The Wife he threw Away (Claire and Lucian) novel Chapter 82

CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO CLAIRE’S POV

I woke up before my alarm.

Not because something pulled me out of sleep, but because my body was already starting to adjust. The unfamiliarity of the apartment was fading quickly, just enough that I no longer hesitated when I moved.

I didn’t have to think about where things were. I didn’t have to pause and orient myself.

I just… got up.

The floor was cool beneath my feet as I walked across the room. The lights filtering through the curtains were soft against my eyes.

I moved through my routine seamlessly, without stopping-coffee first, then the file I had left on the counter the previous night.

I skimmed through the notes while the coffee machine hummed quietly.

Today, my thoughts were clear. No drifting, no interruptions.

Just work.

By the time I set the mug down, I was already reaching for my clothes.

I didn’t stop to hesitate over options. I didn’t second-guess myself and my sense of style.

I simply chose grey suit with pants. It was practical. Just like me.

Sinclair & Co. felt the same when I arrived.

Today, there were no whispers when I walked in. No lingering stares that followed me too long. Conversations didn’t stop abruptly when I passed, though I noticed how they shifted subtly, acknowledging my presence without centering on it.

“Morning, Claire.” The receptionist nice greeted.

I nodded once in response with a small smile on my face, already moving past reception. My steps didn’t slow.

Halfway down the corridor, a voice stopped me.

“Claire-sorry.”

I turned slightly to face a junior associate, standing a few steps away from me, with a file in his hand.

Uncertainty was written clearly across his expression. 1

“Would you mind taking a look at this?” he asked.

He didn’t sound casual or hesitant. No, he sounded worried.

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WO CLAIRES POW

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I stepped closer, taking the file from him. My eyes moved quickly over the page, scanning, processing,

absorbing.

“There’s a gap in your timeline,” I finally said, handing it back. “You’re accounting for movement, but not authorization. That’s where they’ll question you.” I explained the best I could from what I had detected.

He blinked, then nodded immediately. “Right. That makes sense.” He flashed a grateful smile.

“Thanks,” he added.

I gave a small nod and continued walking.

Margot’s message came mere minutes after I arrived at my desk.

“Conference room. Now.” 1

No explanation.

Well, it was Margot Sinclair. There didn’t need to be one.

The conference room was already occupied when I walked in.

Voices overlapped in low conversation, sharp and controlled, the kind that carried weight without needing volume.

The moment I entered, most of them glanced up. 1

Mentally, I started placing their places and their positions in the firm. That’s when I realized that everyone in the room was my superior.

I recognized most of them.

A few senior associates and fewer partners.

People who had built their names long before I had even considered stepping into a courtroom.

I was the least experienced person in the room. And everyone knew it. 1

Their gaze was brief and assessing, before they returned back to their discussions.

I took a seat near the end of the table without speaking, placing my file in front of me. I didn’t interrupt.

There was no need to insert myself into conversations that had already started.

I simply listened and observed.

Measured the rhythm of the room.

The door opened again and Margot walked in last.

The room fell silent almost immediately.

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Not forced- but expected.

She didn’t acknowledge it. She just took her seat and opened the file in front of her.

“Let us begin.” She said, her tone calm yet authoritative.

Everyone present immediately became focused.

“Arden Group,” she said. “Internal discrepancies flagged two weeks ago. Initial reports suggest mismanagement.”

A pause followed.

“I disagree.” An associate countered.

That got attention.

“Financial movement has been consistent-but selectively so. Which means it’s not random.”

Margot looked around the table. “It’s controlled.”

The discussion picked up immediately.

Questions, observations and counterpoints followed.

Sharp, efficient, and layered.

I stayed quiet.

Not because I didn’t have anything to say-but because I was still building the full picture.

A senior associate leaned back slightly, his gaze flicking toward me for a second before returning to Margot.

“Is there a specific reason she’s in this meeting?” He asked.

The question wasn’t hostile, but it wasn’t exactly neutral either.

The atmosphere in the room changed noticeably. It was almost like everyone held their breaths.

Margot didn’t hesitate to reply.

“She’s on the case.”

She stated, her tone final. There was no room for argument or challenge.

A beat passed, then she added, “I expect her to contribute.”

The weight of that settled directly on me.

Margot had given me her support publicly. And now she was also letting me know the expectations she had for putting me in this room.

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I didn’t react. I only nodded once.

The discussion resumed as if it never stopped, faster now.

Documents moved across the table with precision and speed.

Numbers, timelines, discrepancies.

I followed it all- every thread, every gap, every coverup.

And then I saw it.

A pattern.

Subtle, but consistent.

Not in what was the documents presented, but in what wasn’t.

I leaned forward slightly.

“Your authorization points don’t match your movement,” I said.

The room didn’t stop-but the atmosphere shifted.

Attention was immediately redirected to me.

One of the partners looked at me. “Explain.”

I kept my tone even. “You’re tracking where the money goes. Not who allowed it to move. The approvals are staggered-but the timing isn’t.”

I slid one of the documents slightly forward.

“This repeats here,” I pointed. “And here.”

Silence settled-brief but noticeable.

“…say that again,” the same partner said.

I repeated myself- clearer and more precise tjis time.

No hesitation.

This time, no one spoke over me.

When I finished, the room stayed quiet for a moment longer.

I could almost hear their minds functioning. Reasoning. Considering.

Then someone spoke. “That’s not mismanagement,”

“No,” another agreed. “It’s structured.”

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+25 Bonus

Margot didn’t look at me.

But I saw the slight shift in her posture- she acknowledged me.

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