Chapter 5 - The Girl in the Emerald DressNicole Harris sat alone in James's mansion, staring at the necklace-shaped indentation on her throat.
She had returned Rachel's jewelry.
But she could still feel its weight.
James was upstairs resting after a medical appointment. His clinician had reviewed his symptoms, adjusted the treatment plan with him, and stressed the importance of continued follow-up.
Nicole had offered to accompany him.
He had refused.
“Rachel knows my history,” he had said.
Nicole remembered the words clearly.
Not because they were cruel.
Because they revealed how little James had actually let her know him.
When Nicole first met him, she was a hostess at Whitmore House.
She was twenty-one, working evenings while completing a marketing certificate.
James had been charming.
He complimented her intelligence, asked about her goals, and offered her additional responsibilities.
Eventually, he promoted her to guest-relations coordinator.
The raise had been real.
So had the attention.
When he first kissed her in his office, Nicole had pulled away.
“You're married.”
James had sighed.
“Technically.”
The word became his favorite weapon against Rachel.
Technically married.
Emotionally separated.
Living separate lives.
Nicole believed him because she wanted to.
James owned three restaurants.
He wore expensive watches and remembered what she said.
He made her feel chosen.
When he told her Rachel was cold, controlling, and obsessed with his success, Nicole had accepted the explanation.
She had never asked why an allegedly loveless husband still wore his wedding ring.
The necklace came later.
“For you,” James had said, placing the gold chain around her neck.
“Isn't it someone's?”
“It belonged to the past.”
Nicole had turned it over and noticed the engraving.
Through every storm.
She had assumed it was sentimental jewelry from an earlier relationship.
Now she knew better.
Her phone vibrated.
A message from someone saved as L.
Did Rachel leave?
Nicole stared at the screen.
She typed:
Yes.
The reply appeared almost instantly.
Good. Don't mention the payments.
Nicole's stomach tightened.
She deleted the notification.
Then James entered.
He had changed into a gray sweater.
“You shouldn't still be here,” he said.
Nicole stood.
“Who is Laurel Advisory?”
James stopped.
“Why?”
“Because somebody just told me not to discuss payments.”
His expression sharpened.
“Who contacted you?”
“Someone who clearly knows things I don't.”
“Nicole, this isn't your problem.”
She laughed bitterly.
“You made me your problem when you brought me into your marriage.”
James ran a hand through his hair.
“I'm trying to handle it.”
“Handle what?”
He looked at the staircase.
“Some business arrangements.”
“Does Rachel know?”
“No.”
Nicole folded her arms.
“Did you ever plan to tell her?”
James said nothing.
Nicole remembered the first time he had introduced her to Thomas Vale.
Thomas had been pleasant, almost paternal.
He had praised her marketing skills and suggested she might be suitable for a special consulting project.
The work involved restaurant loyalty data, customer engagement, and promotional campaigns.
She had signed an agreement with Laurel Advisory.
Most of the work had been ordinary.
But there were strange instructions.
Use personal email rather than restaurant systems.
Avoid discussing compensation with other employees.
Send completed reports directly to Thomas.
Nicole had assumed the secrecy was normal for executive projects.
Now she wasn't sure.
“Did you put me on Laurel's payroll to hide our relationship?” she asked.
James rubbed his temples.
“It's not that simple.”
“Why does everyone keep saying that when they mean they don't want to answer?”
He looked exhausted.
“Nicole, please.”
She stared at him.
“I thought you loved me.”
“I care about you.”
It was the first time he hadn't said love.
Nicole felt tears sting her eyes.
“Did you tell Rachel you were leaving her because of me?”
James looked away.
“That's not what I said.”
“You told me she understood.”
“She will.”
Nicole shook her head.
“No. She doesn't understand because you've been lying to both of us.”
James approached.
“Don't turn against me.”
The words landed strangely.
Against him.
As if telling the truth were an act of betrayal.
Nicole picked up her handbag.
“I need time.”
“Where are you going?”
“Somewhere I can think without you telling me what to believe.”
She walked toward the door.
Then stopped.
“James, did Thomas know about us?”
He hesitated.
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Since the beginning.”
Nicole's face drained.
“And Laurel?”
James didn't answer.
She opened the door and left.
Across town, Rachel was reviewing an email from Dana Brooks.
Dana had identified an attorney experienced in Georgia business litigation and ownership disputes.
His name was Marcus Ellison.
Rachel had an appointment the next morning.
She was gathering her papers when an unfamiliar number called.
“Rachel?”
Nicole.
Rachel almost ended the call.
Instead, she said, “What do you want?”
Nicole's voice shook.
“I know you don't owe me anything.”
“That's true.”
“But I think James has been using me to move money.”
Rachel went still.
“What money?”
“Laurel Advisory.”
Rachel closed her eyes.
“I know that name.”
Nicole began crying.
“There are documents with my signature on them, Rachel.”
“What documents?”
“I don't remember signing some of them.”
Rachel looked toward the hotel window.
“Then you need your own attorney.”
“I think someone may have forged my approval.”
Rachel's grip tightened.
“Approval for what?”
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Nicole whispered, “A transfer involving your mother's restaurant.”
And the silence that followed was more frightening than either woman expected.
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