Chapter 2 - THE WOMAN BEHIND THE CONTRACTI recognized Naomi Vale immediately.
She was forty-one, elegant, brilliant, and one of the few people my father trusted with the financial affairs of Harrow Capital.
I'd known her for almost fifteen years.
She had attended my wedding.
She had sent flowers when Noah was born.
Three months earlier, she'd hugged me at a charity luncheon and told me how fortunate I was to have a husband as devoted as Grant.
Now I was staring at a photograph of her kissing that husband outside the Langham Hotel.
The timestamp at the bottom read September 18.
Three weeks earlier.
I felt something inside my chest collapse.
Not because I was entirely surprised Grant had betrayed me.
Some part of me had suspected another woman for months.
It was because I suddenly understood the scale of his deception.
Naomi wasn't simply another woman.
She controlled the financial information my father used to make some of his most important business decisions.
And Grant had spent years begging Dad to invest in his company.
"Eliza?"
Dad's voice pulled me back to the dining room.
I looked up.
He was watching me carefully.
"What's wrong?"
I wanted to tell him.
Instead, I looked across the room.
Grant was already talking to his attorney, who had rushed toward him from the table nearest the windows.
His face was pale.
His eyes darted between my father and the phone in my hand.
Suddenly, I understood something else.
Grant knew.
He knew what I might have discovered.
I turned the screen toward Dad.
He examined the photograph.
For several seconds, his expression didn't change.
Then he took off his glasses.
"Where did you get this?"
"Someone sent it to me."
"Who?"
"I don't know."
Dad stared at the picture again.
His jaw tightened.
Behind us, Grant was speaking urgently.
"Wade, I think we've all reacted emotionally. I suggest we step into the library and discuss this like reasonable adults."
Dad raised his head.
"Reasonable adults don't assault pregnant women."
A murmur passed through the guests.
Grant's attorney stepped forward.
"Mr. Harrow, my client—"
"Your client needs to remain away from my daughter."
Dad's voice was controlled.
Not loud.
Somehow, that made it more frightening.
The attorney stopped talking.
I pressed a hand against my stomach.
A dull ache was spreading across my lower back.
Maybe it was stress.
Maybe it was nothing.
But the last thing I wanted was to risk my unborn daughter's life because I was embarrassed to admit I needed medical attention.
"Dad," I whispered. "Something doesn't feel right."
He turned immediately.
"Where?"
"My back. And my stomach keeps tightening."
Dad didn't hesitate.
He called the emergency dispatcher and explained that a seven-month-pregnant woman had been assaulted and was experiencing abdominal pain.
Then he looked at Grant.
"Stay where you are."
Grant's eyes widened.
"You're calling an ambulance? Eliza, that's ridiculous."
I stared at him.
"You hit me."
"For God's sake, I lost my temper for one second!"
"You hit me while I was holding our son."
"You're making this sound worse than it was."
My father moved between us.
"One more word to her," he said, "and I'll ask security to remove you."
Grant laughed bitterly.
"Security? From my own party?"
Dad surveyed the luxurious room.
The musicians had stopped playing.
The guests were standing awkwardly beside half-finished drinks.
The enormous silver-and-blue banner still hanging over the fireplace read:
CONGRATULATIONS, CALDER DEVELOPMENT GROUP!
Dad looked back at Grant.
"The rental agreement for this estate is in the name of Harrow Capital's events subsidiary. Your company was given access as a prospective partner."
Grant blinked.
"What?"
"Apparently, you didn't read the paperwork."
For a moment, I almost laughed.
My husband had spent six months boasting that he personally arranged every detail of his celebration.
In reality, someone else had paid for the venue.
The same financial group that was supposed to fund his project.
And the woman who had coordinated most of the arrangements was Naomi Vale.
A terrible thought crossed my mind.
Had Naomi been directing my father's resources toward Grant behind his back?
Or had Dad known about the affair all along?
Before I could ask, two uniformed police officers entered through the front doors.
The room became silent again.
One officer approached me.
"Ma'am, I'm Officer Daniel Reyes. We received a report of an assault. Are you able to tell me what happened?"
I looked at Grant.
He was staring at me with an expression I knew too well.
A warning.
For years, I had responded to that expression by lowering my voice.
Changing the subject.
Apologizing for things I hadn't done.
Not tonight.
"My husband slapped me," I said clearly. "I was holding our two-year-old son, and I'm seven months pregnant."
Grant opened his mouth.
Officer Reyes turned toward him.
"Sir, please remain there."
"I barely touched her!"
"Sir."
Grant fell silent.
The officer looked back at me.
"Would you like to give a statement?"
"Yes."
The word came out stronger than I expected.
"Yes, I would."
A woman stepped forward from the crowd.
Her name was Dr. Natalie Brooks.
She was a family friend and a pediatrician who'd attended Noah's birthday party the previous spring.
"I saw it," Natalie said.
Everyone turned.
She swallowed.
"I saw Grant grab Eliza's wrist. I saw her try to pull away. And I saw him strike her across the face."
Grant glared at her.
"Natalie, stay out of this."
She lifted her chin.
"No."
Another guest stepped forward.
