Chapter 7 - The House Eleanor Didn’t Own
Eleanor stopped moving.
Thomas placed the record beside the deed.
Her Connecticut house had been transferred eleven months earlier.
Not sold.
Transferred.
To an LLC.
Julian read the company name.
“Prescott Residential?”
Thomas nodded.
“Who owns that?”
Nobody answered.
Then Julian realized.
“Preston?”
Eleanor whispered:
“It was temporary.”
Julian stared at her.
“You gave Preston your house?”
“I was protecting assets.”
“From what?”
She hesitated.
I watched.
That hesitation mattered.
Julian noticed too.
“Mom.”
Nothing.
“From what?”
Eleanor finally snapped.
“You wouldn’t understand.”
Julian slammed the paper down.
“TRY ME.”
Thomas calmly interrupted.
“There are outstanding creditor claims.”
The room fell silent.
Eleanor had debts.
Significant ones.
Not because she was poor.
Because she had been gambling with investments she barely understood.
Northbridge Capital wasn’t simply one of Preston’s mistakes.
It was hers.
She had convinced Julian to give her his salary because she claimed she could produce better returns.
Instead, she had been plugging holes.
Her losses.
Preston’s losses.
Loans.
Luxury purchases.
One failing decision financing the next.
Julian looked physically sick.
“You lost my money?”
“I can fix it.”
“How?”
“I need time.”
“With whose money?”
Silence.
Then he looked at me.
I knew that expression.
So did Eleanor.
Suddenly the woman who had mocked me ten minutes earlier softened her voice.
“Claire.”
“No.”
“I haven't asked anything.”
“You're about to.”
She looked offended.
“We are family.”
I glanced at Julian.
He couldn't meet my eyes.
“That argument expired around the time your son told me he could replace me with ninety-nine other women.”
Eleanor’s face hardened.
Then she said something astonishing.
“The penthouse is marital property.”
Thomas answered before I could.
“No.”
She turned.
“What?”
“It was acquired before the marriage through Mrs. Hayes’s separate holding structure.”
Julian’s head snapped toward me.
“Before?”
“Yes.”
I had owned the penthouse before I met him.
Julian slowly lowered himself into a chair.
Every story he had told himself about our marriage was collapsing.
Then the elevator chimed again.
This time I wasn’t expecting anyone.
Thomas frowned.
Julian looked toward the doors.
Eleanor suddenly went rigid.
“Who is that?”
The doors opened.
A woman in a black coat stepped out.
Rebecca Sloan.
My former business partner.
And she looked furious.
“Claire.”
I stood.
“What happened?”
Rebecca held up her phone.
“Someone tried to access your private investment account twenty minutes ago.”
My blood ran cold.
“From where?”
May you like
Rebecca slowly looked toward Eleanor.
“From inside this penthouse.”
