Chapter 3 - The Investment
The banker’s name was Harold Finch.
I knew him because Grant had insisted I attend three financing meetings for Carter Ridge.
“Your involvement gives lenders confidence,” he had told me.
At the time, I thought he meant my investment.
Now I wondered whether he had meant my reputation.
I answered.
“Meredith Carter.”
“Ms. Carter, sorry to call early. I’m confirming Monday’s capital contribution.”
Grant stared at me.
I held his gaze.
“Which contribution?”
A pause.
“The remaining two hundred seventy-five thousand under the sponsor equity schedule.”
“I’m reviewing it.”
Harold hesitated.
“We were told funds were irrevocably committed.”
“By whom?”
Another pause.
“Mr. Carter.”
Grant stepped forward.
I raised my hand.
He stopped.
“Harold,” I said, “please email me every document in your file representing my personal commitment, guarantee, or certification.”
Grant’s face lost color.
“Meredith,” he said.
I turned away.
Harold said carefully, “Is there an issue?”
“There may be.”
“Monday’s closing depends on that equity.”
“I understand.”
I ended the call.
Grant whispered, “Don’t.”
It was the first honest word he had spoken all morning.
Mom looked between us.
“What money?”
I walked to my office.
Grant followed.
So did everyone else.
On my desk sat the thick binder containing the Carter Ridge operating agreement.
I opened it to Section 8.4.
“You remember this?”
Grant’s jaw tightened.
“Mere, whatever happened between Olivia and me has nothing to do with the project.”
“That remains to be seen.”
“It has everything to do with the project,” Olivia said quietly.
Every head turned.
Grant stared at her.
“Shut up.”
My father stepped forward.
“You do not speak to her that way.”
Olivia looked sick.
I said, “What does she mean?”
Grant answered first.
“She’s emotional.”
I looked at him.
“You’re going to stop translating women for me today.”
Tom Carter rubbed his forehead.
“Grant, answer your wife.”
Grant exhaled.
“Olivia’s design company has a contract with Carter Ridge. That’s all.”
“What contract?”
“Interior design.”
“How much?”
Silence.
Olivia whispered, “One hundred eighty thousand.”
My mother gasped.
I looked at Olivia.
Her design business was barely two years old.
She had never managed a commercial project.
“Grant told me eighty.”
Olivia shut her eyes.
Grant said, “Scope changed.”
“Show me the change orders.”
“They’re at the office.”
“Fine.”
I opened my laptop.
My investment attorney, Rachel Kim, had already replied to the email I sent from the Denver airport.
Call me when you land. Do not authorize any transfer.
I dialed her on speaker.
“Rachel, I’m with Grant.”
Grant looked furious.
Rachel said, “Good morning, Grant.”
“Rachel.”
I told her what Olivia had just admitted.
Rachel became very quiet.
“Meredith, as a forty-percent investor, you’re entitled to related-party disclosures under the operating agreement.”
“I never received one.”
Grant said, “Because Olivia isn’t family to the company.”
Rachel answered calmly, “She is your wife’s sister, your wife is a member, and the agreement defines related parties broadly.”
Grant looked at Olivia as if this were somehow her fault.
Rachel continued.
“Do not transfer Monday’s capital. I’m issuing formal notice that the contribution is suspended pending review.”
Grant exploded.
“You can’t do that.”
Rachel said, “She can.”
“You’ll destroy the project.”
“That depends on what the review finds.”
Grant turned to me.
“Three years, Meredith.”
I stared at him.
“You’re asking me to protect three years of your work after you spent seven months sleeping with my sister?”
“This is business.”
“No. Business has contracts.”
I looked at Olivia.
“Apparently so does betrayal.”
My mother began crying again.
I was beginning to resent her tears.
They demanded emotional space I did not have.
Grant moved closer.
“Mere. Listen to me. If you suspend the money, the bank could walk.”
“Then I suggest you explain why my sister’s company was paid nearly two hundred thousand dollars without disclosure.”
Olivia looked at me.
“They haven’t paid all of it.”
“How much?”
“Ninety-six.”
Grant snapped, “Stop talking.”
Diane Carter slapped her hand against the desk.
“Grant!”
Everyone froze.
His mother looked at him with naked disgust.
“You have lied enough.”
Grant’s phone rang again.
This time the caller ID showed Carter Ridge—Mason Blake.
His project manager.
Grant answered and walked into the hall.
He kept his voice low, but we heard enough.
“No, don’t move anything.”
Pause.
“I said don’t.”
Another pause.
“I’ll be there in an hour.”
He ended the call.
I watched him.
“What was Mason moving?”
“Nothing.”
“Grant.”
“Vendor payments.”
Olivia sat down suddenly.
Her face had gone gray.
I realized she knew something.
“What payments?”
She shook her head.
Grant said, “She doesn’t know anything.”
Olivia looked at him.
Something passed between them.
Fear.
Not romantic fear.
Financial fear.
I opened my laptop again.
As an LLC member, I had access to the investor portal.
I had rarely used it because Grant sent quarterly summaries.
Trust is efficient.
That is one of its dangers.
I logged in.
For six months, reports were uploaded as PDFs.
Revenue projections.
Construction expenses.
Vendor summaries.
I opened the vendor ledger.
Olivia’s company appeared under its legal name.
OB Studio LLC.
Payments: $96,000.
Contract value: $180,000.
Then another vendor caught my eye.
Northline Procurement.
$74,500.
I knew that name.
Not from Carter Ridge.
From Thanksgiving.
Olivia’s boyfriend before Grant had been a man named Nathan Line.
Northline.
I clicked the vendor file.
The mailing address was a private mailbox.
The contact email began with olivia.bennett.design.
I slowly turned my laptop toward the room.
“Olivia.”
She covered her mouth.
Grant whispered, “Don’t.”
That was when I understood.
May you like
![92 The Girl They Called Broke Was a Billionaire’s Daughter—But Her Father’s Arrival Exposed a Secret Powerful People Had Buried for Years]](https://cdn.treeiq.biz/site_590/2026/11/clone-0-0915d882-53d7-4d17-b43a-a010ca1a1068.webp)
My husband had not merely been sleeping with my sister.
He had been paying her twice.
