“I’m going to find my friends.”
“Stay close.”
“Mom.”
“Fine.”
He left.
Ethan waited until Noah was twenty feet away.
Then said:
“Adrian isn’t at Cedarbrook Middle School anymore.”
I stared.
“How do you know?”
“He called me.”
“When?”
“About forty minutes ago.”
“Why?”
Ethan looked uncomfortable.
“He wanted me to cover for him.”
My stomach tightened.
“Cover what?”
“He told his assistant he had a client meeting.”
I almost laughed.
“Of course.”
Ethan continued.
“Claire, there’s something else.”
I did not want another something else.
Not today.
“What?”
“Vanessa isn’t just someone he’s been emotionally supporting.”
There it was.
The sentence I had been expecting for years.
And somehow still was not prepared to hear.
I stared at Ethan.
“How long?”
“I don’t know exactly.”
“How long have you known?”
“Known?”
“Three months.”
“Suspected?”
“Longer.”
I looked toward Noah.
He was laughing with two friends.
Holding his trophy.
Beautiful.
Happy for the moment.
I said:
“Not here.”
Ethan nodded.
We stepped into a quieter hallway.
He lowered his voice.
“Adrian has been charging expenses connected to Vanessa through the company.”
“What kind of expenses?”
“Travel.”
“Hotels.”
“Gifts.”
“A lease.”
I felt cold.
“What lease?”
“An apartment in Bellmere.”
My hands tightened around my purse.
“Whose?”
“Vanessa’s name is on it.”
“The company has been paying part of it through an executive housing account.”
I stared.
“Why?”
“Because Adrian coded it as temporary accommodation for an outside consultant.”
“Vanessa is not a consultant.”
“I know.”
“And you just noticed?”
Ethan flinched.
“No.”
“Then when?”
“Accounting flagged irregularities two months ago.”
I laughed in disbelief.
“And nobody told me?”
“I told Adrian I was ordering an internal review.”
“He threatened to dissolve our partnership.”
“That still does not explain why you didn’t tell me.”
Ethan looked down.
“You’re right.”
“I thought if I had proof first, it would be better.”
I almost screamed.
Men and proof.
Men and timing.
Men deciding women should receive truth only after some imaginary perfect moment.
I said:
“You don’t get to protect me by deciding what I can handle.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Because my husband has apparently spent years doing exactly that.”
Ethan nodded.
Then handed me a folder.
“I brought this because I thought Adrian might show up after the ceremony and I was going to confront him privately.”
The folder contained copies.
Expense reports.
Corporate card statements.
Hotel invoices.
Transfers.
One page showed tuition payments.
I frowned.
“What is this?”
Ethan looked grim.
“Cedarbrook Academy summer program.”
“Lucas?”
“Yes.”
