Chapter 9 - The Marriage They Manufactured
By sunrise, the livestream had twenty-three million views.
News vans surrounded Saint Agnes. Project Providence became the most searched phrase in America. For the first time, Thomas Bennett could not hide behind private money.
But neither could we.
Federal agents moved us to a secure floor beneath a government office building downtown while investigators authenticated the ledger.
Victoria went with attorneys.
Catherine underwent surgery for the gunshot wound.
Claire entered protective custody.
Daniel disappeared into an interview room.
Ethan sat across from me with the divorce petition between us.
“I didn’t sign it.”
“I believe you.”
He looked surprised.
“Don’t make that face.”
“What face?”
“The one where you think I’ve forgiven everything.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
“A little.”
I rubbed my stomach.
Noah kicked.
Ethan watched.
“You named him.”
I froze. “You heard me?”
“At the church.”
“I whispered before that.”
“I read your lips.”
Of course he did.
“Noah,” he said.
“Yes.”
“I like it.”
“That doesn’t mean you get veto power.”
“I wasn’t asking.”
“Good.”
A federal investigator entered.
Agent Miriam Cole.
Forties. Sharp eyes. No patience.
“Mr. Romano. Ms. Bennett.”
“Romano,” Ethan said.
I looked at him.
Agent Cole sat. “Legally, he’s correct. Your divorce decree was never finalized.”
I stared. “What?”
“My attorney said—”
“Your attorney disappeared six weeks ago.”
My heart dropped.
“What?”
“Samuel Price emptied his apartment. Closed his accounts. His last phone signal came from JFK.”
Ethan leaned forward. “Find him.”
“We’re trying.”
“He handled Isabella’s filing,” Ethan said. “Not mine.”
Cole slid another document across the table.
“Your attorney transferred your petition to Price.”
“Without telling me?”
“Apparently.”
I stared at the two petitions.
Both forged.
Both manipulated.
Agent Cole continued. “We believe someone engineered your separation.”
I laughed. “Engineered. That word again.”
“Thomas needed Isabella pregnant but outside Romano protection.”
Ethan’s eyes became lethal. “Explain.”
Cole nodded. “For months before the separation, both of you received manipulated information.”
She opened a file.
Photos of Ethan entering a hotel with three women.
I knew those photos.
I had cried over them for a week.
“They’re fake?”
“Composite images.”
I looked at Ethan.
“You never said that.”
“I thought they were surveillance photos from another matter.”
“You thought allowing me to believe you were cheating was safer?”
“I was an idiot.”
“Correct.”
Cole almost smiled.
Then she placed another file down.
“The blood you found on Ethan’s shirt belonged to a man named Victor Hale.”
I froze.
“Related to Dr. Hale?”
“No. Alias. He was part of a team hired to abduct you.”
Ethan stared at me. “I stopped him in the garage.”
“You should have told me.”
“I know.”
“Instead you said, ‘You’re safer not knowing.’”
“I know.”
“I hated you for that.”
“I know.”
His refusal to defend himself was infuriating.
Cole continued. “Thomas paid employees around both of you. Staff. drivers. a marriage counselor.”
I stared. “Our counselor?”
“Yes.”
Ethan stood. “I’m going to kill him.”
“Sit down,” Cole said.
He stared at her.
She stared back.
He sat.
I almost asked for her number.
“So our marriage was manipulated,” I whispered.
Cole nodded. “That doesn’t mean your problems were imaginary.”
“No,” I said. “Those were very real.”
Ethan looked at me.
“But outside pressure amplified them.”
I thought about every fight. Every suspicious message. Every unexplained absence. Every moment Ethan chose silence because he thought secrets were protection.
Someone had known exactly where to push.
“Why?”
“Isolation,” Cole said. “Thomas couldn’t access you inside Romano security.”
“Why wait until now to take me?”
“Providence needed fetal development data.”
My hand went to Noah.
“Claire.”
Cole nodded. “She was collecting it.”
“Does she say she changed sides?”
“Yes.”
“Do you believe her?”
“We don’t trust anyone yet.”
Ethan said, “Good.”
Cole looked at him. “That includes you.”
He smiled. “Less good.”
She closed one folder and opened another.
“There’s more.”
“Of course.”
“The ledger lists seventeen surviving Providence children.”
“Adults?”
“Mostly.”
“Mostly?”
“One is six.”
I felt cold. “So the project never stopped.”
“No.”
Ethan’s voice hardened. “Where are they?”
“We’re identifying them.”
Cole hesitated.
“One name is familiar.”
She handed me a page.
VICTORIA SINCLAIR.
I looked up. “Victoria?”
Ethan took the page.
“She’s Providence?”
“Apparently.”
I remembered her father’s bruise. Her fear. Her knowledge.
“Does she know?”
“We don’t think so.”
Ethan stood. “Where is she?”
“With counsel upstairs.”
A gunshot echoed somewhere above us.
Everyone froze.
Cole grabbed her radio. “Report!”
Static.
Then shouting.
Ethan was already moving.
“Stay here,” he told me.
I grabbed his hand. “No.”
“Bella.”
“I am done being left behind.”
He stared at me.
Then nodded once.
We followed Cole into the hallway.
Alarms flashed.
A second gunshot.
A third.
The elevator doors opened.
Victoria stumbled out.
Blood covered her pale suit.
I gasped.
Ethan caught her. “Where are you hit?”
She shook her head violently. “Not mine.”
“Whose?”
Her eyes were wild. “My father’s.”
Richard Sinclair staggered from the elevator behind her.
A knife protruded from his side.
He collapsed.
Victoria screamed.
Agent Cole dropped beside him. “Who did this?”
Richard grabbed her sleeve.
“Thomas.”
“Where?”
He coughed blood. “Inside.”
The elevator doors began closing.
Ethan forced them open.
Empty.
Richard looked at me.
His eyes widened.
“The child.”
“What?”
He grabbed my wrist.
“You need to know.”
“Know what?”
His grip tightened.
“Thomas was never trying to prove Providence worked.”
Blood filled his mouth.
“He was trying to prove it failed.”
Then Richard Sinclair died.
After Cole left to take a call, Ethan and I sat alone with the forged petitions. I traced my fake signature with one finger.
“I remember the night I decided to leave,” I said. “I thought I had finally made one choice no one could manipulate.”
“You did.”
“Did I?”
“Yes. They created pressure. They planted evidence. But you still chose to protect yourself.”
I looked at him. “That answer costs you.”
“I know.”
He picked up his forged petition and tore it once, then stopped. “I used to think love meant knowing what was best for someone before they did.”
“That isn’t love.”
“No.” He placed the paper down. “It’s fear dressed as certainty.”
I studied him, wondering whether change could be trusted before it had been tested.
“Don’t become a better man because you want me back,” I said.
May you like
His gaze held mine. “Then I’ll become one because my son deserves him.”
That answer frightened me in a different way. It made hope feel possible.
