Chapter 69 Hope
Vivienne's Pov
The gallery was packed with people I didn't know. Artists and collectors and art students and people who just wanted free wine.
Sarah introduced me to a few of her friends, people with paint under their fingernails and creative energy that felt foreign to me now.
I was standing by a painting of a woman falling through space when someone said my name.
"Vivienne Moreau?"
I turned around and found myself face to face with a woman about my age. She looked vaguely familiar but I couldn't place her.
"I'm sorry, do I know you?" I asked.
"Emily Zhao," she said. "We met at a few Moreau Industries events. I work in investor relations."
Oh. Right. I remembered her now. We had talked briefly at a Christmas party last year.
"Hi Emily," I said, trying to keep my voice neutral.
Did she know about the divorce? About the accusations? Was this going to be awkward?
"I heard what happened," Emily said, confirming my fears. "I'm really sorry. For what it's worth, most of us at the company think the way they handled your termination was complete bullshit."
I blinked, surprised by her bluntness. "Oh. Thank you."
"No, seriously. You were good at your job. You contributed a lot to the company's success. And then they just fired you out of nowhere with no explanation and started spreading rumors about misconduct?
Everyone knows that's Raphael covering his ass for the divorce."
"Everyone knows?" I asked weakly.
Emily gave me a sympathetic look. "Office gossip moves fast. By noon on the day you were fired, everyone knew you and Raphael were getting divorced and that you'd been terminated. Most people think it's shady as hell."
"But they're not saying anything publicly," I said.
"Of course not. People need their jobs. But privately? A lot of us are rooting for you. Rebecca isn't the only one who saved files before they cleared your office."
My heart started beating faster. "What do you mean?"
Emily glanced around to make sure no one was listening. Then she leaned in closer.
"There's a group of us who saw what was happening and didn't like it. We saved copies of documents, emails, and project files.
Anything that showed your contributions to the company. If you need witnesses or evidence for your case, you have people willing to help."
I stared at her, not quite believing what I was hearing. "Why would you risk that? Rapheal could fire you."
"Maybe," Emily said with a shrug. "But I'm good at my job and I have emails proving it. He'd have a hard time justifying firing me for telling the truth. Besides, I'm tired of watching powerful men destroy people just because they can. Someone needs to stand up to them eventually."
"I don't know what to say," I managed.
"You don't have to say anything. Just don't give up. Don't let him bully you into accepting less than you deserve."
She pulled out her phone. "Here, give me your number. I'll send you my contact info and loop you into the group chat with the others."
I gave her my number, still slightly stunned.
"We call ourselves the Receipts Committee," Emily said with a small smile. "Because we're keeping all the receipts on Rapheal Moreau's bullshit."
After she walked away, I stood there processing what had just happened. I had allies. People I barely knew who were willing to risk their jobs to help me.
Sarah appeared at my elbow with two glasses of wine. "Who was that?"
"Someone from Moreau Industries," I said slowly. "She said there's a whole group of employees who are collecting evidence to help my case."
Sarah's eyes went wide. "Seriously?"
"Seriously."
"Holy shit, Viv. That's huge."
It was huge. Because testimony from current employees would carry weight in court. Would prove that my contributions to the company were real and significant. Would contradict Rapheal’s narrative that I was just his wife playing at having a job.
My phone buzzed. A text from Emily with a link to a group chat.
I clicked on it and found myself added to a conversation with seven other people. All employees at Moreau Industries. All the people who had worked with me on various projects.
The messages started coming through:
"Welcome Vivienne!"
"We've got your back."
"Rapheal messed with the wrong person."
"Let us know what you need. We have documentation of everything."
I read through their messages, tears pricking at my eyes. Not sad tears this time. Grateful tears. Overwhelmed tears.
I typed back: "Thank you all so much. I don't even know what to say. This means everything."
The responses came quickly:
"You helped train me when I first started. Just returning the favor."
"You deserve better than what they did to you."
"We're all sick of watching the Moreau family treat people like disposable assets."
I screenshot the conversation and sent it to Monica with a message:
"We have witnesses. Multiple employees willing to testify about my contributions to the company."
Her response was immediate: "This is exactly what we needed. Can you get me their contact information?"
I forwarded Emily's number.
The art opening suddenly felt different. Lighter. Like maybe I wasn't fighting this battle alone after all.
Sarah and I stayed for another hour, actually enjoying ourselves. Talking to people, looking at art, drinking mediocre wine and eating cheese cubes from plastic trays. Normal things.
The kind of things I hadn't done in three years because I was always too busy being Raphael Chen's wife.
When we finally left, walking back to Sarah's apartment through streets lit by streetlights and neon signs, I felt something I hadn't felt in days.
Hope.