Chapter 3 - THE WOMAN IN MY ROBE KNEW TOO MUCH
Sienna lowered her phone.
Vivian stared at her.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing.”
“Give me that phone.”
Sienna backed away.
Vivian moved toward her.
“I said give it to me.”
Sienna’s expression changed.
The smug confidence Laurel had seen the day before was gone.
Now she looked nervous.
“You’re burning documents.”
“Old tax papers.”
“At eleven in the morning?”
“My son’s wife has lost her mind. I am cleaning the house.”
Sienna glanced toward the fireplace.
One sheet had landed partially outside the flame.
A bank logo remained visible.
Sienna bent toward it.
Vivian shoved it deeper with the fireplace poker.
“Stay out of things that don’t concern you.”
Sienna slowly straightened.
“I think this concerns me.”
“Why?”
“Because Grant told me yesterday that the estate was his.”
Vivian rolled her eyes.
“It is.”
“It isn’t.”
Vivian’s expression tightened.
Sienna continued.
“He told me the company was his.”
“It is his.”
“The board suspended him because Laurel owns seventy-one percent.”
Vivian looked away.
Sienna suddenly understood something deeply unpleasant.
Grant had lied to her almost as much as he had lied to his wife.
He had promised Sienna an executive title after the divorce.
He had told her Laurel had no involvement in the business.
He had promised that once Laurel moved out, they would renovate the master bedroom.
He had even shown Sienna sketches for a new closet.
Now the supposed empire had begun collapsing before breakfast.
Sienna folded her arms.
“What did you and Grant do?”
Vivian glared at her.
“You have benefited from my son’s generosity for months. I suggest you remember that before developing an attitude.”
“Generosity?”
Sienna laughed.
“He bought me things because he was sleeping with me.”
Vivian’s mouth tightened.
“Lower your voice.”
“No.”
“Grant is under pressure.”
“Grant told me he was divorcing Laurel before the baby came.”
Vivian said nothing.
Sienna stared at her.
“He wasn’t going to do it, was he?”
“Marriage is complicated.”
“He told me they hadn’t shared a bedroom in a year.”
Vivian’s silence answered again.
Sienna’s face flushed.
“He told me Laurel knew about us.”
Vivian gave an impatient sigh.
“Sienna, please. Men say what they need to say.”
Something in Sienna’s expression hardened.
Perhaps, for the first time, she understood how Vivian had always seen her.
Not as Grant’s future wife.
Not as a partner.
As entertainment.
Disposable entertainment.
Sienna looked toward the burning documents.
“What are those?”
“That is none of your business.”
Sienna turned toward the stairs.
Vivian called after her.
“Where are you going?”
“To pack.”
“You should.”
Sienna stopped.
Then looked back.
“And I’m keeping the video.”
Vivian’s face changed.
Sienna went upstairs.
Twenty-three minutes later, she drove away with two suitcases.
She did not call Grant.
She called Laurel.
Laurel nearly ignored the unknown number.
She was sitting in Margaret’s office with Maisie asleep beside her while an investigator reviewed the suspicious mortgage document.
Finally, she answered.
“Hello?”
A familiar voice said, “Don’t hang up.”
Laurel went still.
Sienna.
Margaret looked over.
Laurel put the call on speaker.
“What do you want?”
Sienna inhaled.
“I have something you need to see.”
Laurel almost laughed.
“I saw enough yesterday.”
“This isn’t about me and Grant.”
“Everything about you is about you and Grant.”
“No. His mother was burning papers.”
Margaret immediately stopped writing.
Laurel’s voice sharpened.
“What papers?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then why are you calling me?”
“Because she freaked out when she realized I was recording.”
Laurel glanced at Margaret.
“Send it.”
Sienna hesitated.
“What do I get?”
Laurel’s face hardened.
“Excuse me?”
“I need protection.”
“From whom?”
“Grant.”
Laurel almost ended the call.
Then Sienna said something that stopped her.
“He told me last month that once the transfer was finished, you would have nothing to fight with.”
Laurel felt a chill.
“What transfer?”
“I don’t know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I swear.”
“You were sleeping with my husband in my bed.”
“I know.”
“Wearing my clothes.”
“I know.”
“While I was recovering from surgery.”
Sienna’s voice broke slightly.
“I know.”
Laurel did not soften.
“Then start talking.”
Sienna took a breath.
Grant had been restless for months.
The company was growing, but he complained that Laurel’s family structure prevented him from making “real moves.”
He hated needing approval for large transactions.
He hated Margaret Ellis.
Most of all, he hated the fact that portions of the business remained beyond his control.
Three months earlier, Vivian introduced Grant to a private lender.
The lender would provide millions against the Nashville estate if Grant could show authorization from the beneficial owner.
Sienna had been present when Grant talked about it.
She assumed Laurel had agreed.
Then, two weeks earlier, Grant became nervous.
He told Sienna paperwork needed to be completed “before the baby complicated everything.”
Laurel looked at Margaret.
Margaret’s face was grim.
