Chapter 9
The silence that followed was so complete that I wondered whether the call had disconnected.
Finally, he spoke.
“What?”
“Paige Bennett. The woman who visited you in the hospital.”
“She’s a family friend.”
“Does your family usually give expensive apartments to family friends?”
“Jacqueline—”
“And does George usually establish companies with their names attached?”
His breathing changed.
“You’ve been investigating me?”
I almost smiled.
“Should I have a reason to?”
He lowered his voice.
“You need to stop this.”
“Stop what?”
“Whatever you think you’re doing.”
For the first time in seven years, I heard something beneath his polished charm.
Fear.
Real fear.
“Bring the guarantees to my parents’ house tonight,” he said. “We’ll talk about everything.”
I glanced at Rebecca, who was sitting across from me.
She shook her head.
“That won’t be necessary,” I replied.
Then I ended the call.
The next morning, my bank contacted me about an attempted transfer from my personal investment account.
The request had been submitted using electronic credentials associated with Alistair.
The bank had flagged it because the destination was unfamiliar and the transaction required additional authorization.
I immediately secured my accounts and provided the information to Rebecca.
She compared the attempted transfer with the financial documents already under review.
The destination was an account associated with Northbridge Holdings.
The same company connected to Paige and my in-laws.
That afternoon, Rebecca received confirmation that the authorities were reviewing the suspected financial fraud.
I expected to feel relieved.
Instead, I felt exhausted.
My marriage was collapsing.
My husband had tried to expose me to serious financial losses.
And somewhere in Minneapolis, a little boy was sleeping in an apartment purchased through arrangements involving the people who had betrayed me.
That evening, Gavin called.
“I found something about the clinic.”
My heart jumped.
“What?”
“George Finch sat on its fundraising board for several years.”
I closed my eyes.
“Of course he did.”
“And Martha helped organize donations for its fertility assistance program.”
I looked at the photograph of my husband still lying facedown on the bookshelf.
They had known the clinic.
They had known about our treatment.
They had known how devastated I had been when Alistair told me our embryos were gone.
I whispered, “They all knew.”
But Gavin wasn’t finished.
“Jacqueline, Rebecca asked me to verify the clinic’s former medical director.”
“Why?”
“He left the clinic shortly after Matty was born. He’s now facing a professional disciplinary investigation involving irregularities in patient consent and recordkeeping.”
I gripped the phone.
“Does the investigation involve my records?”
“I don’t know yet.”
I ended the call and sat in silence.
May you like
Then I began to cry.
Not because I knew the truth.
