Chapter 3 - THE WOMAN WITH THE DARK ROSE LIPSTICK
I knew her name before I knew what she had done.
Caroline Pierce.
Thirty-three.
Corporate attorney.
Senior counsel to Carter Hospitality Holdings.
Beautiful in a precise, polished way.
Dark hair.
Dark rose lipstick.
I had met her six times.
At board dinners.
A Christmas gala.
Theresa’s sixty-second birthday.
Once at my house.
She had stood in my kitchen holding my wineglass and said:
“Mitchell talks about you all the time.”
Apparently.
I found her name in a photograph sent anonymously three weeks before my birthday.
Pine Hollow Cabin.
Timestamp:
11:47 p.m.
Mitchell’s SUV outside.
Caroline’s sedan beside it.
Second photograph:
Caroline leaving the next morning wearing yesterday’s dress under Mitchell’s coat.
That was why I had said:
I know about the cabin, and her.
But photographs prove proximity.
Not sex.
Not fraud.
Not motive.
I wanted facts.
So I had hired my own lawyer before confronting him.
Rachel Sloan.
Forty-one.
Divorce and trust litigation.
No connection to the Carter family.
She met me that afternoon in a conference room above a bank branch.
I brought the sealed letter inside a plastic document sleeve.
Rachel did not touch it.
“Who delivered it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where was it?”
“My car.”
“When?”
“Three days ago.”
“Your car was locked?”
“Yes.”
“Any damage?”
“No.”
“Who has spare access?”
“Mitchell.”
“Anyone else?”
“House staff.”
“Did the envelope have your name?”
“Yes.”
She leaned closer.
Embossed in the corner:
BROOKS FIDUCIARY COUNSEL — ELIAS WARD
My maiden name was Brooks.
Elias Ward had been my father’s estate lawyer.
He died eighteen months earlier.
Rachel looked up.
“You know him?”
“Yes.”
“Why would Mitchell recognize his seal?”
“I don’t know.”
That was the question.
My father, Jonathan Brooks, died when I was twenty-two.
Heart attack.
No mystery.
He had spent thirty years in commercial real estate finance.
Not billionaire wealth.
Serious wealth.
He left me a diversified trust estimated then at around twenty-six million dollars.
I knew about that.
Professional trustee.
Quarterly statements.
No Carter control.
At least I believed none.
Rachel asked:
“Did your father ever invest in Carter businesses?”
“I don’t know.”
“That is not a good answer.”
“I know.”
“Who manages your trust?”
“First Hanover Fiduciary.”
“Do they know you married Mitchell?”
“Yes.”
“Did you sign a marital consent or investment delegation?”
“Probably routine paperwork.”
Rachel closed her eyes.
“Never say probably around me again.”
Fair.
She photographed the envelope.
Seal.
Edges.
Back.
No signs of opening.
Then called First Hanover.
Not to discuss contents.
To verify whether Elias Ward ever used that wax seal.
Yes.
His private estate correspondence.
Rare.
The seal was genuine in style.
Could still be forged.
We requested authentication.
Rachel said:
“Do not open it yet.”
I laughed.
“You and the anonymous texter agree.”
“What anonymous texter?”
I showed her.
She read.
Then:
“Do not respond.”
“Why?”
“Because anyone who can enter your locked car can also be trying to steer you.”
Good.
I hated good lawyers.
Then my phone buzzed again.
Mitchell.
Come home. We can fix this.
Then:
Mom doesn’t know everything. Don’t punish her for my mistake.
Mistake.
Affair?
Something else?
Rachel read.
“Save.”
I did.
Then another message.
Caroline is not what you think.
I stared.
That sentence was almost funny.
Rachel said:
“What do you think she is?”
“My husband’s mistress.”
“Do you know?”
“No.”
“Good.”
I glared.
She shrugged.
“Evidence.”
Then First Hanover returned the call faster than expected.
The trust officer, Meredith Shaw, sounded unusually serious.
“Danielle, I need to ask you something.”
“Okay.”
“Do you currently possess a sealed letter from Elias Ward?”
I looked at Rachel.
“Yes.”
Silence.
Then Meredith said:
“Do not open it without counsel.”
My skin chilled.
“Why?”
“Because our records indicate that letter was delivered once before.”
“When?”
“Two years ago.”
“To whom?”
Another pause.
“To your marital residence.”
I stopped breathing.
“I never received it.”
Meredith’s voice lowered.
“We have a signed receipt.”
May you like
“Whose signature?”
“Mitchell Carter’s.”
