Chapter 3: The Message from His Business Partner
I read the message three times.
Marcus Reed had been Julian's business partner for six years. He was a quiet, deliberate man who rarely spoke without considering every word first.
At our wedding, he had offered me a polite congratulations and then spent most of the reception speaking with investors.
I hadn't thought much of it.
Now he was asking me to meet him at a harbor in Maui, promising to tell me the truth about my husband and his secretary.
I typed a response.
*Me:* What truth?
The reply came almost immediately.
*Marcus:* Not over text. Tomorrow, 8 a.m. Harbor entrance near the public marina. Come alone.
I hesitated.
Then I asked the question that had been sitting in my mind since the airport.
*Me:* Does this have something to do with Sienna?
His response took longer.
*Marcus:* It has everything to do with her.
I put my phone down.
Outside the car, the road curved along the coast. Palm trees swayed above low stone walls, and the Pacific glittered beneath the afternoon sun.
My driver turned into the entrance of my new resort.
It was beautiful.
The property sat on a quiet stretch of beach, surrounded by flowering gardens and towering palms. My room had a private balcony, a deep soaking tub, and a view of the ocean that seemed to stretch forever.
The room wasn't as extravagant as the suite I'd originally booked.
But it was mine.
For the first time since the wedding, I could breathe without wondering whether Julian would approve of what I was doing.
A hotel employee helped with my bags and showed me around.
“Would you like dinner reservations, Mrs. Bennett?”” she asked.
“Yes, please. Somewhere overlooking the water.””
“Of course. Would you prefer a romantic table for two?””
I paused.
Then I smiled.
“Just one, thank you.””
After she left, I stood on the balcony and watched the waves break against the shore.
My phone rang again.
Julian.
I let it ring until it stopped.
Then he called again.
And again.
Finally, a message appeared.
*Julian:* You're being childish. Call me before you make this worse.
I stared at the words.
Childish.
Apparently, a woman was childish when she stopped accepting humiliation, but understanding when she accepted it without complaint.
I typed nothing.
Instead, I opened the bank application on my phone and searched for the transfers I'd made to Julian over the previous year.
The numbers made my stomach tighten.
There was the eight thousand dollars I'd lent him for payroll.
There were smaller transfers for a business dinner, an emergency hotel booking, and a car repair he had insisted was necessary before an investor meeting.
There was the twelve-thousand-dollar honeymoon charge.
And there were two payments I didn't immediately recognize.
One was for $3,400.
The other was for $5,750.
Both had been transferred to Julian's personal account.
I remembered the first.
He had told me that his company was dealing with a temporary accounting problem and needed cash to cover an urgent expense. He promised to repay me within a week.
The second payment had come three months later.
He had called late at night, sounding unusually tense. He said he needed money to settle a supplier dispute before it became public.
I had transferred it before asking for paperwork.
I had trusted him.
Now I opened the notes attached to the transactions.
Both payments had been labeled as personal loans.
Neither had been repaid.
I photographed the records and saved copies to a private folder.
Then I wrote down the dates and amounts in a document.
I wasn't trying to punish Julian.
I was trying to understand what had happened to the money I'd worked so hard to save.
At seven that evening, someone knocked on my door.
I opened it expecting room service.
Instead, a resort manager stood in the hallway holding a small envelope.
“I'm sorry to disturb you, Mrs. Bennett. This was delivered for you.””
I accepted the envelope.
There was no return address.
Inside was a folded card.
You should ask your husband who paid for Sienna's apartment.
I read the sentence twice.
My fingers went cold.
Sienna had an apartment in Manhattan. I'd heard Julian mention it during a conversation about employees relocating closer to the office.
He had said the company was helping several staff members with housing.
But I remembered something else.
Six months earlier, Julian had complained about the cost of renting office space for a new department. He had said the company was trying to cut unnecessary expenses.
Two weeks later, he had started coming home later than usual.
And Sienna had begun arriving at the office earlier.
I closed the door and called my father.
He answered immediately.
“How are you holding up?””
“I'm okay,” I said.
“But something strange is happening.””
I told him about the anonymous note.
He listened without interrupting.
When I finished, he said, “Don't confront Julian until you know what you're dealing with.””
