CHAPTER TWELVE
ALYSSA
He had added a clean shirt at some point. The collar sat open. His jaw carried enough stubble to suggest the razor had been judged nonessential during the collapse of civilization.
“Before you look at your email,” he said, “I need you to understand that we’re containing this.”
Alyssa put down her coffee.
The phrase had become Damian’s preferred introduction to disasters that were already galloping through the front gate.
“What am I not supposed to read?”
He placed the tablet on her desk.
The document covered forty-seven pages.
Bank transfers occupied the first section. The edited recording appeared next, followed by statements attributed to unnamed estate employees. The final pages contained extracts from Alyssa’s fertility records and a neat timeline of what the writer called her escalating instability.
Her name appeared in bold throughout.
Alyssa Vader authorized.
Alyssa Vader threatened.
Alyssa Vader demonstrated erratic behavior.
A photograph from the marina showed her reaching for Vanessa’s bag. The frame had been cropped before Vanessa took Alyssa’s phone, leaving an image of one woman advancing and another recoiling.
On the next page, the dossier quoted a staff complaint.
Mrs Vader has become increasingly suspicious and hostile. Employees are concerned about challenging her because she may retaliate.
No name. No date. No department.
Still, it looked official enough to ruin breakfast.
“Who received it?” Alyssa asked.
“The full board, legal counsel, three senior executives and the foundation trustees.”
“Press?”
“We don’t know.”
“That means yes.”
Damian braced one hand against the desk. “Communications is monitoring every outlet.”
“How comforting.”
“I’ve called an emergency board meeting for nine.”
“Without me?”
“With you.”
Alyssa read the opening paragraph again.
The anonymous writer claimed to be a concerned foundation employee. They had assembled the dossier after witnessing Alyssa misuse charitable funds while Damian concealed her mental decline.
Whoever wrote it understood governance language. They also understood that a wealthy husband protecting an unstable wife made better copy than routine financial fraud.
“Forensic authentication?” Damian asked.
“Pending.”
“How long?”
“Martin expects an initial opinion tomorrow. Julian is tracing the nominee accounts.”
Damian’s attention remained on the payment pages. “The signatures are convincing.”
“They’re forged.”
“I know what you said.”
Her fingers went still against the tablet.
He heard himself. A tired breath left him.
“That came out badly.”
“It came out accurately.”
“I’m trying to anticipate the board’s questions.”
“You could try answering them.”
“With what? We don’t have a completed report.”
“Tell them I did not authorize the transfers.”
“They’ll ask whether you could have approved documents without reading every page.”
Alyssa stared at him.
Damian continued because stopping had never been one of his strengths.
“You were handling the hotel launch, the foundation expansion and your mother’s benefit. The leaked records show you were under pressure.”
“The leaked medical records show I had miscarriages years ago.”
“They’ll use them to establish a history of treatment.”
“Treatment for grief.”
“I understand that.”
“Do you?”
His mouth tightened. “I am explaining the argument they will make.”
“No. You’re testing it on me.”
“That isn’t fair.”
“Did you sign anything during a difficult period?” Alyssa asked. “Did you accidentally approve one point four million dollars in fake invoices because work became stressful?”
“This is different.”
“Why?”
“Because the approvals carry your credentials.”
“And the security deletion carried yours.”
The answer stopped him.
Morning light reached through the patio doors and spread across the floor between them. Beyond the glass, a groundskeeper trimmed the hedge beside the reflecting pool. Each branch fell with quiet efficiency.
Damian looked back at the dossier.
“I believe the transactions need to be investigated,” he said.
“That was not the question.”
“I believe you did not knowingly steal from your foundation.”
Knowingly.
Alyssa rose from the desk.
Damian straightened. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Take one word and turn it into a verdict.”
“You chose the word.”
“Because the board may ask whether your approval process was compromised.”
“My husband is asking whether my mind was compromised.”
“I’m trying to keep them from suspending you.”
“By agreeing that their concern may be reasonable?”
“I didn’t agree with it.”
“You asked whether I signed papers without remembering.”
“I asked whether you reviewed every approval.”
“I built the system.”
“And somebody exploited it.”
“Yes. Somebody.”
The office door opened a few inches.
Sophie stood in the corridor dressed for school, one hand curled around the strap of her backpack. The private tutor Damian had arranged waited farther down the hall.
“Sorry,” Sophie said. “Mom told me to ask Mr Vader if I can use the art room today.”
Alyssa glanced at Damian.
He crossed to the door. “After your lessons.”
