I returned to the office the next morning with the same questions I'd written down the night before.
The report was waiting on my desk.
I read it again before the first meeting, paying attention to the figures that didn't quite fit together.
Nothing had been settled.
That was important.
A concern wasn't proof of wrongdoing, and a disappointing forecast wasn't a reason to remove someone from a job.
I had seen good businesses stumble.
I had also seen impressive executives mistake confidence for competence.
The difference usually became clear when someone asked them to explain the numbers.
My team had begun examining Lumina Tech's expenses and projections more closely.
I wanted the review to be thorough.
I also wanted it to be fair.
"Let's separate what we know from what we're assuming," I said during the meeting.
One of the analysts turned a page in his notebook.
"The operating costs are increasing faster than the revenue."
"That's a fact. What explains it?"
"We're still checking."
"Then that's where we start."
I made a note beside the relevant section.
No conclusions yet.
No shortcuts.
After the meeting, I spent the next hour reviewing other investments.
A manufacturing company needed approval for an expansion.
A technology business had submitted revised forecasts.
Another company wanted additional capital to cover a delay in its plans.
Each situation required a different decision.
I didn't want Lumina Tech receiving more attention simply because its CEO had become connected to my private life.
But I couldn't pretend the report didn't matter.
Aegis Capital had invested in the company.
Our responsibility was to understand what we owned and whether the people managing it were doing their jobs properly.
That afternoon, my assistant brought me a folder of updated financial documents.
"These came in from the review team."
I thanked her and opened the folder.
Several pages contained notes about expenses that needed explanation.
Other sections raised questions about the assumptions behind Lumina Tech's future growth.
I read everything carefully.
Then I set the folder aside and called for a meeting with the people overseeing the review.
I wanted answers before anyone discussed consequences.
Meanwhile, Brent had begun calling me.
His first message was short.
He asked whether we could speak.
I read it twice before setting down my phone.
There had been no message asking if I was all right.
No apology for the way he'd spoken to me at the restaurant.
No acknowledgment that he'd spent our final conversation insulting me.
He simply wanted to speak.
I didn't respond immediately.
A second message arrived later that afternoon.
He said our encounter had been unnecessary and asked why I'd behaved so strangely.
I stared at the screen.
Strangely.
That was the word he'd chosen.
He had approached my table, struck it with his hand, and tried to embarrass me in front of strangers.
Yet somehow my refusal to defend myself had become the suspicious part.
I put the phone facedown and returned to work.
By evening, I had finished reviewing the documents.
The questions surrounding Lumina Tech remained unresolved, but the next steps were clear.
The review would continue.
The company would need to provide explanations for the figures that concerned us.
Any decisions about its funding would depend on the findings.
I closed the folder.
Then I picked up my phone and read Brent's messages once more.
I could have told him who I was.
I could have ended the confusion in a single conversation.
But I didn't owe him a professional biography simply because he had underestimated me.
And I wasn't going to use confidential information to win an argument.
I sent a brief reply saying that I had nothing to discuss about the divorce.
His answer came almost immediately.
"So you're just going to pretend none of this happened?"
I put the phone away.
That was exactly what he had done.
He had decided our marriage was finished, signed the papers, and walked toward a different future.
Now he seemed offended that I wasn't waiting for him to explain himself.
The next morning, I received another update from the review team.
Several questions remained open.
I asked them to continue their work and make sure every concern was supported by documentation.
Then I moved on to the rest of my day.
I had no intention of turning a financial review into a personal confrontation.
But I was beginning to understand that Brent might not accept the truth easily when it finally reached him.
Click here to continue reading: PART 6: Brent Wanted an Explanation for My Calmness, but He Still Couldn’t Imagine an Answer That Didn’t Make Him the Important One
My Husband Said I Was Going Nowhere, Then Left Divorce Papers Beside the Laptop I Used to Hide My Real Life
Part 5 of 12
