Chapter 8 - The Scandal They Prepared Before I Knew It Existed
By 11:30 p.m., three reporters had emailed me.
By midnight, six.
The allegations were carefully worded.
No direct accusation that I committed a crime.
Just questions.
Did Northstar secretly route acquisition funds into a trust benefiting Audrey Vance?
Had I physically threatened my husband?
Had I concealed a personal relationship with Aurelia executives before purchasing the company?
The purpose wasn’t proof.
It was contamination.
Make people uncertain.
Make employees nervous.
Make lenders hesitate.
Make a board afraid to support me.
Camilla understood communications too well to overreach.
The first article appeared at 12:07 a.m.
NORTHSTAR ACQUISITION FACES QUESTIONS HOURS AFTER AURELIA ANNIVERSARY ANNOUNCEMENT.
Julian was quoted.
“My primary concern is for the company and for my wife’s well-being during what has clearly become an emotional evening.”
I read that line twice.
He had shoved me.
Cheated on me.
Helped engineer the acquisition trap.
And now he was publicly concerned about my emotional state.
Classic.
Clean.
Infuriating.
I wanted to call him.
I didn’t.
That was what he expected.
Instead, Franklin and I examined the original image files Camilla leaked.
The cropped argument photo contained metadata.
Capture device.
Timestamp.
Location disabled.
But the file naming sequence revealed something useful.
The photo was one of forty-three images.
Same device.
Same day.
Same series.
Whoever took it had photographed our house repeatedly.
Franklin recovered thumbnails from the Project Widow archive.
My front door.
Driveway.
Kitchen window.
Julian arriving home.
Lauren visiting.
My mother’s old safe being moved during renovations.
My skin went cold.
“That safe was empty.”
“Did anyone else know that?”
“Julian.”
The metadata showed the photographs had been uploaded from our home Wi-Fi.
Not taken there.
Uploaded.
“Someone inside my house transferred them.”
Elaine asked, “Staff?”
“Our housekeeper, Rosa, quit three weeks ago.”
“Can we contact her?”
“I’ve tried twice since she left.”
“No response?”
“She changed numbers.”
I searched old messages.
Rosa had sent one strange text before leaving.
THANK YOU FOR EVERYTHING, MRS. VANCE. I’M SORRY I COULDN’T STAY.
At the time, I assumed Julian had been rude to her again.
Now I wondered.
I checked our smart-home access records.
Northstar’s security consultant had installed the system.
Julian had administrator privileges because we lived together.
Guest profiles included Lauren.
Rosa.
Richard Sloane.
Richard had visited after my mother’s estate review.
One administrator account I didn’t recognize.
JM-2.
Franklin searched device activity.
JM-2 logged into the camera hub fourteen times over six months.
Always late at night.
Always when I was traveling.
“Could be Julian,” Elaine said.
“His initials aren’t JM.”
Julian Patrick Vance.
No M.
Conrad Morrow.
CM.
Camilla Price.
CP.
Richard Sloane.
RS.
I searched the Project Widow timeline for JM.
One reference.
CONTACT—JM-2 CONFIRMED HOUSE ACCESS.
No full name.
Then a thought hit me.
“Morrow Family Office.”
Franklin looked up.
“What?”
“Who works for Conrad?”
He searched corporate records.
Chief operating officer.
Finance director.
Counsel.
Then one name.
JACOB MORROW.
Conrad’s son.
Age thirty-nine.
Strategy consultant.
Former private investigator.
My stomach tightened.
“Picture.”
Franklin opened his profile.
I had seen him.
Not at Northstar.
Not at Aurelia.
At my house.
He had introduced himself six months earlier as a contractor from our alarm company after the back gate sensor malfunctioned.
Julian had scheduled the appointment.
Jacob Morrow had spent ninety minutes inside my home.
I felt cold all over.
“He installed access.”
Franklin nodded.
“Or copied it.”
Elaine said, “That gives Morrow’s family direct connection to surveillance of your home.”
“And my missing jewelry.”
“And documents.”
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
A voice memo.
I played it.
Rosa.
My former housekeeper.
She sounded frightened.
“Mrs. Vance, I hope this reaches you. I left because Mr. Julian told me I would be accused of stealing if I stayed.”
I sat straighter.
“He asked me to put papers from Mr. Sloane inside your office. I refused.”
Elaine whispered, “When was this sent?”
“Just now.”
Rosa continued.
“He gave Camilla your jewelry box key. I saw her take something.”
My throat tightened.
“Then a man came when you were in Chicago. Mr. Julian called him Jacob.”
Franklin and I looked at each other.
“He went into the security room. After that, I noticed cameras I had never seen before.”
Rosa began crying.
“I took one down from the guest hallway. I kept it because I was afraid.”
The recording stopped.
Another message arrived.
A photograph of a tiny hidden camera.
And beneath it:
I STILL HAVE THE MEMORY CARD.
Then:
I CAN MEET YOU TOMORROW.
Before I could answer, another message appeared from Rosa’s number.
NOT SAFE. DON’T COME.
Then the account went offline.
At the same moment, Franklin pointed to the hidden-camera model.
“These store locally.”
“So if Rosa kept the card…”
“She may have six months of footage from inside your house.”
Including Julian.
Camilla.
Jacob.
Richard.
Maybe conversations they never expected anyone else to hear.
Then Elaine’s phone rang.
She answered.
Listened.
Her face changed.
“What?”
She ended the call.
“Hotel security found Camilla’s garment bag.”
“Where?”
“In Julian’s car.”
“Camilla?”
“Gone.”
“What was in the bag?”
Elaine looked at me.
“Copies of your mother’s original Northstar partnership agreements.”
I stared.
Those documents were supposed to be in a private archive.
Then Elaine added:
“And one signed letter transferring a Northstar voting block to Conrad Morrow.”
May you like
My signature was at the bottom.
📖 Read why the forged transfer to Conrad Morrow threatened more than Aurelia—and what detail in my signature proved the document was prepared years before my marriage in CHAPTER 9. 👇
