Chapter 2 - The Sign on the Glass
When Eliam’s car finally reversed out of the lot and headed back toward the main thoroughfare, I waited a full five minutes before shifting into drive. I didn't follow him back home or toward his actual office.
Instead, I pulled my sedan into the exact parking stall he had just vacated, cut the ignition, and stepped out onto the asphalt.
The morning air was crisp, smelling faintly of old paper and damp concrete. I walked across the lot, my low heels clicking rhythmically against the pavement, keeping my eyes fixed on the entrance of the red-brick building.
As I drew closer, I looked for a corporate logo, a brass nameplate, or a directory sign.
There was none of the usual sterile branding you'd expect from a tech firm or a financial consultancy. Instead, mounted beside the heavy oak double doors was a modest, matte-black plaque carved with gold lettering:
VANCE VENTURES & BIOMEDICAL RESEARCH Private Capital & Clinical Trials — By Appointment Only.
I stopped dead in my tracks.
Biomedical research?
Eliam was a senior data analyst for a logistics software firm. He dealt with shipping algorithms, freight optimization, and supply-chain metrics. He didn't know the first thing about biomedical research. And Marcus? Marcus was an entry-level account executive for a regional paper distributor. What on earth did Marcus have to do with private capital and clinical trials?
I pushed open the heavy glass door and stepped into the lobby.
The interior was nothing like an ordinary office. It was sleek, minimalist, and dead quiet, smelling faintly of expensive lemon grass oil and fresh coffee. Behind a curved marble reception desk sat a young woman with sharp glasses and an immaculate blonde chignon.
She looked up as I approached, offering a polite, professional smile.
“Good morning. Welcome to Vance Ventures. Are you here for a scheduled consultation?”
I swallowed hard, forcing my voice to remain steady despite the violent trembling in my chest.
“Good morning,” I said, leaning slightly against the marble counter. “I’m actually looking for my husband. He just walked in a few moments ago. Eliam Hayes.”
The receptionist’s fingers hovered over her keyboard. She typed his name, her eyes scanning the internal registry.
“Let’s see... Eliam Hayes.” She paused, tilting her head slightly. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but Mr. Hayes isn't registered as a visitor. He’s listed here as a managing partner.”
The lobby seemed to tilt on its axis.
“A... a managing partner?” I echoed, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. “Are you sure? Eliam works in software logistics downtown. He’s been there for seven years.”
The receptionist’s polite smile faltered into a look of cautious confusion. “Oh... well, according to our corporate filings, Vance Ventures was established eight months ago, and Mr. Hayes has been on our executive board since inception. Perhaps you’re thinking of a different company?”
For a long moment, I couldn't breathe.
Eight months ago.
Eight months ago, Eliam had told me he received a modest salary bump at his old firm. Eight months ago, he had started staying late at the office twice a week. Eight months ago, he had quietly opened a separate checking account "for household tax savings," which I hadn't questioned because I trusted him.
He hadn't just been hiding a schedule change. He had built an entirely separate professional life—a venture capital and biomedical firm—and partnered with my own brother, keeping both of us completely in the dark.
Or rather, keeping me in the dark.
Because looking back at the polished marble desk, a terrifying realization washed over me: Marcus hadn't looked surprised to see Eliam this morning.
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My brother wasn't a victim of my husband’s deception.
He was an accomplice.
