Chapter 3 - The Mistress Who Came Back with a PriceDiane Whitfield had been beautiful at forty.
At fifty-eight, she had become something more carefully constructed.
Her blond hair was cut into a polished shoulder-length style. Her skin showed the expensive attention of someone who considered aging a problem to be managed. She wore a tailored navy suit, a gold watch, and a diamond bracelet that caught the afternoon sunlight whenever she moved.
She was sitting alone at a restaurant overlooking the Chicago River when Jada Nelson walked through the door.
Eighteen years had passed since Jada last saw her.
Yet recognition was immediate.
Some faces remained in a person's memory because they belonged to someone loved.
Others remained because they belonged to someone who had changed everything.
Diane stood.
"Jada."
Jada didn't answer.
She pulled out the chair opposite her and sat down.
Margaret Shaw took the seat beside her.
Diane glanced at the attorney.
"I thought we could speak privately."
"We are speaking privately," Jada said. "I'm simply not speaking without counsel."
Diane smiled thinly.
"Still careful."
"Not careful enough eighteen years ago."
The smile disappeared.
A waiter approached.
Jada ordered water.
Diane already had a glass of wine.
For several seconds, the three women sat in silence.
Finally, Diane reached into her handbag and placed a photograph on the table.
It showed a large commercial building surrounded by temporary fencing.
Several fire trucks stood near the entrance.
Smoke rose from shattered upper windows.
On the back was a handwritten date.
October 18, 2008.
Jada remembered the weekend immediately.
Milwaukee.
Peter's supposed business conference.
The weekend he had spent with Diane.
"What is this?"
"Ashland Terminal," Diane replied. "A warehouse complex your husband owned through one of his investment companies."
Jada studied the photograph.
"Why are you showing me this?"
"Because Peter hasn't told you everything about that weekend."
Jada's stomach tightened.
Margaret leaned forward.
"Then perhaps you should tell us."
Diane took a sip of wine.
"That property was involved in a complicated redevelopment project. Peter and Victor Sloane were negotiating a deal with several investors. The problem was that part of the property couldn't be redeveloped until certain industrial operations were closed and the tenants relocated."
"What tenants?" Jada asked.
"Small businesses. Storage operators. A few families living in converted units that never should have been approved for residential use."
"And?"
"Some of them refused to leave."
Jada looked again at the photograph.
"What happened?"
"There was a fire."
The way Diane said it made Jada feel cold.
"A fire?"
"An electrical fire, according to the official report."
"According to?"
Diane held her gaze.
"According to the report Victor arranged for the insurance company to accept."
Margaret immediately interrupted.
"Are you alleging the report was fraudulent?"
"I'm saying a lot of people signed papers that weekend without understanding what they were signing."
Jada pushed the photograph back across the table.
"Why are you telling me this now?"
Diane opened another folder.
Inside were copies of property transfers, correspondence, and financial records.
Jada recognized her own name on several pages.
One document authorized a transfer involving the Hawthorne Land Trust.
Another appeared to release certain claims connected with the Ashland property.
A third identified her as a consenting party in a transaction she had never heard of.
"I didn't sign any of these."
"I know," Diane said.
Jada went still.
Margaret's eyes narrowed.
"Explain that statement."
Diane lowered her voice.
"Victor needed your signature on the paperwork because of the way Peter's family trust had been structured. He couldn't get it without raising questions. So he obtained it another way."
"He forged it?"
Diane didn't answer directly.
Instead, she said, "I was there when the documents were prepared."
Jada felt her pulse quicken.
"Did Peter know?"
Diane's gaze drifted toward the river.
"Peter knew the fire created a serious problem. He knew a man died. He knew the redevelopment deal couldn't survive a proper investigation."
Jada stared at her.
"A man died?"
Diane nodded.
"Daniel Reyes. Night maintenance supervisor. Forty-three years old. Left behind a wife and an eight-year-old daughter."
Jada's mouth went dry.
For a moment, the noise of the restaurant seemed to disappear.
There had been a death.
A family had lost someone.
And eighteen years later, Diane was describing it over an expensive lunch.
"Did Peter have something to do with that man's death?"
Diane held her gaze.
"I don't know who started the fire."
"That isn't what I asked."
"I know what Peter did afterward."
Margaret leaned forward.
"Miss Whitfield, if you're claiming to have evidence of a crime, you should understand that demanding money or property in exchange for withholding that evidence could have serious consequences."