“Marcus wants to meet me tomorrow.””
“Julian's partner?””
“Yes.””
“Do you trust him?””
“I don't know.””
“Then meet him somewhere public. Tell someone where you're going, and don't sign anything or hand over your documents.””
I promised I would be careful.
After we hung up, I ordered dinner.
I ate on the balcony while the sky darkened from gold to deep purple. The waves rolled steadily onto the beach, and the soft sound of distant music drifted from the resort restaurant.
For a little while, I managed to forget Julian.
Then my phone lit up.
A photograph had arrived from an unknown number.
It showed Julian and Sienna standing outside an apartment building in Manhattan.
Julian was holding a set of keys.
Sienna had one hand on his chest.
Her face was turned toward his, and she was smiling.
The timestamp in the corner showed that the picture had been taken four months earlier.
I zoomed in.
The keys were attached to a small leather tag bearing the logo of a luxury apartment complex.
I searched the building's name.
The rental listings made my stomach drop.
One-bedroom apartments started at $4,500 a month.
I sat motionless, listening to the waves.
Had Julian rented an apartment for his secretary?
And if he had, why had he told me his company was struggling financially?
I saved the photograph.
Then another message appeared.
*Unknown:* Ask him about the lease. His name is on it.
I called Julian.
He answered immediately, his voice sharp.
“Finally. Where have you been?””
“I need to ask you something.””
“Then come back to the original resort and we'll discuss it.””
“Did you rent an apartment for Sienna?””
Silence.
It lasted only a second, but it was enough.
“What are you talking about?”” he asked.
“An apartment in Manhattan. Luxury building. Four months ago.””
“Who told you that?””
“So it's true?””
“Clara, this is a ridiculous conversation.””
“Did you rent it?””
He exhaled.
“The company arranged temporary accommodation for her. She was working late, and it was more efficient than having her commute.””
“Who paid for it?””
“The company.””
“Then why is your name on the lease?””
Another silence.
This time, it lasted longer.
“Where did you get that information?”” he demanded.
“Answer the question.””
“It's a corporate arrangement. You wouldn't understand the details.””
“Try explaining them to me.””
“I'm not discussing company business over the phone.””
I gripped the edge of the balcony railing.
“Julian, I'm your wife.””
“And I'm the CEO of a company with employees depending on me. I can't spend every minute explaining ordinary business decisions.””
“Ordinary business decisions don't require you to hide a luxury apartment from your wife.””
His voice hardened.
“You're letting someone manipulate you.””
“Who?””
“I don't know. Someone who's trying to cause problems between us.””
“Marcus?””
The silence that followed told me more than his answer would have.
“Stay away from him,” Julian said finally.
“Why?””
“Because he's not your friend.””
“Neither are you, apparently.””
“Don't say that.””
“Then give me a reason not to believe it.””
He lowered his voice.
“Come back to the original resort tomorrow. We can put this behind us. I'll explain everything, and then we'll enjoy the rest of our honeymoon.””
I looked at the photograph on my phone.
Julian had been holding Sienna's apartment keys four months before our wedding.
I had no idea what else he had been hiding.
“I'm not coming back,” I said.
“Clara—”
I ended the call.
My hands were shaking again, but this time it wasn't because I was grieving.
It was because I was beginning to understand that the secretary on our honeymoon might be the smallest part of the problem.
The next morning, I arrived at the harbor fifteen minutes early.
The air smelled of salt and diesel fuel. Fishing boats rocked gently against their moorings, and tourists gathered near the marina to board snorkeling excursions.
I bought a coffee from a small kiosk and chose a table where I could see the entrance.
At eight o'clock, Marcus appeared.
He wore a pale blue shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. His expression was serious, and he carried a thin leather folder under one arm.
He looked older than he had at the wedding.
“Clara,” he said, pulling out the chair opposite me.
“Marcus.””
He glanced around before sitting.
“Did Julian tell you I was in Maui?””
“No. He told me to stay away from you.””
Marcus gave a humorless laugh.
“That sounds like Julian.””
I placed my coffee on the table.
“Why did you ask me to meet you?””
He opened the folder but kept its contents turned toward himself.
