PART 3
On Friday at ten-thirty I was sitting in front of my computer in a conference room at my company, with a cup of coffee, several contracts, and the report Gavin had prepared on the status of our residence.
Trent had removed his belongings the night before, convinced he’d be back with Brooke to move in for good. That was why the company had retaken control of the access codes and posted security at the entrance. The Mercedes had also gone back to the corporate fleet.
At eleven sharp, a private car service pulled up in front of the property. Trent got out first, wearing a designer shirt and the watch he’d bought with my card. Behind him came Brooke, a twenty-seven-year-old nearly seven months pregnant, in an elegant dress, gazing at the house with a dazzled smile.
Over the exterior camera I heard Trent. “Welcome home, babe. This is where our son will grow up.”
Brooke put a hand on her belly. “It’s gorgeous. Your ex-wife really had great taste.”
Trent laughed. “The only good thing she ever did was work so we could enjoy it.”
That stung. Our marriage wasn’t even over, and he was already mocking my years of effort.
Trent punched in the gate code. A red light blinked on the panel. He tried again. Nothing. Then he leaned on the buzzer. A guard stepped out of the booth and handed him a copy of the notice my attorney had already sent.
“Mr. Trent, this property belongs to a corporation. Your access authorization was withdrawn, and you’ve already received notice.”
My husband turned red. “I’m the owner of this house!”
“The title documents say otherwise, sir.”
Brooke’s smile vanished. “Trent, what’s going on?”
He pulled out his phone and called me. I answered on the second try.
“Harper, stop being ridiculous. I’m standing in front of my house and your people won’t let me in.”
“It’s not your house, Trent.”
“I’m your husband!”
“And you filed for divorce. Besides, marriage never made you the owner of my company’s assets.”
A few seconds of silence. “That’s a lie.”
“The deed is in the name of Axis Digital LLC, the company I founded before I met you. Same with the SUV. Check the documents with your lawyer.”
I heard his breathing quicken. “Then give me money to buy another house.”
“I won’t finance the life you built by deceiving me.”
I hung up.
On the camera I watched Brooke start arguing with him. Trent hurried her off to another building in Scottsdale where my company kept apartments for employees relocating from other cities. He tried an old corporate key card there, and that failed too. The property manager explained that he had no lease, no authorization, and no relationship with the company.
For the first time, Brooke heard the truth. “You’re not the CEO of Axis Digital?”
Trent looked away. “It’s complicated.”
“What’s complicated? Your mom told me you founded that company.”
“My wife handled some things.”
The manager stepped in. “The founder and CEO is Ms. Harper Lawson. You’re not on our staff roster.”
Brooke recoiled as if she’d been slapped. That afternoon she realized her future husband had no mansion, no SUV, and none of the fortune he’d promised.
And the worst was still coming.
At four, Gloria called me in tears. “Harper, please, we need to talk. The bank blocked a card and Trent says you took everything from us.”
“That card belongs to my personal account. Nobody was authorized to use it.”
“But we’re family.”
“You stopped treating me like family long before I decided on a divorce.”
She began to sob. “We have a huge problem. We already paid the deposit on the venue for the wedding, and we borrowed money from several relatives.”
“How much?”
“Almost fifty thousand dollars.”
I went quiet. Fifty thousand dollars to celebrate my husband’s marriage to the woman he’d been supporting for months through deception.
“Who was going to pay that money, Gloria?”
“Trent said he’d get a share of your company.”
“And you believed him?”
She didn’t answer. So I asked the question that had been tormenting me for days. “How long did you know Trent had another woman?”
I heard her breathe deeply. “Brooke is a good girl. I just wanted my son to have a real family.”
That answer destroyed the last kind memory I had of her. For five years I had bought her medications, taken her to appointments, paid for repairs on her house, and treated her like my own mother. And while I worked myself to exhaustion, she was helping her son keep a mistress.
“I wanted a real family too, Gloria,” I said. “I thought you were part of it.”
For the first time, my voice broke. “But you never loved me like a daughter. You only wanted the money I could give you.”
Gloria began to apologize. It was too late. “Everything about the invoices and the false documents will be handled through the attorneys. Don’t ask me for money again.”
I ended the call, shut myself in my office bathroom for a few minutes, and cried. Not for Trent. For the woman I had been, for all the times I blamed myself for not being affectionate enough, and for the years I’d sacrificed trying to buy with generosity an affection that had never existed.
When I came out, Joni was waiting with a glass of water. “You don’t have to prove anything else to them, Harper.”
“I know. But now I have to protect what we built.”
Over the following weeks, Gavin gathered the documents needed to file the appropriate complaints. A forensic examiner reviewed Brooke’s lease and confirmed significant differences between my authentic signature and the one on the guaranty. We also found invoices for supposed tech services my company had never contracted. Some of the vendor details matched people linked to Trent. That let us investigate payments that had apparently been made using forged documents. We were no longer relying on suspicion about family spending, but on specific contracts and business transactions.
Trent started calling me daily. First he insulted me. Then he threatened to sue. Finally he asked for money.
“Harper, Brooke is desperate. We have nowhere to live like before.”
“You have a job and a family. Organize your life with your own resources.”
“I can’t support her on a thousand dollars a month!”
“Then you shouldn’t have promised her a millionaire’s life.”
But the most surprising conversation came a week later, when Brooke asked to meet with me. I agreed, at Gavin’s office, with my attorney present. She arrived without makeup, dressed simply, her eyes swollen. She no longer looked like the woman flaunting designer handbags in her photos.
“I didn’t know Trent wasn’t the owner of the company,” she said as soon as she sat down.
“That doesn’t change the fact that you knew he was married.”
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