Chapter 10 - The Footage Showed Natalie Photographing More Than Grant’s Papers

By Tuesday morning, my divorce had become the least complicated problem on the table.

Danielle kept reminding me that this was not a compliment.

Natalie had sent us copies of her messages with Marcus, payment records routed through a consulting company called Meridian Brand Advisory, and the Bellwether pages she had photographed.

Elise brought in a corporate attorney named Victor Chen to separate my rights as a spouse from my obligations as a person holding potentially material business evidence.

“I need one answer first,” Victor said. “Did you ever sign a confidentiality agreement covering Whitmore Urban Holdings?”

“No.”

“Serve on the board?”

“No.”

“Work for the company?”

“No.”

“Have access to Grant’s deal room?”

“No.”

He nodded.

“Good. Preserve what you lawfully recorded in your own home. Do not distribute it casually. If company counsel asks, we coordinate.”

The phrase lawfully recorded mattered. Connecticut’s recording rules were complicated enough that Victor refused to make broad statements until reviewing how the home security system functioned and where the audio originated. Fortunately, the video alone showed most of what mattered.

At 10:30, the forensic consultant enlarged the six-minute study clip.

Natalie opened Grant’s laptop.

Photographed a tenant matrix.

Then reached for a blue folder under the leather case.

On the folder’s cover was a handwritten word.

COVENANTS.

Grant’s company had recently refinanced debt on three properties. Loan covenants were not glamorous. They mattered because violating them could trigger penalties, lender oversight, or forced asset sales.

Natalie photographed those pages too.

When Grant returned, she closed the folder and slid it under the case.

He never saw.

“That matches what she told us,” Victor said.

“Does that help her?”

“It makes her confession more credible. It does not make the conduct lawful.”

Natalie had admitted she sent the images to Marcus.

But she claimed Marcus already knew some of the numbers.

He had corrected her once when she misread a figure.

That meant somebody inside Whitmore Urban Holdings had direct access.

At noon, Grant’s company counsel contacted Victor.

The board’s audit committee wanted the footage.

Grant had finally disclosed the potential leak at 9:15.

Thirty minutes before an anonymous tip reached two board members.

I wondered who sent it.

Natalie denied it.

I believed her only because the anonymous sender who contacted me had used different language.

At 1:00, I authorized Victor to provide forensic copies of the relevant business footage directly to outside counsel retained by the board.

Not Grant.

Not Mason.

Outside counsel.

Grant called at 1:16.

I let Danielle answer.

He called again from another number.

Then emailed.

You went to the board without telling me.

I stared at the sentence.

He still believed information should pass through him first.

I replied once, after Danielle approved it.

I gave evidence to independent counsel after you delayed reporting a security problem. Do not contact me about corporate matters.

His answer came three minutes later.

Mason says the footage is incomplete.

I read it twice.

“Mason says,” I said.

Mara looked up from across the kitchen.

“What?”

“Grant still trusts him.”

“Do you?”

“No.”

That afternoon, outside counsel interviewed Natalie.

Then me.

Then the forensic consultant.

At five, they requested the original security-system audit log showing Grant’s deletion attempt.

At six, they requested one more clip.

The one where Mason told Grant Natalie was getting too close.

I watched it again before sending.

This time I noticed something.

Mason entered the hall carrying a slim gray laptop sleeve.

When he left, he did not have it.

The next clip involving the study was three hours later.

Grant was alone.

He emerged holding that same gray sleeve.

Maybe Mason left it for him.

Maybe nothing.

But the camera system had another angle.

Garage.

At 5:32 that day, Mason walked to his car.

He opened the trunk.

Inside was an identical gray laptop sleeve.

I froze the image.

Two sleeves.

Not proof.

Still, I asked the consultant to search every clip involving Mason.

There were seven.

On one, recorded five weeks earlier, Mason entered the house while Grant was at a charity dinner.

Our housekeeper let him in.

He carried a document envelope.

He left twelve minutes later.

No Grant.

No Natalie.

I checked my calendar.

That night I had been upstairs sick after a fertility-related migraine.

I had no memory of Mason visiting.

The downstairs hall camera showed him leaving the study.

Then stopping.

He looked directly toward the camera.

Not accidentally.

He walked closer until his face filled the frame.

Then he smiled.

Not at me.

At the device.

As if he knew exactly where it was.

The clip ended.

My phone buzzed.

A new anonymous email.

Subject: ASK YOUR HUSBAND WHO INSTALLED THE CAMERAS.

I stared.

Grant had hired the security company.

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But the contractor invoice, when Mara found it in our household records, listed the project contact.

Mason Reed.