Chapter 72 The Reveal
Vivienne's POV
That night I couldn't sleep. I lay on Sarah's pull-out couch staring at the ceiling, thinking about Damien Moreau and what he might want to tell me. Thinking about why he would risk contacting me. Thinking about what game he was playing.
Around two in the morning, I gave up on sleep and opened my laptop. Started searching for information about Richard Chen.
There wasn't much that was public. He had been CFO of Moreau Industries before Rapheal became CEO. Had been expected by many to take over the company when their grandfather died. But the will had specified that the position would go to the first grandson who married before age thirty, and Raphael had barely made it under the wire when he married me.
Richard had resigned from the company six months after Raphael took over. The official statement said it was to "pursue other business opportunities." But everyone knew he'd been pushed out. Raphael didn't want his would-be assassin anywhere near the company.
Since then, Damien had been involved in various business ventures. Real estate development. Private equity. Nothing quite as successful as Moreau Industries, but he wasn't exactly struggling.
I found a few photos of him at charity events and business conferences. He looked like Raphael, which made sense since they were cousins. Same sharp features, same dark hair, same expensive suits. But where Marcus's expressions in photos were usually controlled and measured, Damien looked hungry.
Ambitious. Like he was always calculating his next move.
The kind of man who would hire someone to stab his cousin in an alley.
The kind of man who was now asking to meet with me.
I closed my laptop and tried to sleep again, but my mind kept spinning. What information could he possibly have? What did he want in return? And most importantly, could I trust anything he said?
Morning came too quickly. I got up, showered, dressed in jeans and a sweater—casual but put together. Not trying too hard. Monica had texted me the night before with strict instructions: look neutral, don't dress up, don't look desperate or eager.
I met her at her office at nine-thirty. She was already dressed and ready, wearing a simple black suit, her briefcase in hand.
"Remember," she said as we walked to her car. "You don't say anything unless I tell you to. If he asks you direct questions, you defer to me. We're there to listen only."
"I remember."
"And if at any point I say we're leaving, we leave. No arguments, no 'just one more minute.' We go immediately."
"Got it."
The coffee shop Moreau had chosen was a trendy place in the business district, the kind of spot where young professionals came to work on laptops and have meetings. It was busy when we arrived at nine-fifty, which was good. Lots of witnesses. Lots of people around.
Moreau was already there, sitting in the back corner booth exactly where he said he would be. He was wearing a gray suit without a tie, his collar unbuttoned casually. He stood when he saw us approaching.
"Vivienne," he said, extending his hand.
"Thank you for coming."
I didn't take his hand. Just nodded and slid into the booth across from him. Monica sat beside me, placing her briefcase on the table between us like a barrier.
"I'm Monica, Mrs. Moreau attorney," she said coolly. "Before we begin, I want to make it clear that this conversation is being recorded and anything you say could potentially be used in legal proceedings."
Damien's eyebrows went up slightly. "Recorded. Of course." He didn't seem bothered by it. If anything, he looked amused. "Always good to have an accurate record."
"Why did you ask to meet with my client?" Monica asked, getting straight to business.
Damien leaned back in his seat, his fingers laced together on the table. "Because I think we can help each other. I have information about Rapheal and his business dealings that could be very valuable in a divorce proceeding. And in exchange, I'd like something very simple."
"What information?" Monica asked.
"Let's talk about the exchange first," Damien said. "What I want is simple. When you win your settlement, Vivienne, you're going to own a significant amount of Moreau Industries stock. Community property laws being what they are."
My stomach tightened. How did he know about the stock options?
"I want the right of first refusal to purchase that stock from you," Damien continued. "At fair market value, of course. I'm not trying to cheat you. But I want the option to buy it before you sell it to anyone else."
Monica's expression didn't change. "And in exchange for this option, you're offering information. What kind of information?"
Damien smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. "The kind that proves Raphael has been hiding assets. Specifically, offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands containing approximately eight million dollars that he's never disclosed to anyone. Not the IRS, not the company board, and certainly not his wife."
The air seemed to leave the room.
Eight million dollars in hidden offshore accounts.
If that was true, it changed everything.
"How do you know about these accounts?" Monica asked, her voice carefully neutral.
"Because I helped him set them up," Damien said simply. "Three years ago, right around the time he married you, Vivienne.
Raphael was worried about protecting his assets in case the marriage didn't work out the way he hoped. So he asked his favorite cousin to help him move some money somewhere safe and untraceable."
"You're admitting to helping him commit tax fraud," Monica pointed out.
"I'm admitting to providing financial consulting services to a family member," Damien corrected smoothly. "What he chose to do with that advice is his business.
But yes, if you want to be technical about it, we both broke some laws. Which is why I never told anyone about it. Until now."
"Why now?" I asked, speaking for the first time. Monica shot me a warning look but I ignored it. "Why are you telling us this now?"
Damien looked at me directly, his eyes cold and calculating.
"Because Rapheal destroyed my career and my reputation. Because he pushed me out of my own family's company. Because he married you just to steal what should have been mine." His voice was calm but there was anger underneath it, carefully controlled.
"And because I've been waiting three years for the perfect opportunity to return the favor. Your divorce is that opportunity."
"So this is revenge," I said.
"This is justice," Richard corrected.
"Raphael used you to get what he wanted. Now I'm going to help you take half of it. Which, as it happens, also hurts him. Everyone wins. Except Rapheal."
Monica pulled out her phone and made a show of checking something. Then she looked at Richard.
"If what you're saying is true, we'd need documentation. Account numbers. Transfer records. Proof that these accounts exist and that Marcus controls them."