Chapter 7
Thomas Reeves walked into court the next morning wearing a navy suit and a calm smile.
He looked like every expensive attorney Ryan had ever admired.
Polished.
Confident.
Trustworthy.
Now I knew he was Jessica—or Lauren’s—brother.
I knew he had been in the car when the real Jessica died.
I knew his family was connected to Cumberland Renewal.
And I knew he had somehow placed himself directly between Ryan and the consequences of what they had done.
Dana leaned toward me.
“Do not react.”
“I want to throw a chair at him.”
“Especially don’t do that.”
Across the courtroom, Ryan sat beside Thomas.
Ryan looked tired.
But not frightened.
That bothered me.
A man whose house had just been searched, whose wife had proof of fraud, whose daughter tested positive for sedatives, should have looked terrified.
Ryan looked prepared.
Thomas noticed me staring.
He smiled.
Then whispered something to Ryan.
Ryan looked over.
His expression said one thing.
You still don’t understand.
The judge entered.
Dana presented everything.
The assault report.
Sophie’s medical documentation.
The security recording.
The toxicology results.
The forged property transfers.
The fraudulent prescription.
The psychiatric paperwork.
The threatening messages.
The hidden plan.
Thomas objected constantly.
Some objections were sustained.
Most weren’t.
Then he stood.
“Your Honor, we are hearing a dramatic narrative constructed from unrelated circumstances.”
I felt my hands tighten.
Thomas continued.
“My client acknowledges an extramarital relationship. He regrets it deeply. But infidelity is not attempted murder.”
Dana rose.
“No one said—”
Thomas lifted one hand.
“The implication is obvious.”
The judge looked at him.
“Continue.”
“Mrs. Carter assaulted Mr. Carter’s partner. Twice.”
“After that partner struck a child,” Dana said.
Thomas turned.
“A claim disputed by my client.”
I stared at Ryan.
He wouldn’t look at me.
Thomas continued.
“The toxicology evidence does not establish who provided any substances. Mrs. Carter herself had controlled medication in her system.”
“Medication she was never prescribed,” Dana said.
“Which raises questions about how she acquired it.”
I almost stood.
Dana touched my arm.
Thomas knew exactly what he was doing.
Turning every crime against me into evidence against me.
He called Ryan.
My husband took the stand.
He swore to tell the truth.
Then lied.
Beautifully.
He cried.
Actual tears.
“I’m worried about Emily.”
I stared at him.
Thomas asked, “Why?”
“She’s changed.”
“When?”
“Over the last year.”
“How?”
“She forgets things. She gets angry. She accuses people. She started hiding money.”
I almost laughed at the last part.
Thomas looked sympathetic.
“Did you attempt to get her help?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I contacted Dr. Mercer.”
“And why Dr. Mercer?”
“He was someone I knew from college who became a doctor.”
So Ryan was admitting the connection now.
Only because we had proof.
“Did Dr. Mercer ever diagnose your wife?”
“No.”
“Did you ever ask him to lie?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Did you drug your wife?”
Ryan looked directly at me.
“No.”
“Did you drug your daughter?”
His voice cracked.
“Never.”
Good performance.
Too good.
Then Thomas asked, “Did your wife ever have access to your financial passwords?”
“Yes.”
“Could she have moved money?”
“Yes.”
Dana objected.
The judge sustained.
But the suggestion had already landed.
My turn came later.
Thomas approached slowly.
“Mrs. Carter, you struck Lauren Reeves, correct?”
So he was using her real name now.
“Yes.”
“Twice?”
“Yes.”
“You’re not denying it?”
“No.”
“Were police present?”
“Not at that moment.”
“Was your daughter present?”
“Yes.”
“So your daughter watched you repeatedly assault another woman.”
I stared at him.
“My daughter watched that woman slap her first.”
Thomas smiled slightly.
“You became angry.”
“Of course.”
“Very angry.”
“Yes.”
“So angry that your first instinct was violence.”
Dana rose.
“Argumentative.”
“Sustained.”
Thomas moved on.
