Chapter 3 - The Proposal in the Drawer
We went to my apartment.
My apartment.
I had been calling it ours around Simone, though she had never signed the lease and still kept most of her belongings elsewhere.
The distinction suddenly seemed worth noticing.
She paced while I opened the divorce documents on my laptop.
The business schedule was there.
So was the pending transaction disclosure.
My attorney’s written explanation appeared in an email I had marked read without reading carefully.
I sat back.
Elena had not concealed her company.
She had disclosed what she was required to disclose.
I had negotiated for the Lake Geneva property and a larger share of certain investment accounts. She had negotiated to retain her company interest and the professional independence that came with it.
My lawyer had warned me that future value could differ sharply from current estimates.
I remembered my answer.
I’m not gambling on her studio. Take the house.
Simone stopped pacing.
“Well?”
“She didn’t hide it.”
“Your lawyer could still—”
“No.”
The word surprised us both.
I shut the laptop.
“What do you know about Miriam Vale?”
Simone folded her arms.
“I worked on a proposal involving her organization.”
“When?”
“Earlier this year.”
“At Harrow & Pike?”
“Yes.”
“Why does that scare you?”
“It doesn’t.”
Her phone rang.
She looked at the screen and silenced it.
A minute later, it rang again.
I knew the name.
Denise Kessler.
Our firm’s general counsel.
Simone walked into the bedroom before answering.
I heard fragments.
“No, I’m not at the office.”
A pause.
“That wasn’t how it happened.”
Another pause.
“I need to review my notes.”
When she returned, her face had changed.
“What happened?”
“Vale requested clarification on an old presentation.”
“What presentation?”
“The community redevelopment initiative.”
Something moved in my memory.
Three months earlier, Simone had asked me to retrieve a file from the home office I still shared with Elena.
A presentation deck.
She had said the firm wanted a broad market comparison and Elena’s public project materials would help.
I had found a folder on the desk.
Northline concepts.
I had photographed several pages and sent them.
At the time, I told myself spouses shared ideas.
At the time, I did not ask Elena.
I stood slowly.
“The Ashland drawings?”
Simone looked away.
“You said they were general concepts.”
“You told me they were public.”
“They were in your house.”
“That doesn’t make them public.”
She lifted both hands.
“Nothing was built from them.”
“What did you use?”
“An approach. Some language. A sequence for community engagement.”
“And the drawings?”
“Only in an internal deck.”
My stomach turned.
Elena had discovered an affair.
Had she also discovered that I had passed her work to the woman involved?
“Did you tell the firm where it came from?”
Simone’s silence answered.
My own phone began ringing.
Denise.
I answered.
“Marcus, are you somewhere you can speak privately?”
I looked at Simone.
“Yes.”
“I need you to preserve all communications and files relating to the civic redevelopment proposal. Do not delete, alter, or forward anything. We’re conducting an internal review.”
“Understood.”
“We’ll meet tomorrow morning.”
“Denise—”
“Tomorrow. Bring your personal device if relevant. We’ll discuss appropriate access with you.”
The call ended.
Simone sat on the edge of the sofa.
For months, I had imagined our future as a door opening.
Now all I could see were rooms I had walked through taking things that were never mine.
My wife’s trust.
Her patience.
Her time.
And finally, pages from a folder she had left on a desk because she believed she was safe in her own home.
“What did you tell them?” I asked.
Simone’s eyes filled.
“I told them you gave me permission.”
I looked toward the window.
May you like
Forty-seven minutes after the divorce, I had learned Elena was succeeding.
Two hours later, I began understanding what she had survived.
