Chapter 5 - Lorraine Had Chosen Me Before Owen Did

By sunrise, nobody had slept.

The title attorney froze the lien dispute.

Rebecca sent preservation notices to Owen, Lorraine, Richard, and Mercer Holdings.

Dad contacted the trustee overseeing my grandmother’s estate.

At 7:40 a.m., a courier arrived.

Not for me.

For Dad.

Inside was an old file he had requested from secure storage.

Rebecca opened it.

Then stopped.

“What?”

Dad asked.

She handed him a letter.

Three years old.

From Richard Voss.

Subject:

POTENTIAL MERCER-BENNETT ESTATE ALIGNMENT.

I stared.

“Three years?”

I had met Owen two years and eight months ago.

Rebecca looked at Dad.

“Did you ever see this?”

“No.”

The letter had been sent to one of Dad’s corporate offices.

An assistant had archived it as unsolicited financial correspondence.

Rebecca read aloud.

“Mr. Daniel Bennett may benefit from consolidating future family interests with an established real estate family.”

Dad’s face hardened.

Then another paragraph.

“Potential social introduction through the Mercer family could create favorable long-term planning opportunities.”

My stomach dropped.

“Social introduction.”

Rebecca looked at me.

“How did you meet Owen?”

“At a museum fundraiser.”

“Who invited you?”

I thought.

“My client, Vanessa Cole.”

Dad frowned.

“Who invited her?”

I had no idea.

Rebecca called Vanessa.

She answered sleepily.

I apologized.

Then asked.

Vanessa thought for a moment.

“Lorraine Mercer sponsored the design table.”

Silence.

I closed my eyes.

Lorraine.

She had been behind the event.

Owen had approached me near the bar.

He had spilled water on his own sleeve because he was nervous.

We had laughed.

It had felt random.

Maybe for him it was.

Not for his mother.

Rebecca looked at the letter again.

“Lorraine knew who Mara’s father was.”

Dad stared.

“She mocked the apartment.”

“Maybe deliberately.”

I remembered every insult differently now.

The inexpensive coat.

The small apartment.

Marrying into stability.

Had she truly thought I was poor?

Or had she been trying to see whether I knew what I owned?

Dad turned pale.

“She was testing Mara.”

I laughed bitterly.

“Apparently rich people love tests.”

Rebecca ignored that.

She found another attachment.

A background profile.

On me.

My school.

Work.

Credit.

Property.

Family connections.

The apartment trust was listed.

But not the larger inheritance.

At the bottom:

LIKELY BENEFICIARY OF ADDITIONAL BENNETT FAMILY ASSETS.

I stared.

They had researched me before Owen and I dated.

“Did Owen see this?”

Rebecca asked.

I did not know.

My phone answered for him.

A message.

MARA PLEASE LET ME COME OVER ALONE.

I showed Rebecca.

She nodded.

“If you want.”

I did.

Not because I trusted him.

Because I needed answers from the one person who might still feel shame.

Owen arrived at 8:30.

Dad wanted to stay.

I asked him not to.

He respected that.

Rebecca stayed in the adjoining room again.

This time Owen knew.

He looked terrible.

Wedding shirt.

No jacket.

Red eyes.

I was still wearing hotel sweatpants and a robe.

Our wedding clothes were somewhere behind us.

It felt appropriate.

I placed the background profile on the table.

“Did you see this before we met?”

Owen looked.

His face changed.

“No.”

“Before you proposed?”

He swallowed.

“Yes.”

My chest tightened.

“When?”

“Two months after we started dating.”

“Who showed you?”

“My mother.”

“What did she say?”

“That your father had money.”

“How much?”

“She didn’t know.”

“And you stayed.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I already loved you.”

I stared at him.

“Then why not tell me?”

“Because it made me feel disgusting.”

That was honest.

Not enough.

But honest.

He continued.

“I confronted her.”

“What did she say?”

“That she had arranged for me to be invited to the fundraiser.”

“You were invited because of me.”

“Yes.”

My throat tightened.

“Did you know when you approached me?”

“No.”

“Did she tell you to approach me?”

“No.”

“Do I believe that?”

He looked at me.

“I don’t know.”

I appreciated that more than another demand for trust.

I pointed to Richard’s letter.

“Did your mother choose me before you did?”

Owen closed his eyes.

“Yes.”

There it was.

I sat back.

He started crying.

“Mara, what happened between us was real.”

“Maybe.”

“It was.”

“For you?”

“Yes.”

“For Lorraine?”

“No.”

I looked toward the window.

“Did you ever plan to divorce me?”

He hesitated.

That hesitation destroyed something.

“Not when I proposed.”

“When did you?”

“I didn’t.”

“You told her you would.”

“I was angry.”

“At me?”

“At her.”

“That makes no sense.”

He wiped his face.

“She kept saying I was weak. That you would control everything once you learned how much money your father had. She said if I didn’t protect myself, I’d end up dependent on you.”

I stared.

“So she convinced you I was going to use money I didn’t even know existed to control you.”

“Yes.”

“And your response was to prepare documents giving you control.”

His face collapsed.

“Yes.”

The absurdity was almost elegant.

I asked:

“Who is Savannah really for?”

He looked confused.

“What?”

“The condo.”

“Mara—”

“Why Savannah?”

His eyes moved down.

There.

Another secret.

“Owen.”

“My mother owns two units in the same building.”

I froze.

“What?”

“She uses them as rentals.”

Rebecca opened the connecting door.

Owen did not look surprised.

She asked:

“Through what company?”

He swallowed.

“Mercer Coastal Properties.”

Rebecca looked at me.

The lien claimant.

Of course.

I stared at Owen.

“So the condo was never random.”

“No.”

“Your mother picked it.”

“Yes.”

“She knew Dad would fund it.”

“Yes.”

“And Richard prepared the paperwork.”

“Yes.”

Rebecca’s voice hardened.

“This was designed before closing.”

Owen nodded.

I looked at him.

“How long?”

“Four months.”

My engagement ring felt heavy.

I took it off.

Owen stared.

“Mara.”

I placed it on the table.

“I believe you loved me.”

He started crying harder.

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I continued.

“And I think that may be the only honest thing you brought into this marriage.”