Chapter 3 - Twelve Months of Money That Did Not Exist
Bellwether’s managing partner was a woman named Caroline Voss.
She was sixty, direct, and apparently immune to the founder charm that had once worked on me.
We arranged a call that afternoon.
Elena attended.
So did Bellwether’s counsel.
Caroline opened without pleasantries.
“We received a letter indicating Reed Meridian would provide operating support for twelve months after closing.”
“I haven’t authorized that.”
“May we send you the document?”
The file arrived while we were still speaking.
It used our logo.
Our office address.
A signature that resembled mine if somebody had seen it twice and decided confidence would finish the job.
I stared at the screen.
Elena placed one hand flat on the table.
“Let’s proceed carefully.”
I read the letter.
The amount was substantial.
The supposed commitment was unconditional.
The signature date fell on a day I had been in Boston giving a recorded presentation in front of two hundred people.
“I did not sign this,” I said.
Nobody spoke for a moment.
Then Caroline asked, “Was anyone at your company authorized to make this commitment on your behalf?”
“No.”
“We will pause our process and preserve the materials.”
The call ended.
I sat motionless.
Until then, part of me had still been arranging the facts into a familiar story.
An arrogant man.
A lazy founder.
A fiancé who had confused being loved with being permanently financed.
The letter belonged to a different story.
Elena requested the original file and transmission details through counsel.
Priya began checking who could access our branding materials.
I thought of the printer in my home office.
The signed documents Gavin had watched me review.
The laptop I sometimes left open while making dinner.
Trust had given him proximity.
I had mistaken proximity for safety.
That evening, he called seventeen times.
Then came a message.
We need to discuss the Bellwether misunderstanding.
I forwarded it.
He called again.
I answered with Elena beside me.
“What misunderstanding?” I asked.
“The letter was a draft.”
“Then why did Bellwether receive it as a signed commitment?”
“My adviser may have sent the wrong version.”
“Who is your adviser?”
A pause.
“We don’t need to do this like an interrogation.”
“We need a name.”
He exhaled.
“Natalie, nothing happened. No money changed hands.”
I looked at Elena.
Her expression stayed unreadable.
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
His voice sharpened.
“You wanted me to succeed.”
“Yes.”
“You told me you believed in the company.”
“Yes.”
“So I represented that.”
“You represented a signature.”
Silence.
Then his tone softened.
“Can we meet alone?”
“No.”
“You’re going to ruin me over a technicality.”
I ended the call.
For several minutes, I could hear only the office ventilation.
Then, unexpectedly, I began to shake.
Not because I wanted him back.
Because somebody I had planned to marry had heard me describe a false financial commitment and called it a technicality.
Priya drove me home.
My apartment looked different with Gavin’s belongings boxed in the guest room.
Not empty.
Accurate.
He had collected several essentials that afternoon through arrangements made by counsel. The rest would follow.
On the kitchen counter stood the espresso machine he had insisted made us look established.
I had never liked espresso.
Priya opened my refrigerator.
“You have sparkling water, mustard, and something that used to be lettuce.”
“I’ve had a busy week.”
“You’ve had a busy five years.”
We ordered noodles.
For the first time since the text, I cried.
Quietly at first.
Then with enough force that Priya sat beside me on the kitchen floor.
“I feel stupid,” I said.
“You trusted someone.”
“I ignored things.”
“Yes.”
I looked at her.
She did not flinch.
“You can learn from that without accepting responsibility for what he chose.”
I wiped my face with a paper towel.
“I thought supporting him made us a team.”
“Supporting someone can,” she said. “Being made responsible for their image is different.”
At nine thirty, my phone lit up.
Not Gavin.
Sloane Mercer.
I found your number in the investment materials. Gavin says you’re trying to sabotage the financing because of our relationship.
I stared at the message.
A second appeared.
I need to know whether the letter is real.
For several seconds, I considered ignoring her.
Then I thought of fourteen employees.
Of the prospective investors.
Of another woman being invited to confuse loyalty with not asking questions.
I sent one sentence.
Please have your company’s counsel contact mine. I did not sign that letter.
Her reply came two minutes later.
Neither did I.
I sat up.
Priya looked at me.
“What?”
May you like
I turned the screen toward her.
For the first time that week, Gavin was not the only person in the conversation with missing information.
