Chapter 2: The Papers Beneath the Candlelight
Nathan stared at the envelope as though it might explode.
For several seconds, the only sound in the dining room was the soft ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway.
Then he laughed.
Not because anything was funny.
Because Nathan had always believed that if he laughed at a problem quickly enough, everyone else would feel foolish for taking it seriously.
“Divorce papers?”” he asked.
Rebecca folded her hands on the table.
“Yes.””
Nathan turned toward me.
“You're divorcing me?””
I pulled out my chair and sat down.
“Yes.””
He looked almost offended by the simplicity of my answer.
“After everything I've done for you?””
I glanced at the chicken, still steaming beneath its silver lid.
“You mean the nine years I spent helping you build Hawthorne?””
His jaw tightened.
“I gave you a life.””
“You moved into my grandmother's house.””
“I paid the bills.””
“With money from the company I helped finance.””
“Are you listening to yourself?”” Nathan demanded.
“You sound insane.””
Rebecca opened her leather case.
“Mr. Cole, I recommend that you read the documents before making further statements.””
He ignored her.
Instead, he picked up the envelope and tore it open.
The first page was the divorce petition.
The second outlined the requested financial disclosures.
The third addressed temporary arrangements concerning our shared business interests.
He flipped through them with growing irritation.
“This is ridiculous,” he said.
“Audrey, you're upset about Camille. Fine. I understand that. But you're not going to destroy nine years of marriage over one mistake.””
“One mistake?”” I asked.
He raised a hand.
“Don't interrupt me.””
Rebecca looked at him sharply.
“You should avoid speaking to your wife that way, especially tonight.””
Nathan dropped the papers onto the table.
“Excuse me?””
“You heard me.””
For a moment, I thought he might throw Rebecca out.
Instead, he turned back to me, lowering his voice into the soothing tone he used whenever he wanted to manipulate me into backing down.
“Audrey, sweetheart, let's talk privately.””
He reached for my hand.
I moved it away.
His expression changed.
“Don't do this in front of her.””
“Why not?”” I asked.
“You didn't mind humiliating me in front of Camille.””
He glanced toward the staircase, as if expecting her to appear and rescue him.
“Camille has nothing to do with this.””
I looked at Rebecca.
She raised an eyebrow.
I almost smiled.
Nathan picked up the petition again.
“This is a joke. You can't just throw me out of my own house.””
“It's my house,” I said.
His eyes snapped toward me.
“Here we go.””
“The deed is in my name. It was inherited from my grandmother before we married. Rebecca has already reviewed the property records.””
He slammed the pages onto the table.
“We've lived here together for nine years!””
“Living somewhere doesn't automatically make you the owner.””
“You're my wife!””
“Not for much longer.””
His face darkened.
Rebecca slid another document toward him.
“This is the preliminary financial disclosure request. It covers your personal accounts, business distributions, certain company expenses, and any transfers involving related parties.””
Nathan barely glanced at it.
“You have no right to investigate my company.””
“Your company?”” Rebecca asked.
He sat back.
“Hawthorne Dining Group is mine to run.””
“Running a company and owning all of it are not the same thing.””
The words seemed to irritate him more than the divorce petition.
Nathan reached for his wine.
His hand trembled slightly, making the liquid ripple against the glass.
I noticed.
So did Rebecca.
“Audrey,” he said, forcing a smile, “whatever she's told you, she doesn't understand our business.””
Rebecca remained composed.
“Then the documents should be easy for you to explain.””
He stared at her.
I had to bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from smiling.
For months, Nathan had acted as though every business decision he made was beyond my understanding.
He had stopped copying me on financial emails.
Changed passwords.
Moved supplier meetings to restaurants where he knew I wouldn't be present.
Once, when I questioned an unexpected consulting payment, he had laughed in front of two department managers.
“Leave the numbers to the professionals, Audrey.””
I had said nothing.
But that evening, I checked the payment records.
The consulting company had been registered to an address associated with Camille's brother.
The payments continued for six months.
Then another transfer appeared, this time to an account that had no obvious connection to any legitimate supplier.
I documented every transaction I could lawfully access and gave the records to Rebecca.
She had advised me not to confront Nathan until we understood the full picture.
Now he was staring at a stack of papers that represented months of quiet work.
And he still believed he could talk his way out of it.
“You're being manipulated,” Nathan told me.
“This is what lawyers do. They convince women that every disagreement is financial abuse.””
Rebecca's expression cooled.
“I'm not here to tell your wife what to think. I'm here to protect her legal interests.””
“Then protect her by telling her what happens when she divorces a man who owns a multimillion-dollar business.””
“Gladly,” Rebecca replied.
“The outcome depends on the ownership structure, the source of the assets, the relevant agreements, and the evidence. Which is why we're requesting complete disclosures rather than relying on your assurances.””
