Then stopped.
I said softly, “Vanessa, read my name.”
Her expression shifted.
I informed her, “You have thirty seconds before your husband finds out what I am doing here.”
Vanessa picked the card up carefully with her thumb and index finger, as though it might leave a residue.
“Nora Bell.” She read with a chortle, “Cute. A different style.”
“Keep going.”
Her gaze fell lower on the card.
Nora Bell
Founder / Managing Partner
Bell Forensic Advisory Group
I could see that the hand of the watch of Grant Vale suddenly was frozen in time.
By the time Vanessa understood the connections of the firm, I could see Grant Vale already recognizing the firm’s name and that he associated that firm with me.Men like Grant are adept at sensing danger before it occurs. His expression suddenly changed; first, he was shocked, and then he instantly became alert.
Vanessa saw this change and asked, “What’s going on?”
Grant attempted to grab the business card from her. “Give it to me.”
She angrily pulled away from him. “Why are you so weird?”
I turned my gaze to Grant. “Hey, Grant.”
I could see that he was having trouble swallowing.
From that moment on, the whole atmosphere of the ballroom changed. The loud sound of laughter turned to whispers. Everyone had phones out and were using them for entirely different reasons, slightly lowering and increasing their devices as they were distracted by something bigger at hand.
With her nails, manicured to perfection, Vanessa pushed the card against Grant’s face. “You know my husband?”
“I know his phone number.”
Grant stepped closer to them. “This is not the right place for whatever this is.”
“No. This is definitely the right place.” I said in a calm voice.
Vanessa turned around to look him squarely in the eyes. “What do you mean? What phone numbers?”
I stepped back a little to make room for the rest of the room to be able to see what was about to happen. “Vale Properties purchased three low-income housing buildings last year. They promised to renovate, collected city redevelopment funds, and redirected funds through shell vendors.”
Grant’s face turned to ash.
Vanessa laughed again, but it sounded forced. “That is completely crazy.”
“Is it?” I questioned back. “Because two of those shell vendors are registered in your maiden name.”
Her mouth snapped shut.
There it was, the first crack in the facade.
Many years ago, Vanessa had used her beauty, wealth, popularity, and her father being on the school board, to socially destroy me without knowing anything about me or my life. I had nothing to my name except a library card and a desire not to go quietly away.
So, I learned the numbers.
Numbers never ridicule. Numbers never gossip. Numbers can only confess.For many years, I have established my career by uncovering the truths hidden within the financial documentation of wealthy individuals, including invoices, trusts, payroll records, and campaign contributions. Six months ago, however, I received a confidential report from a lawyer in my firm at the request of a whistleblower with information regarding Vale Properties.
Shortly after midnight I opened this report and stared at the electronic image of Vanessa’s name illuminated on my computer screen.
Once fate has handed you a knife you will feel the same pain as when the knife was first handed to you.
Vanessa was the first to go, as always.
“You are insane!” she yelled at the group following her. “All of your jealousy is based on me being better than you!”
Immediately her associates agreed.
Grant whispered, “Stop, please.”
In her intoxicated state Vanessa had shown no growth. Humiliation was still an agent of her control.
Once again she took the leftover food from my plate and shoved it in my direction. “You know what I believe? I believe that Nora made herself a new name and is just trying to get attention from us,”
The crowd was silent.
The dish fell to the ground.
The dish hit the floor with a thud.
I raised my phone and hit one button.
Across the ballroom the projector used during the reunion turned on.
Vanessa’s visage was projected on to the enormous screen in front of me, it was not a picture from tonight. It was security camera footage from four months ago in a private office. On the screen Vanessa was sitting next to Grant, laughing while he commented, “The tenants won’t fight back. They never will.”
In the video, Vanessa raised a glass of champagne and said to Grant casually, “Then double bill the city.”“By the time anyone catches on, we’ll control half the property.”
The ballroom’s silence allowed for ice to melt in everyone’s glasses.
Vanessa turned toward the display screen.
Grant whispered in shock, “What did you do?”
I calmly replied, looking directly at him.
“Did what you should have done,” I stated. “Made copies.”