Chapter 4: The Woman Garrett Underestimated
The first person I called was not a friend.
It was not my father.
It was not someone who would comfort me and tell me everything would be okay.
I called Claire Whitmore.
Garrett’s former business attorney.
The woman he once described as “too aggressive” because she asked too many questions.
At the time, I had laughed.
Now I understood.
Claire was not aggressive.
She was careful.
And Garrett hated careful people because they noticed things.
The phone rang three times before she answered.
“Alessia?””
Her voice sounded surprised.
“Claire, I need your help.””
There was a pause.
A long one.
“What happened?””
I looked across the room at the folder sitting on the table.
Then I looked toward the stairs where my mother was resting.
“Garrett happened.””
Another silence.
This one felt heavier.
“Are you safe?””
The question caught me off guard.
Not “What did he do?””
Not “Why are you calling?””
Are you safe?
I swallowed.
“Yes.””
I almost lied.
But I stopped myself.
“I think I am.””
Claire exhaled softly.
“Tell me everything.””
So I did.
Not every detail.
Not yet.
But enough.
The fountain.
My mother.
The hidden account.
The agreement.
The way Garrett had looked at me when he realized I found out.
When I finished, Claire was quiet.
Then she said something that made my blood run cold.
“Alessia, this wasn’t planned last night.””
“What do you mean?””
“I mean Garrett has been preparing for this for a while.””
I gripped the phone tighter.
“How long?””
“Months, possibly longer.””
I looked at the folder again.
The documents suddenly felt heavier.
“He was waiting for me to sign.””
“Yes.””
“Why?””
Claire hesitated.
“Because once you signed, he could move certain assets without your approval.””
I closed my eyes.
The worst part wasn’t discovering he wanted to take my money.
The worst part was realizing he had studied me.
He knew exactly when to be charming.
Exactly when to apologize.
Exactly when to make me doubt myself.
He didn’t just betray me.
He prepared the betrayal.
“Can you help me?”” I asked.
Claire’s answer came immediately.
“Yes.””
That was the first moment in twenty-four hours that I felt like I could breathe.
But before we ended the call, she warned me.
“Do not confront him again.””
“I already did.””
“Alessia.””
“I know.””
“No,” she said firmly.
“You don’t. Men like Garrett become dangerous when they lose control.””
I looked toward the hallway.
“Dangerous?””
“Not necessarily physically.””
Her voice lowered.
“But people who depend on power often destroy everything before admitting they lost.””
That sentence followed me all day.
Because Claire was right.
Garrett had spent years building an image.
A perfect husband.
A successful businessman.
A respected man.
If that image cracked, what would he do to protect it?
That evening, Garrett acted like nothing had happened.
That almost frightened me more.
He sat at the dining table, drinking wine.
“Your mother feeling better?”” he asked.
I stared at him.
The casual tone.
The fake concern.
It was almost impressive.
“She’s in pain.””
He nodded.
“I’m sure she’ll recover.””
I waited.
For an apology.
For regret.
Anything.
Nothing came.
Instead, he cut into his dinner.
“You know, yesterday got out of hand.””
I laughed quietly.
“Got out of hand?””
“Yes.””
“You kicked my mother.””
His fork stopped.
Then he sighed.
“There you go again.””
Again.
That word.
Like I was the problem for remembering.
“You always make everything bigger than it is.””
I looked at him.
“Do you hear yourself?””
He leaned back.
“Alessia, I’m trying to fix this.””
“No, Garrett.””
I shook my head.
“You’re trying to erase it.””
For the first time, anger flashed across his face.
“You should be careful.””
There it was again.
The warning.
I smiled.
Not because it was funny.
Because I finally saw it clearly.
The threats.
The manipulation.
The confidence that I would always bend.
“You really think I’m still afraid of you.””
His expression changed.
Just slightly.
But enough.
Because that was the first time I had ever said it.
And he knew it.
Later that night, after he went upstairs, I opened my laptop.
I created a new email account.
I copied every document.
Every message.
Every transaction.
Every piece of evidence.
And when the final file finished uploading, I received a notification.
One new email.
From Claire.
The subject line was simple.
*“You need to know who else Garrett has been lying to.””*
My hand froze over the mouse.
May you like
I opened it.
And the name inside changed everything.