Nathan's mouth tightened.
He turned toward me again.
“You think you're entitled to half of Hawthorne?””
“I think I'm entitled to an accurate accounting of what I own.””
“You don't even know what the company is worth.””
“I know what I invested.””
“That was years ago!””
“And I know what I contributed after that.””
He leaned forward.
“Without me, Hawthorne would still be a failing restaurant with six tables and a broken freezer.””
I remembered those six tables.
I remembered calling suppliers at midnight because Nathan couldn't convince them to extend our credit.
I remembered paying the electrician from my personal savings when the kitchen wiring failed.
I remembered my grandmother sitting at this table, counting cash with me while Nathan slept upstairs before an important investor meeting.
“You're right about one thing,” I said.
“Hawthorne would never have become what it is without you.””
For a moment, he looked pleased.
Then I continued.
“But it wouldn't have become anything without me, either.””
He shoved his chair backward.
“I'm not sitting here listening to this.””
“That's your choice,” Rebecca said.
“But I would encourage you to review page eleven before leaving.””
Nathan froze.
“What page eleven?””
“The section addressing the marital residence and the documents supporting Audrey's separate ownership claim.””
He snatched the petition from the table.
His eyes raced down the page.
Then stopped.
“The house,” he whispered.
I rested my hands in my lap.
Rebecca opened her case and removed a certified copy of the deed, followed by a copy of my grandmother's estate documents.
“The property was transferred to Audrey individually,” Rebecca explained.
“Her inheritance predates the marriage. The exact treatment of any later contributions or potential claims will depend on the applicable law and supporting records, but you should not assume that residence alone gives you ownership.””
Nathan stared at the documents.
“You said it was our home.””
“It was our home,” I replied.
“It was never your property.””
He looked up, his face flushed.
“So where am I supposed to go?””
The question sounded almost sincere.
For a brief, painful second, I saw the man who had once held me in this kitchen after my grandmother died.
Then I remembered the spoon striking my wrist.
“You can make arrangements with your attorney,” I said.
Nathan's gaze dropped to the red mark.
Something flickered across his face.
Regret, perhaps.
Or the realization that evidence of his temper was sitting right in front of him.
“I barely touched you,” he muttered.
Rebecca closed her case halfway.
“I would advise you not to minimize physical conduct or discuss it further without counsel.””
Nathan stared at her.
Then at me.
“You planned this.””
“Yes.””
“How long?””
“Long enough.””
He grabbed the remaining documents and shoved them into the envelope.
“You think you're clever? You think a few pieces of paper are going to ruin me?””
“No,” I said.
“Your decisions did that. The papers simply make them harder to ignore.””
He leaned across the table.
“Camille and I are going to be married someday. You'll look back on this and realize you threw everything away because you couldn't handle being replaced.””
I looked at the empty third chair.
“Is that what she told you?””
He blinked.
“What?””
“Did Camille tell you she wanted to marry you?””
Nathan straightened.
“That's none of your business.””
“Perhaps not.””
I lifted the lid from the serving dish.
The chicken was still warm.
“Then we should eat before it gets cold.””
He stared at me as if he had never seen me before.
Rebecca quietly picked up her fork.
“Thank you, Audrey. This looks lovely.””
Nathan didn't sit down.
He was looking at his phone.
It had begun vibrating against the table.
Once.
Twice.
Then again.
He glanced at the screen and frowned.
“What now?””
He answered the call.
“What do you mean the bank froze it?””
Rebecca's fork stopped halfway to her mouth.
Nathan turned away from us.
“No, that account is supposed to be available. I authorized the transfer myself.””
A pause.
His expression drained of color.
“What do you mean the transfer was flagged?””
He listened, gripping the phone so tightly that his knuckles whitened.
Then he whispered a sentence that made my stomach tighten.
“Who reported it?””
The caller spoke again.
Nathan slowly turned toward me.
“You.””
I didn't answer.
Because I hadn't reported anything that evening.
And whatever had just happened at the bank, Rebecca hadn't mentioned it.
She set down her fork and looked at him.
“Mr. Cole, what account are you referring to?””
Nathan ended the call.
Then he looked at the financial documents scattered across the table.
For the first time, his anger was being overtaken by fear.
“Someone has been going through my accounts,” he said.
Rebecca's expression became unreadable.
“Then perhaps you should speak to your financial institution and your own attorney.””
Nathan's phone vibrated again.
This time, the message preview appeared on the screen.
He read it.
His lips parted.
Then he looked at me with an expression I had never seen before.
Not contempt.
Not rage.
Fear.
Because the message contained the name of the person who had first raised questions about the suspicious transfers.
May you like
And it wasn't mine.
It was Camille's.
