Chapter 5 - What Happened to My FatherMy father died three years before my wedding.
At least, that was what the death certificate said.
Heart attack.
Robert Bennett was sixty-one, healthy, stubborn and convinced exercise could cure everything except stupidity.
He jogged four miles every morning.
He ate oatmeal that tasted like wet cardboard.
He lectured me about cholesterol while secretly buying cheesesteaks whenever my mother wasn’t watching.
Then one Tuesday morning, he collapsed inside his office.
He was dead before the ambulance arrived.
I accepted it because grief doesn’t always ask questions.
Sometimes it simply destroys your ability to form them.
Now I sat inside Aunt Margaret’s guest room with my injured leg elevated, staring at the photograph Madeline had left in my safe.
HE SHOULD HAVE CHOSEN ME.
What did that mean?
Ethan should have chosen her?
Or my father?
I turned the photograph over again.
Something about it bothered me.
Then Aunt Margaret walked in carrying tea.
She looked at the photo.
Her face changed.
“What?”
“Where did you get that?”
“Madeline left it.”
Margaret sat slowly.
“I’ve seen this picture.”
“At Dad’s funeral?”
“No.”
She pointed to the background.
“You think this was taken when we left the cemetery.”
“It wasn’t?”
“Look.”
Behind me stood the stone columns of Bennett Medical headquarters.
“This was the memorial service two days later.”
I stared.
She was right.
“Why does that matter?”
“Because Madeline was there.”
“Madeline knew Dad.”
“Not socially.”
That surprised me.
“What do you mean?”
Margaret took a slow breath.
“Your father fired her.”
The room went silent.
“When?”
“Eight months before he died.”
I stared at her.
“Madeline worked for Bennett Medical?”
“Briefly.”
“No one told me.”
“You were living in New York then.”
“What did she do?”
“She worked in corporate development.”
I remembered Madeline describing that year as a period when she was “consulting.”
“What happened?”
“Your father accused her of passing confidential acquisition information to Ethan.”
My blood went cold.
“You’re saying Ethan was using her to spy on Dad?”
“I’m saying your father believed that.”
“Why didn’t he tell me?”
“He tried.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
“He asked you to dinner several times.”
“I was traveling.”
“He called me afterward. He said you were serious about Ethan, and he didn’t want to accuse the man without proof.”
I remembered those calls.
Dad asking whether Ethan treated me well.
Dad telling me not to rush marriage.
Dad saying love was wonderful but due diligence was still important.
I had laughed.
I thought he was being a protective father.
“What happened when he fired Madeline?”
“She threatened him.”
My hands tightened.
“What kind of threat?”
Margaret looked uncomfortable.
“She said Ethan would eventually own everything he refused to sell.”
A memory surfaced.
My father and Ethan arguing at Thanksgiving.
Dad saying, “You don’t get to marry my daughter and call it a merger.”
At the time, I had been furious with him.
Two months later, my father was dead.
I reached for my phone.
Detective Ramirez arrived within forty minutes.
She listened without interrupting.
Then she asked for my father’s medical records.
“I can authorize them.”
“Do it.”
“Do you think they killed him?”
“I don’t know.”
“But you’re considering it.”
“I consider evidence.”
The next several days passed in a blur.
Police searched Ethan’s office.
Financial investigators examined Caldwell Dynamics.
Nathan entered protective custody and began cooperating.
Madeline hired an attorney.
Ethan stopped calling me after I obtained a restraining order.
Our wedding story reached the local news, though police released few details.
Friends texted.
Relatives called.
People who had ignored me for years suddenly wanted to know “what really happened.”
I answered almost no one.
Then Ramirez called late Thursday.
“We found something in your father’s medical file.”
I gripped the phone.
“What?”
“His toxicology screening showed elevated digoxin.”
I knew enough medical terminology to understand.
“Heart medication?”
“Yes.”
“He didn’t take it.”
“That’s the problem.”
Digoxin toxicity could cause fatal arrhythmia.
“How much?”
“His level was significantly above the normal therapeutic range.”
“Why wasn’t it investigated?”
“The original examiner attributed it to possible medication exposure during attempted resuscitation.”
“Was he given digoxin?”
“No.”
The floor seemed to disappear.
Ramirez continued.
“We’re reopening the case.”
I sat perfectly still.
“My father was poisoned.”
“We don’t know yet.”
“Who was with him that morning?”
“We’re checking.”
I already knew someone who had access to Bennett Medical headquarters.
Madeline.
Or Ethan.
The next day, Nathan agreed to speak with me through his attorney.
We met in a secured conference room at the district attorney’s office.
I hadn’t seen him since the rehearsal dinner.
He looked ten years older.
“Claire.”
“Did Ethan kill my father?”
Nathan closed his eyes.
That was enough to terrify me.
“Tell me.”
“I don’t know.”
“You know something.”
“Your father discovered what Ethan was doing.”
“What?”
“Caldwell Dynamics was copying Bennett routing algorithms.”
Corporate theft.
Years before Ethan’s current financial problems.
“Your father threatened to sue.”
“When?”
“The week before he died.”
My fingernails dug into my palm.
“And?”
“Ethan panicked.”
“What did he do?”
“I don’t know everything.”
“Nathan.”
“He met Madeline the night before your father died.”
“Where?”
“A bar near Bennett headquarters.”
“Why?”
“He told me later they’d resolved the problem.”
My stomach twisted.
“How?”
Nathan looked down.
“I never asked.”
“You never asked because you didn’t want the answer.”
Tears filled his eyes.
“Yes.”
I hated him in that moment.
Not as much as Ethan.
But enough.
“What about my crash?”
Nathan swallowed.
“I was supposed to help them.”
My chair scraped backward.
“I refused.”
“How?”
“They wanted me to drive the Range Rover.”
“Run us off the road?”
“No. Ethan said it would be controlled.”
I laughed once.
There was nothing humorous in it.
“A controlled crash.”
“He said the limousine would hit the barrier at low speed.”
“And then?”
“Madeline would make sure you weren’t wearing your seat belt.”
My blood turned to ice.
“But I was.”
“Yes.”
Because Sophie had insisted.
Five minutes before the crash, my sister had looked at me and said, Bride or not, buckle up.
Nathan continued.
“When I backed out, Ethan said he had someone else.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“It’s true.”
“Then why was your SUV used?”
“He had a spare key.”
“Why didn’t you call the police?”
“Because if I exposed him, the company collapsed. Hundreds of people lose jobs. I lose everything.”
I stood.
“My father lost his life.”
Nathan began crying.
“I know.”
“And I almost lost mine.”
“I know.”
I turned toward the door.
“Claire.”
I stopped.
“There’s one thing you need to understand.”
I looked back.
Nathan’s face was gray.
“Ethan didn’t plan for you to survive.”
My mouth went dry.
“What?”
“I heard him arguing with Madeline Friday night.”
“What did he say?”
Nathan looked directly at me.
“He said, ‘If Claire walks away from that car, we lose everything.’”
I left the room before he could say another word.
That evening, Detective Ramirez called again.
They had finally identified the person driving Nathan’s Range Rover.
Traffic enhancement software had recovered part of a face from a toll camera.
Ramirez sent me the image.
For several seconds, I couldn’t understand what I was seeing.
Then I recognized him.
The driver wasn’t Ethan.
It wasn’t Nathan.
It wasn’t someone from Caldwell Dynamics.
It was my former attorney.
Michael Grant.
The man who had supposedly retired one month before my wedding.
May you like
The man who had approved the trust giving Ethan control of my fortune if I died.
And suddenly the conspiracy had another member.
Related Stories
