Chapter 8
The next morning, Daniel was fired.
Not suspended.
Fired.
Richard called me personally.
He couldn’t discuss the internal investigation, but he said enough.
“There were financial irregularities.”
“How serious?”
“Serious enough that outside counsel is involved.”
“Police?”
“I can’t answer that.”
Which meant yes.
Ashley was placed on paid administrative leave while the company investigated her role.
Daniel sent me thirty-two messages.
I didn’t answer one.
At noon, he filed a petition asking the court to stop me from selling, transferring, or modifying any marital assets.
My attorney laughed when he read it.
“He borrowed against your inherited property and now wants to freeze you?”
“Can he?”
“He can ask.”
Lawrence leaned back.
“But Daniel has a bigger problem.”
“What?”
“The bank reviewed the equity line authorization.”
“And?”
“The signature was notarized by a man named Peter Wallace.”
I didn’t recognize the name.
“Who is he?”
“Former employee at Daniel’s company.”
“Former?”
“Fired last year.”
“Why?”
“Expense fraud.”
I stared at Lawrence.
“You’re kidding.”
“I wish I were.”
“Can we prove I wasn’t there when the document was signed?”
“We may be able to do better.”
He turned his computer toward me.
The notarization date was February 18 of the previous year.
I remembered February 18.
I had been in Phoenix.
My mother and I had attended my cousin’s wedding.
There were plane tickets.
Hotel receipts.
Photographs.
Dozens of witnesses.
I had been 1,700 miles away.
For the first time in days, I smiled.
“Daniel’s in trouble.”
Lawrence didn’t smile back.
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Potentially a lot.”
That afternoon, Rachel called.
I almost didn’t answer.
Then I remembered Noah.
“Hello?”
Her voice was quiet.
“Marcus wants a DNA test.”
“He should get one.”
“He says he’s filing for custody.”
I closed my eyes.
“That’s between you and him.”
“He thinks I committed fraud by taking child support.”
“I’m not a lawyer.”
“He wants his money back.”
“I don’t know what to tell you.”
“Daniel says he’ll help me.”
I nearly dropped the phone.
“You’re still speaking to Daniel?”
“He’s Noah’s father.”
“You knew that four years ago.”
“This is different now.”
“How?”
“Everyone knows.”
I laughed bitterly.
“So now he gets to become Dad?”
“That isn’t what I said.”
“Does Noah know?”
Silence.
“Rachel.”
“He heard us arguing.”
My chest tightened.
“What did he hear?”
“Enough.”
“What does that mean?”
“He asked why Marcus said Daniel is his real dad.”
I closed my eyes.
Seven years old.
A child who had done nothing wrong.
“What did you tell him?”
“That adults were arguing and he didn’t need to worry.”
“Rachel.”
“What was I supposed to say?”
“The truth in an age-appropriate way.”
“I’m not telling my seven-year-old that his uncle is actually his biological father during a divorce scandal.”
“It isn’t a divorce scandal to him. It’s his life.”
She started crying.
“I don’t know how to do this.”
For the first time, I softened.
Not because I forgave her.
Because Noah deserved adults who weren’t screaming.
“Get a child therapist.”
“What?”
“Today.”
“I can’t afford—”
“I’ll pay.”
She went silent.
Then whispered, “Why would you do that?”
“Because unlike all of you, I’m not going to make Noah pay for what adults did.”
She cried harder.
I regretted the cruelty the second the sentence left my mouth.
But I didn’t take it back.
That evening, I met Marcus at a coffee shop.
He looked exhausted.
“I’m sorry,” I told him.
“For what?”
“For knowing before you did.”
“You found out yesterday.”
“I still hate that.”
He nodded.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
Then Marcus pulled a folded drawing from his jacket.
Noah had made it at school.
Three stick figures.
Mom.
Dad.
Me.
“His teacher gave me this last month,” Marcus said.
I stared at the label over his figure.
Dad.
“He thinks I’m his dad.”
“You are.”
Marcus looked at me.
“Biology matters.”
“Yes.”
“So does everything else.”
“Yes.”
He rubbed his eyes.
“I don’t know whether to fight for him or walk away.”
“Don’t walk away because you’re hurt.”
“That sounds easy.”
“It isn’t.”
“What happens when Daniel decides he wants him?”
I had been wondering the same thing.
“Then the lawyers figure it out.”
“Daniel has money.”
“Not as much as he thought.”
Marcus almost smiled.
Then his expression became serious.
“Did you know Daniel threatened Rachel?”
I frowned.
“When?”
“Today.”
“With what?”
“He told her if she supports the company investigation, he’ll deny paternity publicly.”
“That makes no sense. There’s a test.”
“Apparently he thinks she won’t release it because she lied on legal documents.”
I leaned back.
Daniel was doing what Daniel always did.
Finding shame.
Turning it into leverage.
“What legal documents?”
Marcus shrugged.
“School records. Child support filings. Maybe benefits.”
I thought about the money from R.F. Strategies.
The false company.
The fake consulting fees.
Rachel was trapped.
And Daniel knew it.
When I returned home, someone had left an envelope under my front mat.
No return address.
Inside were photographs.
Me entering Lawrence’s office.
Me meeting Marcus.
Ashley standing on my porch.
My mother outside her house.
Someone had been following us.
There was one note.
STOP BEFORE EVERYONE LOSES.
I immediately called the police.
Then Lawrence.
Then Richard.
By midnight, officers had taken the envelope.
Security cameras showed a man wearing a baseball cap approaching my porch.
His face wasn’t visible.
Daniel denied everything through his lawyer.
Of course he did.
At 1:20 a.m., my phone rang from an unknown number.
I answered without speaking.
A man’s voice said, “Your husband hired me to watch you.”
My pulse raced.
“Who is this?”
“My name is Peter Wallace.”
The notary.
I sat straight up.
“What do you want?”
“To make a deal.”
“With me?”
“With the prosecutors.”
“I’m not a prosecutor.”
“No. But you have something I need.”
“What?”
“The second phone.”
I said nothing.
Peter continued.
“Daniel kept records on that phone.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I helped him create them.”
My grip tightened.
“What records?”
“Accounts. Payments. Signatures.”
“Why are you calling me?”
“Because Daniel thinks I left that envelope tonight.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Then who did?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“You shouldn’t.”
At least that was honest.
Peter lowered his voice.
“But there’s something on that phone you haven’t found yet.”
“What?”
“A recording.”
“Of what?”
“The night your father died.”
Every hair on my arms stood up.
“What recording?”
“Daniel recorded arguments when he thought he might need leverage later.”
My stomach turned.
“Where is it?”
“Hidden folder. Audio backup.”
I walked to the kitchen where the phone sat inside a plastic evidence sleeve Lawrence had told me not to touch further.
“I’m not opening anything.”
“Good.”
“Why tell me?”
“Because if Daniel realizes it’s there, he will do anything to get that phone back.”
The call disconnected.
I stared at the device.
May you like
Then my security alarm went off.
Glass shattered downstairs.
