Chapter 6 - The Death Certificate
For fifteen years, I believed my father died from a heart attack.
He had high blood pressure.
Stress.
A family history of coronary disease.
The hospital recorded myocardial infarction.
No autopsy.
No suspicion.
Nothing dramatic.
Claire’s sentence destroyed that certainty in eight seconds.
The one proving Thomas Barrett’s heart attack wasn’t as natural as everyone believed.
Hannah immediately called one of her former colleagues in California.
A cardiologist.
Then a medical examiner.
Neither could tell us much without records.
My father’s death certificate showed acute myocardial infarction due to coronary artery disease.
Ordinary.
Terrifyingly ordinary.
I spent that night reading old medical files my mother had kept.
Thomas complained of chest pain twice in the month before he died.
He was prescribed medication.
Helen remembered pills.
“Where did he get them?”
“Pharmacy.”
“Did Grant ever visit the house?”
My mother looked sick.
“Yes.”
“How often?”
“Too often.”
“What did Claire mean?”
“I don’t know.”
I believed her.
For once.
At 7:00 the next morning, Luke called my prepaid number.
I stared at the screen.
Hannah looked at me.
“Want me to answer?”
“No.”
I let it ring twice.
Then accepted.
Neither of us spoke.
Finally Luke said, “I know you’re safe.”
I gripped the blanket around my shoulders.
“How?”
“Your mother called me.”
Anger rose.
“She told you where I am?”
“No.”
That stopped me.
“She told me she found you.”
I looked at Helen.
She nodded.
Luke continued.
“I told her not to tell me where.”
“Why?”
“Because you asked me not to find you.”
That answer hurt.
I wanted him controlling.
I wanted reasons not to love him.
Luke said, “Paige.”
My eyes filled.
“Did you sleep with her?”
“No.”
Immediate.
No hesitation.
“Did you kiss her?”
Silence.
That was enough.
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
“How long?”
“I don’t know.”
“You know.”
“Seconds.”
“Did you kiss back?”
Another pause.
“Yes.”
The honesty cut cleanly.
I preferred it.
“Why did you take off your ring?”
His breathing changed.
“I was angry.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“I wanted to stop feeling married for one night.”
My hand trembled.
“That’s worse.”
“I know.”
“Were you planning to sleep with her?”
“I don’t know what I was planning.”
“You knew enough to remove the ring.”
“Yes.”
Tears rolled down my face.
Luke continued.
“I stopped.”
“I know.”
He went silent.
I realized Claire must have told him I knew.
“Do you want the security footage?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
“Do you love her?”
Luke sounded almost offended.
“No.”
“Did you want her?”
He took longer.
“For a moment, I wanted to hurt you.”
That was the most painful answer possible because it was honest.
“And she was available.”
“Yes.”
I pressed one hand to my stomach.
Luke whispered, “I am sorry.”
I did not answer.
“I know sorry is useless.”
“Yes.”
“I know finding out you lied didn’t give me the right.”
“Yes.”
“I know I should have come home.”
“Yes.”
Every agreement sounded like a door closing.
Then Luke said, “Claire told you about your father.”
My attention sharpened.
“How do you know?”
“She told Roman something months ago.”
“Roman.”
“My uncle.”
“I know who he is.”
“Grant’s gone.”
“I know.”
“You shouldn’t have the original files with you.”
My anger returned.
“Don’t tell me what I should have.”
“This isn’t about controlling you.”
“It always sounds like that.”
“Paige.”
His voice changed.
Not commanding.
Afraid.
“Grant may believe those documents can put him in prison.”
“Good.”
“He knows you have them.”
I looked at my mother.
“How?”
“Claire.”
Of course.
“Did Claire tell him where I am?”
“We don’t think so.”
“We?”
“Security.”
“You said you weren’t tracking me.”
“I’m not.”
“Then what are you doing?”
“Watching the roads around an area I don’t know.”
I almost laughed.
“That sentence makes no sense.”
“I asked Helen to call if she saw anyone suspicious. She refused to give me your location.”
