Chapter 4 - THE OTHER HOUSE
I drove to the Crescent Bay property myself.
I did not tell Dana.
I did not tell Brandon.
The house stood behind black iron gates overlooking the ocean.
Three stories.
Infinity pool.
Guesthouse.
Six-car garage.
It was worth at least five million dollars.
Money from my father’s trust had purchased most of it.
I parked across the street.
At 5:12 P.M., Brandon’s car arrived.
Rebecca Lane sat beside him.
She was younger than me.
Maybe thirty.
Blonde.
Elegant.
Nothing about her mattered as much as the child who came running from the front door.
A little boy.
Four years old.
Brandon got out.
The child screamed.
“Daddy!”
My entire body went numb.
Brandon lifted him into his arms.
Rebecca kissed Brandon.
I took photographs.
One after another.
Then I cried for exactly four minutes.
After that, I called Dana.
“I found the house.”
She was silent.
“You went there?”
“Yes.”
“Claire.”
“He has a son.”
Dana did not respond.
“He has another family.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I don’t need sorry.”
My voice sounded unfamiliar.
“I need every transaction.”
For the next eight weeks, we worked.
The affair was ugly.
The money was criminal.
But the biggest discovery came from Margaret.
She had created a series of charitable grants through the Hale Family Foundation.
Programs for youth housing.
Domestic violence services.
Food relief.
Beautiful names.
Millions of dollars.
The problem was that several recipient organizations barely existed.
Dana traced the funds.
The charities transferred money into consulting firms.
The consulting firms transferred money into Crescent Bay.
Ashford.
Two investment partnerships.
And one account in the Cayman Islands.
Margaret had signed almost every approval.
Brandon had signed the rest.
I wanted to confront them.
Dana stopped me.
“Not yet.”
“Why?”
“Because money this organized usually has a second purpose.”
“What purpose?”
“Control.”
She was right.
Two weeks later, we discovered the real plan.
Brandon had filed preliminary paperwork to restructure my father’s trust.
The petition was not yet active.
But the draft claimed I had become emotionally unstable after my father’s death.
It included statements from Margaret.
It described me as paranoid about finances.
Distrustful of my husband.
Obsessive.
Erratic.
The document requested temporary financial control for Brandon.
I stared at the screen.
“He’s stealing my money and preparing to call me crazy if I notice.”
Dana nodded.
Then she opened another file.
“It gets worse.”
Attached was a draft insurance policy.
Twenty million dollars.
Insured person.
Claire Hale Carter.
Beneficiary.
Brandon Carter.
Issue date.
Five weeks earlier.
My hands went cold.
“I never signed this.”
May you like
Dana looked at me.
“I know.”
