Pinnacle Crest Group had originally been founded by Christopher’s father.
But after his father died, the ownership had been restructured.
Christopher held forty-one percent.
His sister held eleven.
Outside investors held thirty.
And I held eighteen percent through nb a family trust created when Christopher and I refinanced the company during a severe cash crisis eight years earlier.
Christopher liked to forget that.
I did not.
I had also served as general counsel for Pinnacle Crest until four years ago.
Then I stepped back from daily operations.
My mother became ill.
I cared for her.
After she died, I considered returning.
Christopher asked me not to.
“You’ve done enough.”
At the time, I thought it was kindness.
Now I wondered whether he simply wanted me away.
Because despite not working there daily, I still received quarterly compliance packets.
Most were boring.
Vendor agreements.
Tax records.
International expenses.
That was where Gwen appeared.
Gwendolyn Vance.
Twenty-seven.
Executive assistant.
International operations.
Her name appeared on travel bookings.
Hotel coordination.
Corporate cards.
Nothing unusual.
Then I saw something strange.
A transfer from Pinnacle Crest Foundation.
Thirty-eight thousand dollars.
Recipient.
Vance Family Services LLC.
Purpose.
Community microenterprise grant.
I frowned.
I searched the entity.
Owned by Harrison Vance.
Gwen’s brother.
Then another payment.
Sixty-two thousand.
Different account.
Home renovation assistance under a local partnership program.
Recipient address.
San Antonio.
Owner.
Rebecca and Thomas Vance.
Gwen’s parents.
I stared.
Pinnacle Crest did charitable work.
But not usually for relatives of employees.
Then travel records.
Christopher had flown from Bogotá to San Antonio six months earlier.
Official reason.
Investor meeting.
No investor meeting appeared on the calendar.
The trip lasted three days.
Gwen traveled too.
I kept digging.
Hotel charges.
Two rooms.
Then one room refunded after arrival.
Dinner for six.
A florist.
A jeweler.
Then a private event venue.
I contacted the venue through a public number.
I asked generally about an event held on that date.
The woman checked.
“Vance sixtieth birthday.”
My hands went cold.
Gwen’s mother had turned sixty.
Christopher flew across two countries to attend.
Meanwhile, he had missed my birthday three years in a row.
I sat in my office for almost an hour.
Then I called my attorney.
Not a divorce attorney yet.
My personal attorney.
Her name was Helena Morris.
She had handled my mother’s estate.
She also knew the Pinnacle Crest shareholder agreement better than almost anyone.
I said.
“I think Christopher is having an affair.”
She was quiet.
Then.
“Do you have proof?”
“Not enough.”
“What do you have?”
I explained.
Payments.
Trips.
Gwen.
Helena listened.
Then said.
“Don’t confront him yet.”
“I know.”
“You sound like you already planned to.”
“I did.”
She sighed.
“Good.”
Then she asked.
“Do you still have read access to international finance?”
“Yes.”
“Download everything legally available to you.”
“Already started.”
“Lorelei.”
“Yes?”
“Do not access anything outside your rights.”
“I won’t.”
That mattered.
I did not want revenge.
I wanted truth.
Over the next two weeks, I built a file.
I found no direct romantic messages.
But I found enough circumstantial evidence to make the personal part obvious.
The corporate part worried me more.
Christopher had authorized more than four hundred thousand dollars in payments that benefited Gwen’s family.
Some could be justified.
Some could not.
One loan to her brother carried no repayment schedule.
Another vendor contract went to a company formed two weeks before it received the work.
Then I saw something worse.
A condo lease in Buenos Aires.
Luxury tower.
Two-bedroom unit.
Paid partly through corporate housing.
Official occupant.
Christopher Hayes.
Secondary approved occupant.
See more on the next page
