Chapter 6 - One and a Half Million
The next morning I collected Silas's samples. Days later he called me in.
An encrypted drive sat on the table.
"We traced regular transfers from your husband into an offshore structure."
"How regular?"
"Monthly."
"How much?"
"Between twenty and forty thousand a shot."
"Where?"
"A Cayman account held through a shell. Beneficial owner: Camille Beaumont."
I sat very still. "Total?"
"Just over one and a half million in the last three years."
More than a million and a half. Meanwhile Damon had questioned the receipts for clothes I bought for events he made me attend.
"There's more," Silas said. "Your husband's been talking to a wealth-management firm in Geneva. Looks like they're structuring a large transfer of his Ashford Holdings stake into a foreign trust."
"And if he finishes it?"
"His reachable US assets could drop through the floor."
I gripped the drive. "Keep digging."
Back home I went through the transfer history. Always the fifteenth of the month. One date stopped me cold. February fifteenth, three years ago. The day after Valentine's Day.
That Valentine's, Damon had sent a wall of roses. Took me to a rooftop restaurant over Central Park. Held my hand across the table. "Rosalind, you're the love of my life." Later he drank too much champagne and passed out. His phone lit up on the nightstand: Funds transferred successfully.
I'd assumed it was business. Now I knew where the money went.
A week later the DNA came back. Probability that Damon Ashford was Theo's biological father: 99.9 percent.
The last doubt was gone.
That night I watched another recording. Vivienne and Damon in the living room.
"Rosalind's been too quiet lately," Vivienne said.
Damon barely glanced up. "So?"
"It worries me. What if she finds out about Camille?"
Damon laughed. "What's she going to do about it?"
"Divorce you."
"She hasn't worked in five years. She has no income of her own." His voice dripped contempt. "She couldn't rent a decent apartment in this city without me."
Then the line I'll remember for the rest of my life:
"Her whole existence depends on my signature."
I stopped the recording and texted Grant. Evidence secured. When do we move?
Wait, he wrote back. He wanted Damon to keep exposing the offshore structure. Move too early and he'd bury the trail.
Then: How are you holding up?
I looked around the bedroom. Five years sleeping next to a man who was certain I was helpless.
May you like
I typed: I've never felt more powerful.
And it was true. The moment I stopped loving him, I stopped needing anything from him. I wasn't Mrs. Damon Ashford anymore. I was Rosalind Keene again.
