All Chapters of HE LEFT ME WITH NOTHING—TOO BAD I OWNED EVERYTHING: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

The first indication that my husband had lost his damn mind was the bracelet.Not the pregnant woman sitting beside him. Not the divorce papers waiting next to my champagne flute. The bracelet.I stopped in the doorway of the private dining room at Laurent and stared at the narrow line of diamonds sparkling around the stranger’s wrist.My bracelet.My grandmother had worn it when she married my grandfather in 1962. My mother wore it on her wedding day, and seven years ago, she had fastened it around my wrist before walking me down the aisle to marry Grant Whitmore.Three weeks earlier, I’d noticed it missing from my jewelry safe. Grant told me I’d probably misplaced it.Apparently, I’d misplaced it onto his mistress.“Camille.”My husband stood. At least he had the decency to look uncomfortable.I glanced at the woman beside him. She was beautiful, with honey-brown hair swept over one shoulder and the kind of cream silk dress designed to look effortless despite costing more than most

Grant set his bag down carefully.“Camille, where did you get that file?”It wasn’t fear in his voice yet.Not quite.But it was close enough to interest me.“Good morning to you too.”“I’m serious.”“So am I.”He crossed the kitchen, stopping on the opposite side of the island. Less than twenty-four hours earlier, I’d thought I knew every version of this man. I knew the smile he used when he wanted something, the silence that meant he was angry and the tiny muscle that moved in his jaw when he was lying.That muscle was moving now.“That information is confidential.”“I know.”“You can’t have it.”“And yet.”“Camille.”I sighed. “You really have to stop saying my name as though it’s a legal argument.”His gaze dropped to my laptop.“Did someone at the fund send that to you?”“The fund?”“Monroe Capital.”Hearing my own family name come out of my husband’s mouth as though it belonged to strangers was almost surreal.“How much do you know about Monroe Capital?”He frowned. “What does t

The first invoice was for ninety-eight thousand dollars.The second was for one hundred twenty-four thousand.By the time Julian displayed the fourth invoice on the conference-room screen, Cole Brand Strategies had received $486,000 from Whitmore Technologies over the previous fourteen months.Vanessa sat beside Grant with one hand resting near her stomach, making a visible effort not to look in my direction. I couldn't entirely blame her. Discovering that your boyfriend's wife not only knew about you but also happened to control the investment firm examining your company's invoices would have been enough to ruin anyone's Monday morning.Grant's chief financial officer, Daniel Mercer, looked considerably worse.“Ms. Cole,” Julian said, “could you walk us through the services associated with the February invoice?”Vanessa straightened in her chair. “Brand repositioning, market research, and strategic consulting related to the North American launch.”“Do you have supporting work product

By seven the next morning, I had already changed three passwords, downloaded six months of bank records, and learned that rage was remarkably efficient when paired with coffee. Julian had left just after eleven the night before, taking the flash drive with him and leaving me with far more questions than answers. He had also left the empty Thai containers neatly stacked beside the sink, which was irritatingly considerate. I hadn’t slept much. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the same sequence: Grant at Laurent, Vanessa wearing my grandmother’s bracelet, Daniel Mercer saying Grant had used my name, and Julian placing that black flash drive between us like evidence at trial. An email account created under my name. The sentence had followed me upstairs, into bed, and through the three hours of sleep I eventually managed. By morning, I had stopped thinking like a wife. I was thinking like a lawyer. That distinction mattered. At eight fifteen, I was sitting in my home office with

Grant hadn’t told me to ask who owned Hawthorne.He’d told me to ask who paid for it.There was a difference.I stared at the text message until the words blurred.Across from me, Julian was already moving. He returned to his desk, pulled his keyboard closer, and began typing.“What are you doing?”“Following instructions.”“Grant’s?”“Don’t insult me.”Despite everything, the corner of my mouth twitched.Julian glanced up.“Was that a smile?”“No.”“It looked like one.”“Concentrate.”“I can do both.”“I remember.”The words slipped out before I could stop them.His fingers paused over the keyboard.So did my breathing.For one brief, dangerous second, neither of us was standing in a law office discussing shell companies and forged signatures. We were twenty-five again, sitting too close together in a law-school library, pretending the tension between us wasn’t obvious to everyone except us.Julian’s eyes held mine.“I remember too.”His voice was quieter now.I looked away first.“H