Chapter 13
Rebecca looked at her for a moment, and something in her expression shifted — respect, maybe, or recognition.
“He’s going to paint me as crazy,” Elena said. “Unstable. He’s probably already telling everyone I had a psychotic break.”
“Let him.” Rebecca smiled, and it was not a nice smile. “We’re going to paint him as an abusive, controlling narcissist who destroyed his wife’s mental health over twelve years of systematic cruelty. And we have something Marcus doesn’t expect.”
“What?”
“Evidence. Dominic’s people have been watching him for six months. Photographs of every affair. Recordings of conversations where he discusses his stupid wife. Financial records showing how he’s been hiding assets.” She turned the tablet around and showed Elena a folder icon, dense with files. “By the time we’re done, Marcus Martinez will lose everything that matters to him. His reputation. His power. His control.”
Elena’s hands were shaking.
“Why?” she said. “Why would Dominic do this for me?”
“That,” Rebecca said, “is something you’ll have to ask him yourself. But I can tell you this. Dominic doesn’t waste time on lost causes. He saw something in you last night. Something worth protecting.”
The car pulled up in front of a glass-and-steel high-rise downtown. As they stepped out, Elena caught her reflection in the lobby doors — no makeup, no designer clothes, no mask of perfection — and barely recognized the woman looking back. She looked young. She looked fragile. She looked real.
“Come on,” Rebecca said. “We have work to do.”
Elena followed her inside, her spine straightening with each step. The war had begun, and for the first time in twelve years, she was fighting back.
CHAPTER 6
Rebecca’s office was all glass and steel, the kind of space designed to make visitors feel small. Elena sat across the vast desk from her, a recorder running between them.
“Start with the finances,” Rebecca said. “How much control did Marcus have?”
“Complete. I had an allowance — five hundred a week for personal expenses. Everything else went through him or his assistant.”
Rebecca’s eyebrow rose.
“Five hundred a week. Your husband’s net worth is approximately forty million dollars.”
Said aloud, the number was obscene.
“He said it was generous. That most wives didn’t get anything.”
“Most wives have access to joint accounts. Credit cards. Assets.” Rebecca leaned forward. “Did you have anything in your own name?”
“No. He said it was easier to manage everything together. That I didn’t need to worry about finances.”