Diane's fingers tightened around her wineglass.
"I haven't demanded anything."
"Not yet," Jada said.
Diane looked at her.
There was something strange in her expression.
Not quite contempt.
Not quite jealousy.
Almost resentment.
"You really have changed," Diane said.
Jada didn't respond.
"Eighteen years ago, I thought you'd divorce him. I thought a woman like you would take your children, demand half his fortune, and disappear."
"You didn't know me."
"I knew Peter."
Jada felt a bitter smile forming.
"You knew the part of him he chose to show you."
Diane's face tightened.
"Peter wasn't happy then."
"Neither am I in this conversation, Diane. That doesn't give me permission to betray someone."
Margaret gently touched the edge of Jada's folder, directing the conversation back to the documents.
"What does this have to do with North Star House?"
Diane opened a property map.
"The building your nonprofit purchased was once part of the Ashland Terminal office complex. Hawthorne held several adjoining parcels. The titles were separated during the bankruptcy and restructuring that followed."
Jada frowned.
Her organization had purchased the building after a lengthy legal review.
The title company had found no outstanding encumbrances that prevented the sale.
Diane tapped a section of the map.
"Victor's company has recently filed a competing claim based on a series of historical transfers."
"A claim supported by forged paperwork," Margaret said.
"That's what a court would have to determine."
Jada stared at her.
"Victor wants our building."
"He wants the land."
"Why?"
Diane hesitated.
"There's a major transportation redevelopment proposal coming. The neighborhood is about to become extremely valuable."
"Then he can find another property."
"Victor doesn't like being told no."
Jada leaned back.
She understood at last.
The old documents weren't simply an attempt to embarrass Peter.
They were leverage.
If Jada refused to cooperate, Victor could create expensive litigation, frighten donors, and suggest that North Star House's founder had participated in concealing the events surrounding a fatal fire.
The allegations might eventually collapse.
But her organization could suffer long before the truth emerged.
"What do you want?" Jada asked.
Diane took another sip of wine.
"I can help settle the property dispute."
"How?"
"Victor has investors willing to purchase your site. You could relocate. Receive enough money to build a larger project somewhere else."
Jada looked at her in disbelief.
"You want me to abandon three years of work because your business partner thinks the land is worth more without the women we're trying to help?"
"Don't make this sentimental."
"People needing a safe place to live isn't sentimental."
Diane's composure slipped.
"You don't understand what you're dealing with."
"Then explain it."
Diane looked toward Margaret.
"I have records that could be very damaging to your husband."
Jada spoke before the attorney could respond.
"Peter's reputation is not my bargaining chip."
Diane blinked.
"You would let him be exposed?"
"If he committed crimes, that's his responsibility."
For the first time, Diane seemed uncertain.
"He's your husband."
Jada studied the woman who had once slept beside Peter in a Milwaukee hotel.
"Yes," she answered. "And for eighteen years, people have assumed that means I belong to him."
She stood.
"It doesn't."
Margaret gathered the documents Diane had provided and said that any further communication should go through counsel.
Diane suddenly reached across the table.
"Jada, wait."
Jada stopped.
Diane lowered her voice.
"There's something you should know about Victor."
"What?"
"He doesn't make threats he can't carry out."
Jada looked down at the hand Diane had placed on the table.
She didn't move closer.
"Then you should tell the authorities everything you know."
Diane's expression turned hard again.
"You don't know the things Peter has done."
"No," Jada replied.
She picked up her handbag.
"That's becoming painfully clear."
When she returned to Margaret's office, Jada requested copies of every document.
Margaret contacted a forensic document examiner and a property-litigation attorney.
They reviewed the publicly available records.
The earliest suspicious documents dated to 2008.
But the competing property claim against North Star House was new.
It had been filed only six weeks earlier.
The applicant was a company named Mercer Development Partners.
Its ownership was concealed behind several holding companies, but preliminary records suggested connections to Victor Sloane.
Margaret closed her laptop.
"This isn't merely somebody threatening to expose an old scandal. There's an active legal maneuver against your property."
Jada stood by the window.
"Can they take the building?"
"Not just because they filed a claim. We'll challenge it. Your organization has strong purchase documentation. But disputes can become expensive, especially when someone is deliberately trying to interfere with financing."
Jada nodded slowly.
"Then we fight it."
Margaret studied her.
"Jada, I need to ask you something."
"What?"
"Did Peter ever involve you in his business dealings?"