“Good.”
“I have teams watching major routes from Houston and Colorado.”
“You sent armed men across Texas?”
“I sent men.”
“Armed?”
“They have permits.”
I rubbed my forehead.
“Luke.”
“I am not coming to you.”
“Good.”
“But if Grant gets close, I will.”
Silence.
Then he said, “There’s something else.”
“What?”
“My father knew Thomas.”
“I know.”
“He tried to clear him.”
“I know.”
“My grandfather stopped him.”
I did not know that part.
Luke explained.
Victor’s fear.
Patrick’s threat.
Roman’s role.
When he finished, I felt exhausted.
“So everyone knew.”
“Not me.”
“I’m sorry.”
Luke laughed bitterly.
“For what?”
“For assuming you did.”
“You assumed worse things than that and still married me.”
He was right.
I hated it.
“Paige.”
“What?”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
There it was.
The question beneath everything.
“I was afraid.”
“You thought I’d leave?”
“Yes.”
“You thought I’d think you used me?”
“Yes.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Not even at the beginning?”
I closed my eyes.
“At the very beginning, when I learned who you were, I thought knowing you might help.”
Luke went quiet.
I forced myself to continue.
“For maybe two weeks.”
“That’s still using me.”
“Yes.”
My throat tightened.
“I’m sorry.”
Luke breathed slowly.
“When did it change?”
“The night Mateo’s son came to the hospital.”
Luke remembered.
One of his employees’ children had appendicitis.
Luke stayed seven hours.
“You fell in love with me because I sat in a pediatric waiting room?”
“No.”
Despite myself, I smiled.
“I realized you weren’t the family name I had built in my head.”
Luke was silent.
“I stopped investigating your father months before you proposed.”
“Why keep the files?”
“Because Grant was still involved.”
“And Roman.”
“Yes.”
Luke asked, “Did you ever plan to tell me?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
That question destroyed me.
I had no answer.
Luke understood.
“Right.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
Two guilty people apologizing from separate cities.
It would have been almost funny if it did not hurt so much.
Then I told him what Claire said about my father’s death.
Luke became completely silent.
“What exact words?”
I repeated them.
He asked, “Did Thomas take heart medication?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“I’m checking.”
“Don’t.”
I bristled.
“Luke.”
“I mean don’t go digging through it alone. Send copies to my attorney.”
“No.”
“Paige.”
“No.”
“Then send them to someone independent.”
That was reasonable.
I hated that too.
“I’ll have Hannah help.”
“Good.”
He paused.
“Are you eating?”
I laughed through tears.
“You don’t get to ask that.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
“Because I don’t know how to stop being your husband just because I failed at it.”
I stopped breathing.
Neither of us spoke.
Then I ended the call.
By noon, Hannah’s colleague found something.
A medication list from my father’s final month.
He had been prescribed metoprolol.
A beta blocker.
Nothing suspicious.
But the records showed one emergency visit two weeks before his death for dizziness and unusually low heart rate.
Doctors reduced the dose.
Three days later, according to pharmacy data, someone refilled the old higher-dose prescription.
My father did not request it.
The signature on the pickup form belonged to Helen.
My mother stared at the copy.
“I didn’t pick this up.”
“Your name is here.”
“I didn’t.”
I looked closer.
The signature resembled hers.
But not exactly.
Helen whispered, “Grant used to sign things for me.”
My stomach turned.
Could an overdose of medication have caused the heart attack?
Hannah’s colleague was cautious.
Possible.
Not provable.
Especially fifteen years later.
Then my mother remembered something.
The week Thomas died, Grant had come to the house.
He claimed he was returning legal papers.
He spent fifteen minutes alone in the kitchen.
My father’s medication sat in a cabinet near the refrigerator.
I felt sick.
This was no longer only about financial ruin.
Grant may have tampered with my father’s medication.
Maybe intentionally.
Maybe not.
Maybe Claire possessed proof.
May you like
The question became whether she would use it to expose Grant.
Or protect him until everyone else was destroyed first.