“Because I think you're being deceived, and I don't believe you know how far it goes.””
“About Sienna?””
“About Sienna, the company, and the money.””
I felt my throat tighten.
“What money?””
Marcus studied my face.
“Has Julian ever asked you to transfer funds to his personal account?””
I didn't answer immediately.
Then I said, “Yes.””
“How much?””
“Almost twenty thousand dollars, not including the honeymoon.””
Marcus closed his eyes briefly.
“Did he tell you the money was for business expenses?””
“Yes.””
“Did he give you receipts?””
“No.””
“Did he pay you back?””
“No.””
Marcus opened the folder and removed several printed pages.
“These are records from an internal financial review. I'm not asking you to take my word for anything. I want you to look at the dates.””
He placed the pages on the table.
I leaned forward.
The documents showed payments from Julian's company to a property management firm. There were recurring monthly charges, deposits, and several transfers marked as employee accommodation.
The address matched the apartment building in the photograph.
I looked up.
“Why are you showing me this?””
“Because the payments continued long after the company was told the apartment was no longer being used.””
“What does that mean?””
Marcus tapped one line.
“Look at the authorization.””
I followed his finger.
The signature was Julian's.
Beneath it was a second name.
Sienna Cole.
I stared at the page.
“Why would she be authorized to approve payments?””
“She shouldn't have been.””
“Then why was she?””
“That's what I've been trying to determine.””
Marcus pulled out another document.
“This is the part that concerns me most. Three weeks ago, I found a payment request for a substantial amount of money. It was submitted under the same accommodation account, but the supporting documents didn't match.””
“How much?””
“Forty-eight thousand dollars.””
My breath caught.
“Did you approve it?””
“No. I froze the request and started reviewing the earlier transactions.””
“And Julian knows?””
“He knows someone is looking into it.””
I stared at the papers, trying to make sense of what I was seeing.
“Are you saying Julian stole company money?””
“I'm saying there are unexplained payments, false-looking documentation, and approvals that don't follow our procedures. I won't accuse anyone of a crime without establishing the facts.””
It was the first thing anyone had said about Julian that sounded completely honest.
Marcus gathered the pages into a neat stack.
“There's another reason I wanted to see you.””
I waited.
“Yesterday, Julian contacted me and asked whether I knew where you were staying.””
My stomach tightened.
“What did you tell him?””
“Nothing. I told him I wasn't responsible for your travel arrangements.””
“Why would he ask you?””
“Because he wanted to know whether you had access to the company's financial records.””
I stared at him.
“I don't have access to the company's financial records.””
Marcus's expression changed.
“Then he may believe you have something you don't actually have.””
“What could he possibly think I know?””
He hesitated.
Then he reached into the folder and removed one final sheet.
It was a copy of a transfer authorization.
My name appeared near the bottom.
My signature appeared beneath it.
And beside the signature was a date from two months earlier.
I looked at the amount.
$48,000.
I had never seen the document before.
I had never authorized the transfer.
“Marcus,” I whispered, “I didn't sign this.””
He nodded slowly.
“That's what I was afraid you'd say.””
I looked at the page again, my mind racing.
Someone had used my name to authorize a payment I knew nothing about.
And if the signature was meant to look like mine, someone had access to my personal information.
Marcus leaned closer.
“Clara, there's one more thing you need to understand.””
I raised my eyes.
“The payment wasn't the only document submitted under your name.””
He turned the final page over.
On the back was a handwritten note.
It contained a date, a bank reference number, and a sentence that made my blood run cold.
*If the audit continues, Clara Bennett will take responsibility.*
I looked at Marcus.
“Who wrote this?””
He didn't answer.
Instead, he reached into his jacket and took out his phone.
“I was hoping I wouldn't have to show you this,” he said.
“But I think you need to see what Julian told the company's attorneys yesterday.””
He placed the phone on the table and opened an email.
The message was from Julian.
The subject line read:
*Regarding My Wife's Financial Involvement.*
I began to read.
May you like
And with every sentence, I realized that my husband hadn't merely invited his secretary on our honeymoon.
He might have been preparing to make me the scapegoat for something far more dangerous.
