Chapter 7 - The Secret Account That Could Destroy Sullivan GroupThe investigation began quietly.
A federal inquiry into suspicious financial transactions had expanded after auditors discovered irregularities involving several Sullivan family-controlled entities.
Ethan's lawyers advised him not to discuss the details publicly.
But he told me enough to understand the danger.
For years, Margaret had controlled a network of private investment accounts connected to Sullivan Group.
Some transactions were legitimate.
Others appeared to involve undisclosed related-party payments, questionable invoices, and funds routed through companies whose services could not be verified.
The amount under review was staggering.
And because Ethan was the company's chief executive, his name appeared on documents he claimed never to have approved.
I listened carefully.
"Are you saying your mother used the company?"
"That's what the evidence suggests."
"Did you sign anything?"
He looked ashamed.
"Some documents. I trusted the summaries she gave me."
I stared at him.
"Ethan."
"I know."
"No. You don't get to keep saying that."
He fell silent.
I leaned forward.
"Ten years ago, you trusted her instead of investigating accusations against me. Now you're telling me you trusted her with millions of dollars without checking the details."
He looked down.
"Yes."
"At some point, Ethan, trusting the wrong person becomes a choice."
He nodded slowly.
"You're right."
The honesty didn't excuse him.
But it mattered.
Two days later, Sullivan Group's board convened an emergency meeting.
Ethan voluntarily stepped back from certain financial oversight responsibilities while independent investigators reviewed the records.
The news leaked.
The company's share price fell.
Business commentators speculated about fraud.
Investors demanded answers.
And Margaret disappeared from public view.
I learned about her disappearance from Lucas.
"She hasn't left the country," he assured me. "Her attorneys say she's staying at a private residence."
"Do you believe them?"
"I believe they're being careful with their wording."
Meanwhile, the twins continued going to school.
I insisted on maintaining their routine.
They still had homework.
Sophie still had choir practice.
Noah still needed to clean his room.
Their father's financial crisis would not become the center of their childhood.
One evening, Ethan called to cancel a planned visit.
I could hear exhaustion in his voice.
"I'm sorry, Claire. The board meeting is running late."
I looked at the clock.
He had promised Sophie he would help build a model bridge for her science project.
"Did you call her?"
A pause.
"No."
"Then call her."
"I don't want to disappoint her."
"Not calling will disappoint her more."
He went quiet.
Then he said, "You're right."
Ten minutes later, Sophie came into the kitchen holding her phone.
"Mr. Sullivan says he's sorry."
I nodded.
"He told me why he can't come."
"How do you feel?"
She considered the question.
"Sad."
"That's okay."
"But he said he'll come tomorrow."
I crouched beside her.
"Sweetheart, people can love us and still make mistakes. What matters is whether they take responsibility and keep trying."
She nodded.
The next afternoon, Ethan arrived carrying wood glue, cardboard, and a box of craft sticks.
He had canceled two meetings.
He spent four hours helping Sophie build a bridge.
Noah joined them halfway through.
By dinner, the kitchen table was covered in glue.
The bridge was crooked.
And Sophie declared it perfect.
Ethan looked happier than I'd seen him in years.
Then his phone buzzed.
He read the message.
His smile vanished.
"What happened?" I asked.
He looked at me.
"My mother wants to meet."
"Where?"
"At the old family house."
I frowned.
"Why?"
"She says she has documents that could explain everything."
I felt uneasy.
"Don't go alone."
He studied me.
"You're worried about me?"
I looked away.
"I'm worried about the truth disappearing again."
He nodded.
"Fair enough."
The following morning, Ethan met Margaret with his attorney present.
I wasn't there.
But that evening, he came to my house looking shaken.
Margaret had offered him a deal.
She would cooperate in resolving the financial investigation and provide records concerning the old company restructuring.
In exchange, she wanted him to publicly deny that she had deliberately concealed the twins.
I stared at him.
"She wants you to lie?"
"Yes."
"What did you say?"
Ethan looked directly at me.
"I told her no."
For several seconds, I couldn't speak.
Then he continued.
"She said I was choosing you over my own mother."
I folded my arms.
"And?"
He swallowed.
"I told her I was choosing the truth over another lie."
Something shifted inside me.
Not forgiveness.
Not yet.
But the smallest beginning of respect.
Ethan reached into his coat.
"I also brought something."
He handed me a sealed envelope.
Inside was a copy of a letter written in Margaret's handwriting.
It was dated ten years earlier.
The day after I'd called her about my pregnancy.
I unfolded it.
The message was addressed to Helen Price.
Under no circumstances is Ethan to receive further correspondence from Claire. Any claim concerning a pregnancy is to be handled through my office. His future must not be compromised.
I stared at the page.
For ten years, I had wondered whether Ethan knew.
Now I held proof that someone had deliberately prevented him from finding out.
My hands began shaking.
Ethan reached toward me.
Then stopped.
"Claire..."
I looked up.
"She knew."
He nodded.
"Yes."
"She knew I was alone."
"Yes."
"She knew your children were coming."
His eyes filled.
"Yes."
I covered my mouth.
And for the first time since returning to Chicago, I broke down.
Not because the truth surprised me.
But because I finally understood how much of my suffering had been deliberate.
Ethan stood helplessly beside me.
Then he asked quietly, "Can I hold you?"
I wanted to say no.
I wanted to protect the walls I'd spent ten years building.
Instead, I nodded.
May you like
He wrapped his arms around me.
And I cried for the twenty-six-year-old woman who had walked into the rain believing she was worthless.
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