Then another.
Within minutes, three people had offered to give statements.
One had recorded the incident on his phone.
I watched Grant's confidence drain away.
He'd built his entire career on the belief that people could be intimidated into silence.
Tonight, the silence was breaking.
The paramedics arrived shortly afterward.
A young woman named Megan checked my blood pressure and asked about the baby's movements.
I answered as best I could.
Noah still hadn't spoken.
He clung to me so tightly that his tiny knuckles were white.
When Megan tried to examine my arm, he whimpered and pressed his cheek against mine.
"Don't worry, sweetheart," I whispered. "Mommy's right here."
Dad knelt beside us.
"Hey, buddy. Grandpa's here."
Noah looked at him.
His eyes filled with tears.
Then, in a voice so small I barely heard it, he whispered, "Daddy bad."
Dad closed his eyes.
For one brief moment, the controlled businessman disappeared.
I saw only a grandfather trying not to cry.
He opened his eyes again.
"You're safe, Noah."
I wished I could believe him.
The paramedics helped me onto a stretcher.
As they prepared to take me outside, Grant tried approaching.
"Eliza, baby, please. Don't do this."
I looked at the man I'd once loved.
His beautiful face.
His expensive watch.
The careful expression of sorrow he wore whenever he needed forgiveness.
"What exactly am I doing, Grant?"
"Destroying our family."
I shook my head.
"No. You did that."
He leaned closer.
"Think about Noah."
For the first time, those words didn't make me hesitate.
"I am."
Officer Reyes stepped between us.
Grant stopped.
Dad accompanied me in the ambulance, while Natalie offered to bring Noah to the hospital in her car.
I hated letting my son out of my arms.
But I needed medical attention, and Natalie promised to keep him close.
As the ambulance doors closed, I saw Grant standing on the steps of the estate.
All around him, his guests were leaving.
No one shook his hand.
No one congratulated him.
The enormous banner still hung above the fireplace.
His greatest night had become a public humiliation.
But I barely cared.
I was more afraid of losing my baby than I was interested in watching Grant lose his career.
At the hospital, the doctors began monitoring my daughter's heartbeat.
The rapid, steady rhythm filled the room.
I stared at the monitor.
"Is she okay?"
Dr. Rebecca Ellis, the obstetrician on duty, squeezed my shoulder.
"We're seeing a reassuring heartbeat. You're having some uterine tightening, so we're going to keep monitoring you and check for signs of complications."
I nodded.
Tears slid down my temples.
For the first time that night, I let myself cry.
Dad sat beside the bed.
He held my hand without speaking.
Twenty minutes later, a nurse brought Noah into the room.
He hurried toward me.
"Mommy!"
I reached for him.
Dad helped him climb carefully onto the chair beside the bed.
Noah tucked his face against my shoulder.
I kissed his hair again and again.
"I'm here, sweetheart."
Dad watched us for a long moment.
Then his phone rang.
He glanced at the screen.
His expression changed.
"Excuse me," he said.
He stepped into the hallway.
The door hadn't quite closed.
I heard his voice.
"Naomi?"
A pause.
"No, I haven't forgotten the waterfront documents."
Another pause.
Then Dad said something that made my blood run cold.
"Why did you authorize the release of eleven million dollars without my signature?"
I turned toward the door.
Eleven million dollars?
Grant's contract hadn't even received final approval.
My father was silent for several seconds.
Then he spoke again.
"If that's your explanation, Naomi, you won't mind telling it to our investigators."
The call ended.
Dad came back into the room.
He looked ten years older.
"Dad?"
He sat down.
"Eliza, there's something I need to tell you."
My stomach tightened.
"What?"
"Grant may have been using your marriage to gain access to our company."
I stared at him.
"What do you mean?"
Dad reached inside his jacket.
He removed a folded document.
At the top was the Harrow Capital logo.
Below it were the words:
PERSONAL GUARANTY AND BENEFICIAL OWNERSHIP CERTIFICATION
And halfway down the final page was a signature.
My signature.
Except I'd never signed it.
Dad looked at me.
"Did you authorize Grant to pledge your inheritance trust as security for his business obligations?"
My mouth went dry.
"No."
"Are you certain?"
I stared at the document.
The signature was almost perfect.
But I knew it wasn't mine.
"Dad, I have never seen that paper before."
He looked toward the hospital door.
Then he lowered his voice.
"Someone forged your name, Eliza."
He turned to the last page.
"And according to this document, if Grant's company defaults, you could lose nearly everything your mother left you."
I looked down at Noah.
He had finally fallen asleep against my shoulder.
My daughter was still moving inside me.
And somewhere across Chicago, my husband was probably planning his next lie.
I looked back at my father.
"Then we're going to find out who did it."
Dad nodded.
"We are."
But before either of us could speak again, his phone lit up.
It was a message from Naomi.
WADE, IF YOU KEEP DIGGING, YOU'RE GOING TO DISCOVER WHAT REALLY HAPPENED TO YOUR WIFE.
My mother had been dead for twelve years.
May you like
And until that moment, I believed she'd died in an ordinary car accident.
END OF CHAPTER 2
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