Chapter 3 - The First Lie
Ethan did not deny the hotel card.
That frightened Natalie more than another lie would have.
He sat on the edge of the armchair beside the bedroom window and stared at the floor.
Natalie remained standing.
“Say something.”
“It wasn’t what you think.”
She almost screamed.
Instead, she held up the card.
“I am begging you to find a second sentence.”
Ethan closed his eyes.
“We met for dinner.”
“In Lake Geneva.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“She was advising a group interested in a development project.”
“What development?”
He hesitated.
Natalie’s stomach tightened.
“Cedar House?”
“No.”
Too fast.
“Ethan.”
“It was nearby.”
“You were supposed to be in Milwaukee.”
“I drove down afterward.”
“And stayed at a hotel?”
“I drank too much.”
“With Vanessa?”
“She had a room there.”
Natalie stared at him.
“You slept with her.”
“No.”
“Then why is her handwriting on a hotel key sleeve in your coat?”
“She gave me the spare because I left my laptop in her room after we went through documents.”
Natalie laughed once.
It came out like a cough.
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I slept on the sofa.”
“How noble.”
“I made mistakes, Natalie.”
“Mistakes?”
“Yes.”
“Plural?”
He looked up.
That single movement answered her.
Natalie felt suddenly cold.
“How many times?”
Ethan stood.
“Nothing physical happened until tonight.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“We talked.”
“How many times?”
“A few.”
“How many?”
“I don’t know.”
“You know.”
“Seven or eight.”
Natalie’s knees weakened.
She sat down on the bed.
Seven or eight secret meetings.
Enough for a habit.
Enough for a second life.
“When?”
“Over the last eight months.”
“You said you ran into her six months ago.”
Ethan stopped.
There it was.
The second lie.
Natalie watched him understand that she had caught it.
“You don’t even know which version you gave me ten minutes ago.”
“I’m exhausted.”
“No. You’ve told too many lies.”
He leaned against the dresser.
“I saw her for the first time last November.”
Nearly eleven months.
Natalie looked at the calendar on her nightstand.
September.
She remembered last Thanksgiving.
Ethan had been distracted.
Christmas.
He had disappeared twice to take “client calls.”
January, when he began going to the gym before dawn.
March, when he told her the firm was struggling and they needed to tighten spending.
April, when he asked whether she would consider selling Cedar House.
May, the hotel.
June, another conference.
July, their family trip to Colorado where he spent most evenings on his phone.
August.
Lake Geneva again.
A year rearranged itself inside her head.
“How did it start?”
“Coffee.”
“And then?”
“Emails.”
“And then?”
“Dinner.”
“And then?”
“Talking.”
“About me?”
“Sometimes.”
“About Cedar House?”
Ethan’s face changed.
Natalie saw it.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Stop saying that word.”
He said nothing.
Natalie stood again.
“My mother left me Cedar House.”
“I know.”
“You complained about the taxes. You said we barely used it.”
“We don’t.”
“You said selling could help Sophie with college.”
“It could.”
“You said the maintenance was sentimental waste.”
“That isn’t what I said.”
“It is almost exactly what you said.”
Ethan rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“Natalie, the property is worth more than you realize.”
She went still.
“How much?”
“I don’t know precisely.”
“Vanessa does?”
He looked away.
Natalie’s heartbeat accelerated.
Cedar House sat on fourteen wooded acres near Lake Geneva, Wisconsin. Her mother, Elaine, had inherited part of the land from Natalie's grandfather and bought the remaining parcels over thirty years.
Natalie spent childhood summers there.
Her mother died six years earlier.
The deed was solely in Natalie’s name.
Ethan had no ownership interest.
At least that was what Natalie believed.
“What development?”
Ethan sighed.
“A hospitality group has been buying land in the area.”
“And?”
“They’re considering a boutique resort.”
“On my land?”
“Potentially adjacent to it.”
“Does Vanessa work for them?”
“She consults.”
Natalie walked toward him.
“How long have you known someone wanted Cedar House?”
“Maybe nine months.”
“And you never told me.”
“I wanted to understand the offer first.”
“There was an offer?”
“Informal.”
“How much?”
He hesitated.
“Four point two.”
Natalie stared.
“Million?”
He nodded.
The room seemed to tilt.
He had told her the property might fetch one point eight.
Maybe two.
That was the number he used when discussing taxes.
That was the number he used when encouraging her to sell.
“Four point two million dollars.”
“It wasn’t guaranteed.”
“You told me half that.”
“I didn’t have complete information.”
“Did Vanessa?”
Silence again.
Natalie walked to the nightstand and picked up her phone.
“What are you doing?”
“Calling her.”
Ethan moved closer.
“Don’t.”
That was enough to make Natalie press the number Vanessa had written on the reunion contact sheet.
It rang three times.
Vanessa answered.
“Natalie?”
Apparently she had saved the number.
Natalie felt another small knife slide into place.
“I need one answer.”
A pause.
“All right.”
“How much did your client offer for Cedar House?”
Ethan whispered, “Hang up.”
Vanessa inhaled.
Then said, “Six point eight million.”
Natalie stopped moving.
Across the room, Ethan’s face changed.
Vanessa continued.
“And Natalie?”
“Yes?”
“He already accepted the term sheet.”
Natalie looked at her husband.
“That’s impossible.”
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Vanessa’s voice became very quiet.
“I know.”