"Not knowingly."
"Did he ever ask you to sign documents without reading them?"
"Early in our marriage, sometimes. Insurance forms. Trust papers. Family financial arrangements."
"Anything relating to Hawthorne?"
Jada thought.
A memory stirred.
A desk in Peter's old office.
Victor standing beside a stack of folders.
A young assistant asking Jada to sign something while she waited for Peter.
But the memory was too uncertain to trust.
"I don't remember," she admitted.
Margaret nodded.
"Then don't guess. We'll investigate the records."
That evening, Jada returned to the Lake Forest mansion at seven.
Peter was waiting in the dining room.
He'd been reading correspondence, but the moment she entered, he set it aside.
"You're late."
"I had meetings."
"Your driver said you went downtown."
Jada stopped.
"Which driver?"
Peter looked uncomfortable.
"One of the office security contractors recognized your car."
"Peter."
"I didn't ask anyone to follow you."
"Then don't make my whereabouts something your employees report to you."
He nodded.
"You're right."
She removed her coat.
"Where's Victor?"
Peter frowned.
"Why?"
"I want to know where he is."
"At a business dinner, I think. What's happened?"
Jada walked to the dining table.
She placed the photograph of the burning warehouse in front of him.
"Do you recognize this?"
Peter looked down.
The color left his face.
For several seconds, he didn't move.
Then he whispered, "Where did you get that?"
Jada felt something inside her sink.
Not because she was surprised.
Because even after eighteen years, part of her had hoped Diane was lying.
"Tell me about Ashland Terminal."
Peter closed his eyes.
"Jada—"
"No."
She pulled out a chair and sat down.
"No more careful answers. No more telling me what you think I can handle."
He remained standing.
"Who gave you this?"
"Does it matter?"
"Yes."
"Diane Whitfield."
Peter's expression changed with such sudden intensity that Jada instinctively straightened.
"She contacted you?"
"Yes."
"What did she say?"
"Enough."
Peter reached for his phone.
Jada's voice stopped him.
"Put it down."
He looked at her.
"Jada, if Diane is involved, I need to—"
"You need to answer my question."
His hand remained suspended above the phone.
Then he slowly withdrew it.
Jada placed the forged document beside the photograph.
"Did you know someone signed my name to these papers?"
Peter looked at the signature.
His face went very still.
"Where did you find this?"
"Did you know?"
He didn't answer.
Jada stood.
"Eighteen years ago, I asked whether you were having an affair. You looked me in the eyes and tried to lie."
Her voice trembled.
"Please don't make me live through that moment again."
Peter lowered himself into the chair.
He stared at the document for a long time.
Finally, he said, "I didn't sign your name."
Jada felt a flicker of relief.
Then he added something that destroyed it.
"But I knew somebody had."
The room went silent.
Jada stared at the man she'd been married to for thirty-five years.
"You knew?"
Peter nodded once.
"And you never told me?"
"I thought I could keep it from affecting you."
Jada let out a broken laugh.
"Peter, you built an entire marriage on things you thought I didn't need to know."
His shoulders sagged.
"Listen to me. Victor had those documents prepared after the fire. I found out about them later."
"How much later?"
"Months."
"And what did you do?"
Peter looked down.
"Nothing."
Jada felt her chest tighten.
"Someone forged my signature, and you did nothing?"
"I made sure the transaction was never enforced against you."
"That wasn't your decision to make!"
Peter looked up.
"I was trying to protect you."
Jada shook her head.
"No. You were protecting yourself from having to tell me another truth."
He didn't deny it.
That frightened her more than another excuse would have.
"Did you know Daniel Reyes died?"
Peter's face collapsed.
"Yes."
"And did you know why?"
He looked toward the photograph.
"Victor said it was an accident."
"Do you believe him?"
For a long moment, Peter said nothing.
Then he answered quietly.
"Not anymore."
Jada stared at him.
"What aren't you telling me?"
Peter's phone began ringing.
The screen displayed a name.
Victor Sloane.
Peter looked at it.
Then at Jada.
The phone stopped.
A message appeared.
Peter read it.
His expression hardened.
"What?" Jada demanded.
He didn't answer.
She stepped closer to the table.
"Peter, what did he say?"
Peter turned the phone toward her.
The message contained a photograph.
It showed the front entrance of North Star House.
And standing beside Jada's car was a man she didn't recognize.
May you like
Beneath the image were six words.
Tell your wife to stop digging.
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