Chapter 2 - The Penthouse Was Never HisThe next morning, I was discharged from the hospital.
The doctors instructed me to rest.
They also gave me strict instructions to return immediately if I experienced pain, bleeding, dizziness, or changes in the baby's movement.
I promised I would.
Then Marcus picked me up.
He was waiting outside in a black sedan.
“You look exhausted,” he said.
“I feel exhausted.”
“You don't have to deal with this today.”
“Yes, I do.”
He glanced at me.
“Why?”
“Because Ryan is going to start destroying evidence.”
Marcus nodded slowly.
“You're probably right.”
We drove downtown.
I didn't go to the penthouse.
Instead, we went to Marcus's office.
He placed a thick binder on the conference table.
“This is everything we've recovered so far.”
I opened it.
Bank statements.
Wire transfers.
Corporate documents.
Credit card records.
Property deeds.
And then I saw something that made my blood run cold.
A spreadsheet.
Ryan had created it.
The title read:
Claire's Assets — Post-Divorce Allocation
I stared at the words.
“Post-divorce?”
Marcus nodded.
“It was created four months ago.”
Four months.
I had been pregnant for five months at the time.
I remembered Ryan becoming unusually affectionate around then.
He started asking about my estate.
He asked whether I had updated my will.
He asked what would happen to my shares if something happened to me.
I had thought he was being responsible.
He wasn't.
He was planning.
I flipped the page.
There were categories.
Penthouse.
Vacation house.
Investment accounts.
Company shares.
Life insurance.
Then one line caught my attention.
Child inheritance: pending.
I felt sick.
Ryan had been planning my death.
Or at least planning for the possibility that something would happen to me.
“Marcus.”
“Yes?”
“Is there a life insurance policy?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“$12 million.”
I stared at the page.
“Who is the beneficiary?”
“You.”
I looked up.
“What?”
“The policy is on Ryan.”
My blood ran cold.
Ryan had a $12 million life insurance policy.
And I was the beneficiary.
I remembered him joking last summer.
“If I die, you'll be richer than ever.”
I had laughed.
Now I wanted to vomit.
Marcus closed the binder.
“This isn't just a divorce.”
“No.”
“It's a financial investigation.”
I nodded.
Then my phone rang.
Ryan.
I stared at the screen.
Marcus said:
“Don't answer.”
I did anyway.
“Claire.”
His voice sounded different.
Less arrogant.
More cautious.
“What do you want?”
“I want to see you.”
“No.”
“Please.”
I almost laughed.
“Please?”
“I made a mistake.”
“You held my wrists while your father burned me.”
Silence.
“I know.”
“You watched.”
“I was angry.”
“You were angry because I refused to give your father control over my company.”
“I didn't know he would hurt you.”
“That doesn't make you innocent.”
He exhaled.
“Come home.”
“No.”
“Claire, you're my wife.”
“And you're my husband.”
“I love you.”
The words almost made me laugh.
“You love what I provide.”
“That isn't true.”
“Then tell me why you tried to transfer my penthouse to Brooke.”
Silence.
Complete silence.
Then:
“Who told you that?”
I hung up.
Marcus stared at me.
“You heard that?”
“Yes.”
I placed the phone on the table.
“He didn't deny it.”
Marcus nodded.
“Good.”
“Good?”
“Because now we know he's scared.”
I looked at the binder.
“What do we do?”
“We freeze everything.”
“Can we?”
“You own it.”
Those three words felt powerful.
For years, I had allowed my family to convince me that I owed them access to my own life.
Now I realized something.
I didn't owe them anything.
Not my money.
Not my home.
Not my silence.
Not my forgiveness.
Marcus handed me a document.
“This is the emergency injunction.”
“What does it do?”
“Prevents Ryan, Grant, Diane, and Brooke from accessing any of your assets.”
I signed it.
Then Marcus smiled faintly.
“There is one more thing.”
“What?”
“We discovered a hidden account.”
“Whose?”
“Grant's.”
“And?”
“It was funded with money transferred from your company.”
“How much?”
“$6.2 million.”
I stared at him.
Six point two million dollars.
Stolen from me.
Then Marcus added:
“And we found where the money went.”
I looked up.
“Where?”
“To a private investigator.”
My heart sank.
“Why?”
Marcus slid a photograph across the table.
It showed me leaving work.
Another showed me entering a doctor's office.
Another showed me at home.
Someone had been watching me.
For months.
Maybe longer.
I looked at the photographs.
Then I understood.
They weren't simply trying to steal my money.
They had been monitoring me.
May you like
And suddenly I wasn't sure whether the cigarette incident had been the beginning.
It might have been the moment they realized their entire plan was falling apart.
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