Chapter 4 - The Second Woman at the Table
Sloane arrived at Elena’s office wearing no jewelry except a watch.
She looked younger than her photographs.
Less polished.
More tired.
Her own attorney came with her.
We sat across a rectangular table that made the meeting feel less like a confrontation and more like what it was.
People trying to establish which parts of their lives had been built on incorrect information.
Sloane spoke first.
“He told me you separated in February.”
I looked at her.
“It’s October.”
“I know that now.”
“He proposed that we set a wedding date in June.”
Her eyes closed briefly.
“I didn’t know.”
I believed the shock.
That did not erase everything.
“You posted that photograph.”
“Yes.”
“The caption.”
She looked down.
“He said you called his company a hobby. He said you kept treating him like someone who couldn’t function without you.”
I almost laughed.
It would have been an ugly sound.
Instead, I asked, “And that made it acceptable to mock me publicly?”
“No.”
She met my eyes.
“It made me feel like I was defending him. That was convenient for me. I’m sorry.”
There was no request hidden inside the apology.
I appreciated that.
Then her attorney opened a folder.
Sloane had prepared an internal investment summary for Bellwether. The version her team eventually received contained a recommendation she had not written.
The original had listed several unresolved concerns.
Revenue recognition.
Customer concentration.
Dependence on related-party funding.
The later version described those concerns as resolved.
Her electronic approval appeared beneath it.
She had not given that approval.
“Gavin had access to a draft?” Elena asked.
“Yes. I sent it so he could answer questions.”
Sloane’s mouth tightened.
“I shouldn’t have mixed the relationship and the work.”
“No,” her attorney said gently. “But the question of who altered a document remains separate.”
I recognized the distinction.
Carelessness did not authorize deception.
We compared dates.
Messages.
Versions.
The two supposed approvals had helped Gavin tell a complete story.
My money was committed.
Sloane’s employer was satisfied.
The company was ready.
Everyone else was merely catching up.
By the time the meeting ended, neither of us looked victorious.
At the elevator, Sloane stopped beside me.
“I don’t expect you to like me.”
“I don’t.”
She nodded.
“But I don’t need to hate you to understand what happened.”
Her face changed.
“Thank you.”
“That isn’t forgiveness.”
“I know.”
Outside, Chicago traffic moved beneath a hard blue sky.
For the first time in days, I felt something other than anger.
Grief.
Not for Gavin exactly.
For the woman I had been while arranging her life around him.
She had worked late, answered his questions, paid his invoices, and then apologized for being tired.
I wanted to go back and sit beside her.
Tell her she did not have to keep proving that love was generous.
That generosity without limits could become a place where somebody else stored all their obligations.
That afternoon, Gavin’s mother called.
I had loved her once.
Perhaps I still did.
“Natalie, he’s beside himself.”
“I’m sure he is.”
“He says the business is in danger.”
“The business needs accurate information.”
“Can’t you separate your hurt from the company?”
I looked at Elena’s folder on the passenger seat.
“I am.”
“He made a mistake.”
“He sent documents using approvals we did not give.”
A pause.
Then she said, “He was under tremendous pressure.”
I closed my eyes.
“So were the people who trusted him.”
Her voice cooled.
“I never thought you would be vindictive.”
For years, that word would have worked.
It would have sent me searching for some softer way to maintain the boundary.
Today, it sounded like an invoice I no longer intended to pay.
“I hope he gets proper advice,” I said. “I won’t discuss the review with you.”
I ended the call.
At home, I removed my engagement ring.
Not theatrically.
I put it in its box and sent Elena a message asking her to determine how it should be handled.
Then I made tea in a chipped mug Gavin had once suggested I replace before guests arrived.
It had belonged to my father.
He had bought it at a roadside shop during the last trip we took together.
I held it in both hands.
For five years, I had lived with a man who measured ordinary things by whether they looked expensive.
I had almost let him teach me to do the same.
My phone vibrated.
An email from Marcus.
Subject: Payroll and Friday.
I opened it immediately.
The employees were beginning to hear rumors.
Some were afraid their paychecks would fail.
One had a newborn.
Another had just signed a lease.
May you like
I set down the mug.
Whatever happened next, I was not going to confuse hurting Gavin with protecting anyone else.
