Three days later, I used my attorney, Julian Moss, to arrange a bridge grant from a design fund controlled by my family’s foundation. Simon read the letter in disbelief and said he didn’t know how he got so lucky.
“Maybe the world finally noticed the right person,” I told him while cooking dinner. He called it luck, but I knew it was a sacrifice of my own marriage.
A year later, the firm was renamed Miller and Vane. They soon landed the massive Waterfront Plaza commission, a project built on land leased through a company I secretly owned.
I reviewed that lease in a morning meeting and signed the approval without a word to my husband. Simon came home ecstatic and lifted me off the floor to celebrate the victory.
He never once asked how the land deal happened or noticed my family name buried in the legal documents. By then, I had stopped trying to decide if his lack of questions was trust or self-interest.
The year leading up to the gala was when I realized I couldn’t keep the secret forever because it was starting to cost me my dignity. Simon had begun telling stories about how he built his life through sheer force of will.