“Have you experienced memory lapses?”
“No.”
“Never?”
“I experienced confusion after my husband prepared drinks for me.”
“But you cannot prove he placed anything in those drinks.”
“Not yet.”
Thomas smiled.
“Not yet.”
He walked back to his table.
“Have you ever misplaced your keys?”
“Yes.”
“Hit a curb while driving?”
“Yes.”
“Forgotten conversations with your husband?”
“I believed I did.”
“Have you ever woken with bruises you couldn’t explain?”
My stomach tightened.
He knew everything Ryan had documented.
“Yes.”
“Sounds concerning.”
“It sounds like I was being drugged.”
Thomas tilted his head.
“That is your theory.”
“The toxicology proves—”
“It proves medication was in your body.”
I wanted to scream.
Instead I stayed calm.
“That medication wasn’t prescribed to me.”
Thomas looked toward the judge.
“No further questions.”
Dana stood.
“One question, Mrs. Carter.”
I looked at her.
“Who controlled the household finances during the period Mr. Carter claims you were unstable?”
“Ryan.”
“Who prepared most of your evening drinks?”
“Ryan.”
“Who purchased the sleep supplement you believed you were taking?”
“Ryan.”
“Who initiated contact with Dr. Mercer?”
“Ryan.”
“Who bought the additional life-insurance policy?”
“Ryan.”
“Who requested emergency custody?”
“Ryan.”
“And who stood to receive $750,000 if you died?”
I looked directly at my husband.
“Ryan.”
The courtroom went silent.
The judge kept the custody restrictions in place.
Sophie stayed with me.
Ryan received no unsupervised contact.
That should have felt like victory.
It didn’t.
Because Thomas smiled while leaving court.
As if custody had never been the real objective.
Outside, Holloway waited.
“We need to talk.”
Dana joined us.
“What happened?”
“We searched Mercer’s office.”
“And?”
“Empty.”
“Files?”
“Mostly removed.”
“Of course.”
“But he missed something.”
Holloway handed Dana a copy of a ledger.
Names.
Dates.
Payments.
Initials.
My name appeared near the bottom.
Carter, E.
Next to it:
R.C. — 50K deposit.
D.R. — 180K completion.
A.M. — clinical.
L.R. — domestic trigger.
T.R. — legal.
I read the initials.
Ryan Carter.
Daniel Reeves.
Alan Mercer.
Lauren Reeves.
Thomas Reeves.
My knees weakened.
“All of them.”
Holloway nodded.
“What does ‘domestic trigger’ mean?”
“We believe Lauren’s role was to provoke an incident.”
Exactly as I thought.
“And legal?”
Holloway looked toward the courthouse where Thomas had disappeared.
“We’re obtaining warrants.”
“For Thomas?”
“For several people.”
My heart beat faster.
“Where are they?”
“We don’t know.”
“Still?”
“We know Thomas is here. He’s under surveillance.”
“What about Lauren?”
“Missing.”
“Mercer?”
“Missing.”
“Daniel?”
“Missing.”
“And Ryan?”
“He just walked out of court.”
I looked around.
Ryan was nowhere in sight.
“Where?”
Holloway pulled out his phone.
Then frowned.
“What?”
He made a call.
No answer.
A second call.
His expression changed.
“The surveillance unit lost visual.”
“You lost Ryan?”
“For a few minutes.”
“That’s all he needs.”
Dana grabbed my arm.
“Emily, where’s Sophie?”
“With Rachel.”
“Where?”
“At the secured apartment.”
My stomach dropped.
Very few people knew that address.
Police.
Dana.
Me.
Rachel.
And whoever inside the system had arranged it.
I called Rachel.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Third time.
Nothing.
I turned to Holloway.
“Call the officers.”
He already was.
His face went pale.
“No response.”
I couldn’t breathe.
We ran.
Holloway drove.
Dana sat beside me in the back.
I called Rachel over and over.
After eight minutes, she answered.
But no one spoke.
“Rachel?”
Silence.
“Rachel!”
