Chapter 10 - MARGARET FINALLY TALKSMargaret met me in a quiet hotel restaurant.
No briefcase this time.
No champagne dress.
Gray blazer.
Black coffee.
She looked older without the carefully staged glamour from my living room.
Human.
I hated that.
“I want the whole sequence,” I said.
“I cannot disclose privileged material belonging to Mason without consent.”
“He gave it.”
She looked surprised.
“He did?”
“Through counsel this morning.”
I had demanded it.
Mason agreed.
Another point in his favor.
I did not want points.
Margaret began.
Mason contacted her eight weeks earlier.
He suspected related-party transactions at Donovan Pacific.
Why?
An accounts-payable manager resigned suddenly.
Before leaving, she sent Mason an anonymous file showing repeated vendor payments.
Mason compared addresses.
Found connections to Owen.
He confronted no one.
Instead, he hired Margaret.
“What did you find?”
“Some payments were legitimate.”
“Some?”
“Some vendors provided real services but ownership disclosures were incomplete.”
“How much questionable?”
“Too early.”
“Millions?”
“Potentially.”
“Stolen?”
“I would not use that word yet.”
I almost smiled.
Everyone in my life now worshipped precision.
“What about my signature?”
“Mason discovered it during our review.”
“When?”
“Seven weeks ago.”
That matched his two-month statement.
“What did he do?”
“Panicked.”
“Mason doesn’t panic.”
Margaret looked at me.
“He does privately.”
Fair.
“He wanted to confront Owen immediately. I advised against it until we had evidence.”
“Why didn’t he tell me?”
“I told him to.”
“What did he say?”
“That you would stay beside him.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Apparently my most dangerous characteristic.”
“He believed any coordinated defensive action would expose you to the company’s creditors and investigators.”
“Believed or knew?”
“Believed.”
Important.
“What else?”
“He believed someone inside Donovan Pacific had been using your trust connection intentionally.”
“Why?”
“Because your name appeared in places where it was not economically necessary.”
That chilled me.
“What places?”
Margaret listed three transactions.
Not guarantees.
Representations.
Consent documents.
Investment schedules.
Someone had made me look more involved than I was.
“Who?”
“Unknown.”
“Owen?”
“Possible.”
“Mason?”
“Possible.”
I stared.
“You investigated your own client?”
“Always.”
That I respected despite myself.
“Did Mason know?”
“Yes.”
“Did he object?”
“No.”
Another point.
I hated points.
“What did you discover about Paul Givens?”
“Payment from an Owen-linked vendor. Access to your home. Communication with a Donovan Pacific employee.”
“Which?”
“Evan Price. Senior finance manager.”
“What does Mason think they planned?”
“To place documents in your residence before Monday’s preservation review.”
“Why?”
“To create evidence that you had knowledge of transactions.”
“Do you believe him?”
Margaret took time.
“I believe the risk was credible.”
“Not same question.”
“No.”
Good.
Then the kiss.
“Did Mason enjoy it?”
Margaret’s expression hardened.
“No.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Did he ever touch you sexually before?”
“No.”
“After?”
“No.”
“Was there any affair?”
“No.”
I looked away.
Relief arrived.
I hated myself for feeling it.
Margaret noticed.
She did not comment.
“What was the cash?”
“Investigation expenses and an agreed final retainer because Mason expected his accounts could soon be frozen or scrutinized.”
“How much?”
“Thirty thousand.”
“Legal?”
“Yes.”
“Reported?”
“My firm recorded it.”
“Why cash?”
“He wanted to avoid Donovan Pacific systems.”
“Suspicious.”
“Yes.”
She did not defend.
Then I asked:
“What did he tell you after I left?”
Margaret looked at me.
“He said the transaction was over.”
“What did you say?”
“That you were devastated.”
“And?”
“He told me not to interfere.”
“Why?”
“Because he was afraid I would contact you.”
I leaned back.
“So he knew exactly what he had done.”
“Yes.”
“Did he cry?”
Margaret paused.
“After everyone left.”
My chest tightened.
“What?”
“He sat on the floor for approximately twenty minutes.”
“Why are you telling me?”
“Because you asked for the whole sequence.”
“Did he pick up my ring?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I asked.”
“And?”
“He said, ‘It isn’t mine unless she gives it back.’”
I closed my eyes.
Mason could be astonishingly respectful after stripping me of choice.
That contradiction was becoming the story of our marriage.
Margaret leaned forward.
“One more thing.”
“What?”
“Your husband did not hire me only because of Owen.”
I looked at her.
“Then why?”
“Because he suspected someone was building a case that included you.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
She slid a copy of a file name across the table.
C.D.
My initials.
“Where did you find this?”
“In a Donovan Pacific cloud backup.”
“What is it?”
“We couldn’t open it.”
“Why not?”
“Encrypted.”
“Who created it?”
May you like
Margaret looked at me.
“That account belonged to Mason.”
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