The Buyer Was His Mistress

Chapter 04 - The Buyer Was His Mistress

Vivian slapped Michael.

Not hard.

Not dramatic.

One sharp movement.

Then she looked horrified with herself.

I almost laughed.

Not because violence was funny.

Because for once, Vivian’s control had failed before mine did.

Michael touched his cheek.

“Mom.”

“Do not.”

Her voice shook.

“You told me Rachel was a broker contact.”

“She is.”

“She is the woman you slept with.”

“Years ago.”

I looked at him.

“You’re still talking like that changes ownership.”

He closed his eyes.

Vivian turned to me.

“I did not know.”

I believed her.

That did not absolve her.

“You knew you were helping sell my home while I was away.”

She stiffened.

“Yes.”

“You knew Michael filed for divorce before I returned.”

“Yes.”

“You knew my belongings were packed.”

“Yes.”

“But the mistress part offends you.”

Her face changed.

I was cruel.

Accurate.

Sometimes those overlap.

“I thought the marriage was over,” she said.

“It wasn’t over enough for anyone to tell me.”

Silence.

Henry asked Michael:

“When did you last speak to Rachel Monroe?”

No answer.

Samuel said:

“We can subpoena records.”

Michael rubbed his forehead.

“This morning.”

I laughed softly.

The supposed buyer of my house had spoken to my husband hours before I came home.

“How long have you been seeing her?”

“I’m not.”

“Then why did she buy my house?”

“She runs investment entities.”

“Why this one?”

“She wanted the property.”

“For what?”

“Redevelopment.”

I looked around.

Affluent suburban street.

Large lots.

Old homes.

Developers had been circling for years.

A luxury townhouse proposal had failed two blocks away.

Maybe the land mattered.

“How much is the property worth to her?”

Michael looked away.

Not three million.

I knew immediately.

“How much?”

“Potentially more.”

“Number.”

He whispered:

“Eight to ten.”

Vivian went white.

“You told me the sale price was fair.”

“It was fair for a residence.”

“But not for development.”

He said nothing.

I stared.

They planned to sell my house for three million to an entity controlled by Rachel.

Then potentially develop or flip it for ten.

Michael’s company would receive most of the sale proceeds.

He filed divorce papers first.

Packed me out.

Everything timed while I was settling Eleanor’s estate.

My grandmother left me seven million.

My husband tried to take another property worth potentially ten.

A week of efficiency.

“What was Vivian supposed to get?”

Her head snapped toward me.

“Nothing.”

I looked at Michael.

He did not.

There.

Another secret.

“Michael.”

Vivian whispered:

“What did you promise me?”

He stood.

“Mom.”

“What?”

He looked trapped.

“A condo.”

She stared.

“What condo?”

He rubbed his forehead.

“The Cherry Creek unit.”

Vivian’s face changed.

I knew the building.

Luxury.

Probably nine hundred thousand.

“You were buying her a condo with proceeds from my house?”

“It was repayment.”

“For what?”

Silence.

Vivian whispered:

“Don’t.”

I turned.

“For what?”

She looked down.

Interesting.

Finally:

“I gave Michael money.”

“How much?”

“Over the years.”

“How much?”

“Eight hundred thousand.”

I stared.

She continued.

“For his business.”

Michael said:

“Mom, stop.”

“No.”

She looked at him.

“I sold part of my retirement portfolio because you said Audrey refused to help.”

My skin went cold.

I looked at him.

“When?”

“Different times.”

“Did you ask me?”

“No.”

“Did you tell her I refused?”

Silence.

Vivian looked at me.

“You didn’t know?”

“No.”

Her face changed completely.

For years, Vivian had treated me like a selfish wife who would not support her son.

Apparently Michael built that story.

He borrowed from her.

Told her I refused help.

Then promised her a condo from my house sale.

The betrayal was becoming less like a straight line and more like a web.

Vivian sat.

“I thought you controlled the money.”

I almost laughed.

“You thought I controlled your fifty-four-year-old son?”

“He said—”

“I know what he said.”

We both looked at Michael.

For the first time, Vivian and I stood on the same side of one question.

How much had he lied?

Henry opened Eleanor’s letter again.

“There’s more.”

Of course.

I read.

Audrey,

If Rachel Monroe is involved, do not assume she is the clever one.

That line stopped me.

I looked at Henry.

“What does that mean?”

He handed me another sealed page.

Eleanor had named Rachel.

Four years earlier.

My grandmother knew exactly who she was.

The note continued.

Rachel came to see me once.

Without Michael.

I looked at him.

He went still.

“What?”

Henry nodded.

“She did.”

“Why?”

“She brought documents.”

“What documents?”

“Evidence.”

Michael stepped forward.

“Henry.”

“No.”

The older attorney’s voice sharpened.

“You have had four years.”

I stared at the next page.

Rachel told Eleanor that Michael had been using both women.

Not only romantically.

Financially.

He had asked Rachel to invest in Keller Strategic Consulting.

She lost money.

He told her the same story he told Vivian.

Audrey controls everything.

Audrey will not help.

Audrey keeps me trapped.

My husband had built three different relationships around one fictional villain.

Me.

Then Henry said:

“Rachel may not have bought the house to help Michael.”

I looked at him.

“Then why?”

“Because four years ago, she promised Eleanor she would contact us if Michael ever tried to move property he did not own.”

My stomach dropped.

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The buyer might not be Michael’s partner.

She might be the trap.