Chapter 8 - Before They Were FriendsNaomi met Camille Brooks at a charity dinner nine years ago.
That was the story Naomi remembered.
Camille had spilled champagne near Naomi’s dress.
They laughed.
They exchanged numbers.
Friendship followed naturally.
Except the photograph proved Camille had been connected to Jonathan Mercer and Graham Vale two years before that night.
Naomi took the picture to Asterline’s security department.
Facial verification confirmed it was Camille.
Age twenty.
Same eyes.
Same small scar near her left brow.
Same smile.
There was no reasonable doubt.
Camille had lied about how they met.
Naomi felt more violated by that than by the affair.
An affair could begin with weakness.
A false friendship maintained for nine years required intention.
Beatrix requested a lawful records search through investigators.
By evening they had fragments.
Camille’s mother, Renee Brooks, had worked as an executive administrator for Graham Vale’s firm.
For fourteen years.
Camille had interned there during college.
That explained the photograph.
It did not explain Naomi.
Alistair joined them after dark.
When Naomi placed the photograph in front of him, he went pale.
“You’ve seen this.”
“Not this exact one.”
“But you knew Camille knew Vale.”
“Yes.”
Naomi’s anger rose.
“How long?”
“Since last year.”
“And you never told me.”
“I didn’t understand why it mattered.”
“You never understand until someone puts the knife in your hand and explains which direction it points.”
He looked down.
“I deserve that too.”
“I’m running out of things you don’t deserve.”
Beatrix interrupted.
“What did Camille tell you about Vale?”
“That he helped her family after her father left.”
“Financially?”
“Yes.”
Naomi asked, “Did Vale introduce Camille to Roland?”
“No. She already knew you.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Alistair hesitated.
“I think Vale encouraged her to get close to the family.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
Naomi looked at the photograph again.
Jonathan Mercer stood stiffly beside Vale.
Samuel Ellis looked suspicious.
Camille looked eager.
Young.
Beautiful.
Watching.
Perhaps she had begun as someone else’s instrument.
But nine years later, she was making her own decisions.
Naomi’s phone rang.
Roland.
She answered.
“Where are you?”
“Why?”
“Because we need to meet.”
“You said that yesterday.”
“Alistair gave you the test, didn’t he?”
Naomi said nothing.
Roland exhaled.
“I had another one done.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes.”
“No, Roland. What matters is whether you finally understand what Dr. Chen told you seven years ago.”
Silence.
His voice changed.
“Don’t.”
“You knew.”
“I knew the odds were bad.”
“You knew the diagnosis.”
“The doctors said procedures could—”
“Natural conception was effectively impossible.”
“I didn’t believe them.”
“So you blamed me.”
“Naomi—”
“You made me apologize to you for your diagnosis.”
He breathed heavily.
“I was angry.”
“You were cruel.”
“I know.”
The admission stopped her.
Roland rarely admitted fault without attaching an explanation.
He continued.
“I found the old report.”
“What old report?”
“Our clinic file.”
“Why?”
“Because something felt wrong.”
“When?”
“When Camille told me she was pregnant.”
Naomi closed her eyes.
“And you still announced it publicly.”
“I wanted to believe it.”
There it was.
Not ignorance.
Denial.
Different morally.
Not innocent, but human.
“Do you know Alistair is the father?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Since yesterday.”
“And Camille?”
“She doesn’t know I know.”
Naomi glanced at Beatrix.
“Why are you telling me?”
“Because someone changed the first paternity report.”
“I know.”
Roland went silent.
“How?”
“Evelyn.”
He cursed softly.
“She’s alive?”
Naomi’s eyes narrowed.
“Why would you ask that?”
“Because Camille told me Evelyn disappeared.”
“She was at Beatrix’s office.”
“Thank God.”
“Roland, what did you think happened?”
“I didn’t know.”
His voice was no longer arrogant.
It was frightened.
“I found messages on Camille’s old phone.”
“What messages?”
“Between her and Graham Vale.”
Naomi’s pulse quickened.
“Send them.”
“No.”
“Then this conversation is over.”
“Naomi, please.”
She almost laughed at the word.
“You lost the right to ask me for trust.”
“I’m not asking for trust.”
“What are you asking for?”
“Ten minutes.”
“Why?”
“Because I know who Halcyon Ridge belongs to.”
Naomi looked at Alistair.
“Who?”
Roland hesitated.
Then said, “Our mother.”
Naomi blinked.
Roland and Alistair’s mother, Evelyn Mercer, had lived quietly in Palm Beach since Jonathan’s death.
She rarely attended company events.
She had never liked Naomi.
But she had never seemed involved in business.
Naomi put the call on speaker.
Alistair stood.
“What did you say?”
Roland heard him.
“Of course he’s there.”
“Roland,” Alistair snapped. “Mom owns Halcyon?”
“Not directly. A trust she controls does.”
Alistair sank into a chair.
Naomi asked, “Does Camille know?”
“Yes.”
“Vale?”
“Yes.”
“Why would your mother buy Urban Development from her own family company?”
“To take it private.”
“Why?”
Roland’s voice lowered.
“Because Dad tried to cut her out before he died.”
No one spoke.
Naomi thought of the trust amendment.
Jonathan’s distrust of Vale.
The secret Asterline investment.
Northstar.
A family war had existed beneath the Mercer empire long before Naomi married into it.
Camille had not created the conflict.
She had entered it.
Maybe weaponized it.
Maybe been recruited into it.
“Where are you?” Naomi asked.
“At the penthouse.”
“Camille there?”
“No.”
“Where is she?”
“The baby-shower venue.”
Naomi looked at the clock.
The party was still scheduled for the following afternoon.
“Why?”
“She said she was checking arrangements.”
Naomi remembered the gift Camille expected.
The public confrontation she wanted.
Something was wrong.
Then Evelyn’s voice came from Beatrix’s doorway.
“I know why she’s there.”
Everyone turned.
Evelyn held a tablet.
“I recovered Camille’s deleted calendar.”
She placed it on the table.
One entry appeared for tonight.
VALE — BALLROOM — DOCUMENT EXCHANGE — 11:30 PM.
Naomi looked at Roland’s voice pulsing on the phone.
Then at Alistair.
Then at Beatrix.
The baby shower was not merely bait for Naomi.
It was cover for something else.
Naomi grabbed her coat.
Beatrix asked, “Where are you going?”
“To the venue.”
Roland’s voice sharpened through the speaker.
“Naomi, don’t.”
She picked up the cream invitation.
“Why?”
“Because I found the rest of Camille’s message to Vale.”
Naomi stopped.
“What did it say?”
Roland answered quietly.
“Tomorrow, she isn’t planning to marry me.”
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A pause.
“She’s planning to destroy both of us.”
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