
"Mrs. Prescott, could we get one with the three of you?"
Aaron glanced back.
"Later."
The word was casual.
The humiliation was not.
I saw two employees exchange looks.
One of them, a product manager named Leah Benton, had worked at the company since the year Aaron and I were married.
She looked furious on my behalf.
I gave her a small smile.
It was not reassurance.
It was a warning not to risk her job for me.
At the registration desk, a young woman searched for my name.
Her expression changed.
"Mrs. Prescott, I have you in the Cedar Wing."
"And Mr. Prescott?"
She swallowed.
"The Summit Residence."
Blackwood Ridge's Summit Residence was a private three-bedroom villa at the top of the property.
Aaron and I had stayed there twice.
"Who else is in the residence?"
The woman looked miserable.
"I was told Ms. Vale is in the east guest suite and Mrs. Eleanor Prescott is in the west guest suite."
I let the information settle.
My husband had moved another woman into the villa where his wife should have been sleeping.
Not secretly.
Not accidentally.
Administratively.
He had made someone enter it into the reservation system.
"And where exactly is the Cedar Wing?"
"Across the courtyard."
"Thank you."
A voice behind me interrupted.
"Actually, that won't work."
I turned.
A man in a navy suit was approaching from the lobby office.
He was in his early sixties, silver-haired, composed, and familiar in a way I could not place immediately.
Then he held out his hand.
"Mrs. Prescott, I'm Thomas Bell, general manager."
I remembered him.
He had managed the Whitmore family's resort properties before my father sold most of them.
"Mr. Bell."
His eyes flicked briefly toward the registration screen.
"Your reservation has been corrected."
The young woman looked startled.
"Sir?"
"Mrs. Prescott is in the owner's suite."
Silence.
Even I blinked.
"The owner's suite?"
Thomas gave me a discreet smile.
"Blackwood Ridge was acquired last year by Northstar Hospitality Holdings."
I understood before he finished.
Northstar was one of the Whitmore Family Trust's newer investment vehicles.
I had approved the acquisition package but had never paid attention to the property names inside it.
Aaron did not know either.
Thomas lowered his voice.
"Your trust owns sixty-two percent of this resort."
For the first time that day, I almost laughed.
"Does my husband know?"
"Apparently not."
Footsteps approached behind us.
Eleanor had arrived in time to hear the last sentence.
"Know what?"
Thomas straightened professionally.
"Mrs. Prescott's accommodation has been upgraded."
Eleanor looked at the key packet in his hand.
"To where?"
"The owner's suite."
Her eyes sharpened.
"Aaron reserved the Summit Residence for the family."
I looked at her.
"Apparently I'm not in the family residence."
She heard the edge beneath the words.
"Don't start."
Thomas pretended not to hear.
"Mrs. Prescott, your suite is ready."
He handed me the key.
"Thank you."
Eleanor waited until he stepped away.
"Was that necessary?"
"Was what necessary?"
"Making a point."
"I checked into the room assigned to me."
"You know exactly what I mean."
"Actually, Eleanor, I'm beginning to realize I haven't known what you mean for years."
Her face hardened.
"Aaron is under tremendous pressure."
"So I've heard."
"Jasmine is useful to him right now."
"Useful."
"Professionally."
I let a beat pass.
"Then I assume the company is paying for her room."
That stopped her.
Not because she cared about the cost.
Because she realized I was asking financial questions.
Eleanor recovered quickly.
"You are his wife, Alyssa."
"I am."
"Then behave like one."
I smiled.
"Which part of being his wife includes sleeping across the courtyard while his employee stays in our villa?"
Her mouth opened.
Then Aaron called her name from the lobby.
She turned away instead of answering.
I watched her cross the stone floor toward her son.
Jasmine stood beside him holding two room keys.
She noticed the packet in my hand.
"Oh, Mrs. Prescott, did they move you?"
Her voice carried perfectly.
I held up the key.
"They did."
"I hope it's not too inconvenient."
"Not at all."
I looked toward the glass elevator that led to the private top floor.
"Apparently I own the inconvenience."
Jasmine's smile froze.
Aaron frowned.
"What does that mean?"
"Nothing important."
I walked toward the elevator.
He followed me three steps.
"Alyssa."
I turned.
"Six o'clock."
"Send the documents."
"Stop being difficult."
"Stop asking me to sign things I haven't read."
A few employees nearby became suddenly quiet.
Aaron's face changed.
Public disagreement embarrassed him more than private betrayal embarrassed him.
"We'll discuss this upstairs."
"No."
The word was soft.
It still stopped him.
I entered the elevator.
The doors closed on his expression.
The owner's suite occupied the entire top floor of the west lodge.
It had two bedrooms, a library, a private terrace, and a study overlooking the valley.
I barely noticed any of it.
I locked the study door and called Rebecca.
She answered immediately.
"Tell me you're alone."
"I'm alone."
"Good."
I sat behind the desk.
"Start with the six point four million."
Rebecca exhaled.
"We found a consulting entity registered in Delaware eight months ago. Vale Strategic Consulting LLC."
"Jasmine owns it?"
"Through another company."
"And Prescott Systems paid it?"
"Four transfers we can confirm."
"For what?"
"Strategic advisory services."
I looked toward the window.
"She's already employed to provide strategic advisory services."
"Exactly."
"Who approved the payments?"
Rebecca paused.
"Aaron."
The answer should have hurt.
Instead, it clarified things.
"And Clause 14?"
"Potentially triggered the moment he approved an undisclosed related-party transaction."
"Potentially?"
"We need proof he had a personal relationship with her or a financial interest in the entity at the time of the payments."
"You think he does?"
"I think somebody has been trying very hard to make sure we can't see the whole structure."
I opened the minibar and poured water into a glass.
"What are the documents he wants me to sign?"
"I don't have them yet."
"He refuses to send them."
"Then don't attend the meeting alone."
"I'm not afraid of Aaron."
"I'm not worried he'll hurt you."
Her tone changed.
"I'm worried he'll put a document in front of you, tell you it's routine, and later claim you approved everything."
I thought of the flight.
The seat.
The command.
Go to row five.
Aaron believed control was a habit.
If someone obeyed often enough, he stopped imagining they might refuse.
"What happens if Clause 14 is triggered?"
Rebecca became very quiet.
"The Whitmore Trust's dormant preferred block reactivates at a ten-to-one voting ratio until an independent review is completed."
I remembered the structure.
"How much control?"
"Depending on current cap table changes, somewhere between forty-eight and fifty-three percent of voting power."
I stared at the wall.
"You're telling me I may control the company."
"Temporarily."
"Does Aaron know?"
"He signed the agreement."
"That wasn't my question."
Rebecca laughed once, without humor.
"No. I don't think Aaron remembers what he signed when he was desperate for your father's money."
Someone knocked on my suite door.
I checked the time.
Five seventeen.
"I have to go."
"Alyssa, wait."
"What?"
"There is one more thing."
I sat back down.
"Tell me."
"One of the restructuring exhibits contains a spousal consent page."
"So?"
"It already has your initials on it."
My hand tightened around the phone.
"I haven't seen the document."
"I know."
The knocking came again.
Harder this time.
Rebecca's voice was steady.
"Someone has already started signing for you."
I looked at the door.
May you like
Then Aaron's voice came through it.
"Alyssa, open up."