“Mom said the tutor canceled.”
“She didn’t.”
Sophie looked toward the woman waiting near the stairs. Confusion creased her forehead.
“I’ll take her,” the tutor said.
Sophie remained in place. “Mom said I should stay near the house.”
“Your lessons are in the library,” Damian replied. “You’ll be near the house.”
Alyssa watched the child retreat.
Vanessa’s new restrictions had lasted six days. No unescorted movement beyond the guesthouse. No private meetings with press. No access to the main residence without approval. Sophie had her own protection officer and tutor.
Damian considered the system a success because Vanessa had obeyed it in public.
Apparently, the lesson of the last month was that locked doors worked beautifully until Vanessa found the key.
Alyssa closed the dossier.
“What happens at nine?”
“I stop the board from suspending you.”
“I won’t attend as your confused wife who needs protection.”
“No one called you confused.”
“It occupies nineteen pages.”
He reached for her hand.
Alyssa moved first and picked up her coffee. The rejection registered in his face before he covered it.
“I need you beside me,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because we handle this together.”
The bitter laugh escaped before she could swallow it. “You handle Vanessa. You investigate me. There hasn’t been a together in weeks.”
“Alyssa.”
“I’ll attend the meeting.”
His shoulders lowered a fraction.
“I’ll answer questions about the foundation,” she added. “If anybody asks whether I remember signing my own name, I leave.”
“That will look defensive.”
“It will be accurate.”
She walked past him and reached the door before he spoke again.
“Vanessa will be at the gala on Saturday.”
Alyssa turned.
Damian remained beside the desk.
“Why?”
“My mother and the communications team believe her absence will fuel claims that we’re silencing an abuse survivor.”
“Your communications team needs treatment.”
“They’re proposing one supervised statement. Three minutes. No questions.”
“At my foundation gala.”
“The event benefits children affected by domestic violence.”
“It benefits community arts programs.”
“This year’s principal grant supports an art-therapy center for children leaving violent homes.”
Alyssa knew the grant. She had selected it.
That did not make Vanessa its patron saint.
“You approved this?”
“I approved a controlled appearance.”
“You have prohibited her from speaking to reporters.”
“This gives us one authorized statement and ends the speculation.”
“Has Vanessa agreed?”
“Yes.”
“When did you ask her?”
“Last night.”
While Alyssa and Martin reviewed forged signatures until one in the morning, Damian had negotiated his former fiancée’s return to public life.
Alyssa rested her hand on the doorframe.
“Does her statement mention me?”
“No.”
“Does the program place her near you?”
“We haven’t finalized the program.”
“Then finalize it without using my name to rehabilitate hers.”
His brow furrowed. “That isn’t the purpose.”
“It keeps happening without being the purpose.”
She left him in the office.
At eight-thirty, Martin arrived with the unfiled separation papers in a black leather folder.
By eight-forty, Alyssa had signed everything except the petition.
Martin capped his pen. “You understand these documents do nothing until we file.”
“They secure the accounts.”
“The account instructions are active. Your apartment remains held through the design company. The separation petition stays here.”
He tapped the folder.
“Your personal files?” he asked.
“Copied.”
“Passport?”
“In my bag.”
“Medication?”
“I don’t take any.”
“Jewelry?”
“Why does everybody care about jewelry?”
“Because clients leave six million dollars in diamonds on a dressing table and become shocked when access gets complicated.”
“I’ll take my grandmother’s earrings.”
“Cars?”
“I own one through the company.”
“Good. You’ve become alarmingly practical.”
“I learned from an expensive lawyer.”
“You haven’t paid the first invoice.”
“Then the lesson is free.”
Martin gave her a dry look and closed the folder.
“You are still hoping you won’t need this.”
Alyssa turned her wedding ring so the diamond pressed into her palm.
“Yes.”
“Hope is allowed. Dependence is expensive.”
The board meeting lasted seventy-three minutes.
No one directly accused Alyssa of theft.
They asked about controls, authorization protocols, staff access and her recent workload. A director from Boston used the phrase period of personal strain and looked embarrassed when Alyssa asked him to define it.
Damian blocked a motion to suspend her pending the forensic report.
Julian supported him.
Alyssa thanked neither man for allowing her to retain control of the organization she had founded.
By noon, three outlets had published extracts from the dossier.
At twelve-fifteen, forged messages appeared online.
The first showed Alyssa threatening a journalist who had requested comment.
Publish one more lie about my marriage and Vader Global will make sure you never work in this city again.