“What exactly did he say?” Laurel asked.
Sienna answered.
“He said, ‘Once she delivers, everyone will treat her like glass. I need this closed before then.’”
Laurel felt physically sick.
Not because of the money.
Because Grant had timed it around her pregnancy.
While she was preparing a nursery, he had been preparing documents.
Sienna continued.
“I thought you knew.”
Laurel closed her eyes.
“Stop saying that.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You weren’t sorry yesterday.”
Silence.
Sienna finally whispered, “Yesterday I still thought he chose me.”
The sentence hung there.
Laurel looked at her daughter.
“You thought hurting me proved he loved you?”
Sienna began crying softly.
“I was stupid.”
“Yes.”
Margaret glanced at Laurel but said nothing.
Sienna swallowed.
“I sent the video.”
Margaret’s laptop chimed.
She opened the attachment.
The footage clearly showed Vivian pushing documents into the fireplace.
Not enough to identify every page.
But enough to raise questions.
Then Vivian’s voice could be heard.
Stay out of things that don’t concern you.
Margaret immediately forwarded the footage to the investigator.
“Laurel,” she said quietly, “we should preserve the property before more evidence disappears.”
Within two hours, Margaret filed an emergency civil petition requesting access to the estate for forensic collection and asking the court to prohibit destruction of records connected to Bennett Family Holdings.
Grant learned about it while sitting in a coffee shop because his office access had been revoked.
He called Laurel.
She declined.
He called again.
Declined.
Then nineteen more times.
Laurel stared at the screen.
Nineteen.
The exact number of calls she had made from the hospital.
She turned the phone facedown.
Grant left a voicemail.
“Laurel, this has gone too far. Whatever happened between us is personal. You’re destroying years of work because you’re angry. Call me.”
The second voicemail was less controlled.
“You cannot use Maisie as leverage.”
The third sounded almost desperate.
“We need to talk before lawyers turn this into something it isn’t.”
Laurel saved all three.
At four that afternoon, Margaret accompanied Laurel back to the estate with two investigators and a sheriff’s deputy.
Vivian opened the front door.
Her expression darkened.
“You are not bringing strangers into my son’s house.”
Laurel looked at her.
“My house.”
Vivian laughed.
Then Margaret handed the deputy the court order.
Vivian stopped laughing.
“You went to court?”
“Yes,” Laurel said.
“Against family?”
Laurel stared at her.
“You watched your son abandon me in a hospital and bring his girlfriend into my bed.”
Vivian raised her chin.
“Grant deserves happiness.”
“So do I.”
The investigators walked toward the study.
Vivian stepped in front of them.
“You cannot search everything.”
The deputy pointed toward the order.
“They can collect business records and electronic devices listed here, ma’am.”
Vivian turned to Laurel.
“You vindictive little—”
“Finish that sentence,” Laurel said quietly.
Vivian stopped.
Perhaps because something about Laurel no longer looked familiar.
Two hours later, investigators found almost nothing.
Desk drawers were empty.
The study computer had been wiped.
The fireplace had been cleaned.
Grant’s filing cabinet contained only routine documents.
Then one investigator walked into the garage.
He noticed a small black security camera in the upper corner.
“Laurel?”
She followed him.
“Yes?”
“Is this system cloud-backed?”
Laurel stared at the camera.
Grant had installed the security system after a burglary in the neighborhood.
He loved technology.
Every exterior door.
Hallway.
Garage.
Office corridor.
All backed up remotely.
“I think so.”
The investigator smiled.
“Then deleting the computer may not matter.”
They accessed the cloud account using Laurel’s ownership credentials.
Most footage was routine.
Deliveries.
Housekeepers.
Landscapers.
Then they reached twenty-six days earlier.
At 9:41 p.m., Grant entered the home office with a man Laurel did not recognize.
Vivian followed.
The man opened a briefcase.
He removed documents.
Grant paced.
Then Vivian placed a sheet of paper on the desk.
Even without audio, Laurel saw what happened next.
Vivian picked up a pen.
She practiced something on a blank sheet.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Then she signed the document.
Laurel leaned closer to the screen.
The handwriting looked familiar.
Because Vivian was practicing Laurel’s signature.
Margaret stopped breathing.
The investigator paused the video.
“No audio?”
“Not from that camera.”
He checked the system.
Then smiled.
“There is from the hallway camera.”
They synchronized the feeds.
The audio was faint.
But clear enough.
Grant’s voice.
It has to look exactly like hers.
Vivian responded.
I’ve watched her sign birthday cards for nine years. Stop worrying.
Laurel sat back slowly.
Her mother-in-law had forged her signature.
Her husband had watched.
Then another voice came from the video.
The unknown man.
If anyone asks, Mrs. Bennett signed in front of me.
Margaret immediately stood.
“That man is the notary.”
Laurel stared at the frozen image.
“What happens now?”
Margaret looked at her.
“Now?”
May you like
She picked up her phone.
“Now Grant is going to wish this were only a divorce.”