A man breathed into the phone.
Then Ryan said, “You should have cooperated.”
My entire body went cold.
“Where’s Sophie?”
“She’s safe.”
“Let me hear her.”
“No.”
“Ryan, if you hurt her—”
“I would never hurt my daughter.”
“You drugged her.”
“That wasn’t supposed to happen.”
His admission hit me like a slap.
I put the phone on speaker.
Holloway was recording.
“You gave her medication?”
“She accidentally drank from your cup once.”
I closed my eyes.
So they had drugged me.
He had just admitted it.
“Where is Sophie?”
“You destroyed everything.”
“You did that yourself.”
“I gave you a good life.”
“You tried to have me committed.”
“You wouldn’t listen.”
“To what?”
“That we were finished.”
“You could have divorced me.”
A pause.
Then Ryan laughed.
“You think this was about divorce?”
I looked at Holloway.
“What was it about?”
“You were never supposed to own half the company.”
My breath stopped.
“What company?”
“The company your father left you.”
“My father didn’t leave me a company.”
“That’s what your mother told you.”
My head spun.
My father died when I was sixteen.
He owned a small construction firm.
My mother said it collapsed after his death.
Ryan continued.
“Ask your attorney about Carter Development Holdings.”
Dana immediately started searching.
“What are you talking about?”
“Your father’s business didn’t disappear. Your mother placed your shares in trust.”
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“You inherited control at thirty-five.”
I had turned thirty-five ten months ago.
“When I found out, I tried to help you.”
“You tried to steal it.”
“I tried to protect our family.”
“How much is it worth?”
Ryan laughed softly.
“Now you finally ask the right question.”
Dana turned her screen toward me.
Her face was white.
A private holding company.
Real estate.
Commercial developments.
Land.
Estimated value.
$38 million.
I stared at the number.
“No.”
Ryan heard the silence.
“Yes.”
“You planned all this for money?”
“You don’t understand.”
“You drugged me for money.”
“I needed you declared incompetent.”
My blood ran cold.
There it was.
The truth.
“If you were ruled unable to manage your affairs, I could petition as your spouse.”
“So the hospital papers—”
“Were supposed to be temporary.”
“You forged them.”
“You sign things without reading.”
“You forged them.”
He didn’t answer.
I heard Sophie crying in the background.
“Mommy!”
My heart shattered.
“Sophie!”
Ryan shouted away from the phone.
“Be quiet!”
“Don’t you yell at her!”
“You forced this.”
“No, Ryan. You chose this.”
Holloway motioned for me to keep him talking.
“Where is Rachel?”
“She’s fine.”
“Let me hear her.”
“No.”
“Where are you taking Sophie?”
Ryan became quiet.
Then he said, “Somewhere you’ll never find us.”
The call ended.
Holloway cursed.
“Did you trace it?”
“Working on it.”
The car accelerated.
We reached the apartment.
The front door was open.
One officer was unconscious in the hallway.
The second had been zip-tied inside a bathroom.
Rachel lay on the kitchen floor.
Alive.
Bleeding from the forehead.
I ran to her.
“Sophie?”
Rachel opened her eyes.
“Ryan.”
“I know.”
“No.”
She grabbed my wrist.
“Ryan didn’t come alone.”
My stomach dropped.
“Who?”
Rachel struggled to speak.
“Thomas.”
Holloway looked toward Dana.
Rachel continued.
“And there was a woman.”
“Lauren?”
Rachel shook her head.
“No.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
She swallowed painfully.
“She looked like you.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“She looked almost exactly like you.”
Then Holloway’s phone rang.
He answered.
Listened.
His face changed.
“What?”
He looked directly at me.
“We traced Ryan’s call.”
“Where?”
“The Nashville airport.”
My heart stopped.
“He’s taking Sophie out of the state.”
Holloway shook his head.
“No.”
“Then what?”
“The call pinged near a private terminal.”
Dana’s voice tightened.
“A private plane?”
May you like
Holloway nodded.
“And according to the flight plan, it departs in thirty-two minutes.”
