Chapter 2 - The Guesthouse
Daniel arrived at the condo the next morning.
I was still in my robe, coffee in hand, when I heard the keypad beep. He had programmed himself in during our engagement. At the time, I had thought it was romantic. Now the sound made my jaw tighten.
"Emily." He stood in the doorway, tie loosened, eyes red-rimmed. "We need to talk."
I gestured toward the kitchen island. "Coffee's fresh."
He didn't move. "You left without saying goodbye."
"I said goodbye. You just didn't like how it sounded."
He walked in and closed the door. His posture was different—shoulders curved forward, hands loose at his sides. It was the same posture he had used the night he proposed. The same posture he used when he wanted something.
"I talked to my mother," he said. "She's willing to pretend last night never happened."
"Generous."
"She said if you apologize to Claire, we can all move forward."
I took a sip of coffee. "And if I don't?"
Daniel's jaw flexed. "Then this becomes a problem."
I set the mug down. "It already is a problem, Daniel. You're just not the one who gets to define it."
He exhaled through his nose. "Why are you being like this? You're not the woman I married."
I turned my ring clockwise. "No. I'm exactly the woman you married. You just assumed the ceremony would change me."
He stepped closer. "My family has money, Emily. Real money. They can make your life very difficult."
I looked at him. "Is that a threat?"
"It's a fact."
"Then let me give you a fact." I folded my arms. "I've spent eight years investigating people who think their money makes them untouchable. None of them are."
Daniel's expression flickered—something between anger and something else. Something I couldn't name.
"Where is this coming from?" he asked. "We were fine. We were happy."
"Were we?" I tilted my head. "Or were you just counting down the days until the wedding so the real work could begin?"
He froze. Just for a second. But I saw it.
"Real work," he repeated. "What does that mean?"
I walked past him toward the bedroom. "It means I found the document you burned in the fireplace at the guesthouse."
Silence.
I turned back. Daniel's face had gone pale. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Of course you don't." I pulled my phone from my robe pocket and opened the photo I had taken at 2 a.m., after he had fallen asleep. The half-burned paper was still legible in the center: a trust amendment bearing my grandmother's name—and Daniel's signature as co-trustee. A signature I had never authorized.
"Convenient," I said, "that you had a copy of my grandmother's trust documents. I never gave you access to those."
Daniel's throat moved. "Emily—"
"I'm not finished." I held up a hand. "You also added yourself to my investment accounts. I got the notification this morning. Two separate accounts. Both flagged as 'joint with right of survivorship.'"
He took a step back. "That was for convenience. In case something happened to you—"
"Nothing is going to happen to me." My voice was ice. "Because I'm removing you from both accounts today. And I'm filing a report with the state bar about the trust amendment."
Daniel's eyes widened. "You can't do that."
"I can. I will. And you should know something else." I stepped closer. "I'm a compliance attorney. I've spent my entire career identifying financial misconduct. And right now, your family is the most interesting case I've ever seen."
He opened his mouth, then closed it. For the first time since I'd met him, Daniel Hawthorne had nothing to say.
"Get out of my condo," I said.
He didn't move.
"Get out," I repeated, "or I'll call the police and tell them you forged a trust document."
He left.
May you like
I locked the door behind him, leaned against it, and let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding.
Then I called Marcus Webb.
