Chapter 3: The Woman Who Was Supposed to Be Dead
"Laura?""
The name escaped my mouth before I could stop it.
She took one step into the ballroom.
Then another.
Her eyes filled with tears.
"Hello, Ethan.""
I stared at her.
Six months earlier, Laura Bennett had been reported dead in a boating accident off the coast of Maine.
I'd received the news while recovering in the hospital.
Brooke had told me she'd attended the memorial service.
Chad had sent flowers.
And I'd spent an entire night grieving the woman who had worked beside me for eleven years.
Now she was standing in front of me.
Alive.
Holding a leather folder.
"You're supposed to be dead," I whispered.
Laura gave a bitter smile.
"I know.""
Brooke stepped backward.
Chad turned toward the security guards.
"Someone needs to remove her.""
Laura looked directly at him.
"Still giving orders, Chad?""
He froze.
She walked toward me.
"I've been trying to reach you for months.""
"Why didn't you?""
"Because every phone I used was monitored. Every email I sent disappeared. And the last person who tried to contact you ended up in the hospital.""
I glanced at Whitmore.
He looked grim.
"Laura, what happened?""
She opened the folder.
"Your accident wasn't an accident.""
The words seemed to hang in the air.
I already suspected it.
But hearing them from Laura made the suspicion real.
She placed a photograph on the nearest table.
It showed my Mercedes inside the company garage.
The hood was open.
A man stood beside the engine compartment.
Chad.
My former best friend.
The photograph was dated three hours before the collision.
I stared at it.
"Why was he touching my car?""
Laura shook her head.
"He wasn't just touching it. He was meeting someone.""
She removed another photograph.
This one showed Brooke standing beside the same black SUV mentioned in the anonymous message.
She was speaking to a man whose face was partially visible.
I looked at my wife.
"Who is that?""
Brooke shook her head.
"I don't know.""
Laura let out a quiet laugh.
"That's interesting.""
She removed a third photograph.
"Because you paid him.""
Brooke's lips parted.
"What?""
Laura placed a printed bank record beside the photograph.
"Three hundred thousand dollars transferred from your personal account to a company controlled by Peter Lawson.""
I looked at Brooke.
"Three hundred thousand?""
She shook her head repeatedly.
"I didn't do that.""
Laura pointed to the signature.
"Then perhaps someone has learned to imitate your handwriting.""
Chad moved toward the table.
"Enough. This is fabricated.""
Laura didn't move.
"Would you like to explain the video?""
She pulled a small tablet from her folder.
The screen showed footage from a security camera.
The timestamp read 8:42 p.m., the night of my accident.
I recognized the underground garage immediately.
My car was parked near the exit.
Chad appeared on the screen, speaking to Peter Lawson.
Then Brooke entered the frame.
She looked around before approaching them.
Even without sound, I could tell she was agitated.
She pointed at the car.
Chad shook his head.
Brooke grabbed his arm.
He pushed her away.
Then Peter Lawson opened a small case and showed them something.
The video ended.
I looked at Laura.
"Where did you get this?""
"I copied it before they deleted the original.""
"Why didn't you take it to the police?""
"I tried.""
She lowered her eyes.
"Two days later, my apartment was broken into. My computer disappeared. Someone left a photograph of my daughter on my kitchen table.""
Her voice cracked.
"They knew where she went to school, Ethan.""
I felt my stomach tighten.
"So you disappeared.""
"I had no choice.""
Brooke suddenly stepped forward.
"You're lying!""
Laura turned toward her.
"Am I?""
"You've always hated me. You were jealous because Ethan trusted you with everything.""
Laura's expression hardened.
"I spent eleven years protecting this man's company. I watched him work through holidays, funerals, and sleepless nights. And you know what I never once asked him for?""
Brooke said nothing.
"His money.""
Laura looked at me.
"I found the original voting agreement. The one that was replaced before the board meeting.""
She removed a folded document.
"Your shares were never transferred. The signatures on the trust documents were forged.""
I stared at the paper.
"Then how did Brooke gain control?""
"She didn't.""
Laura paused.
"Someone else did.""
Whitmore stepped closer.
"Who?""
Laura turned the document around.
At the bottom was the name of the registered trustee.
*MORRISON FAMILY HOLDINGS.*
I looked at Chad.
He had been standing very still.
Too still.
"Your family?"" I asked.
He swallowed.
"My father created that company years ago.""
"Why would my shares be there?""
Chad rubbed his forehead.
"This is a misunderstanding.""
"Stop saying that.""
He looked at me.
For the first time in seventeen years, I didn't recognize the man standing in front of me.
I remembered the day we'd founded Vance Industries.
We'd shared a cheap office above a dry cleaner.
Chad had slept on a sofa because he couldn't afford rent.
I'd paid his medical bills when his father was sick.
I'd made him my best man.
And when the company went public, I'd given him a substantial share of the business.
I'd trusted him with my life.
Now I was looking at the documents proving he had tried to steal it.
"Why?"" I asked quietly.
Chad's expression changed.
Something ugly appeared behind his eyes.
"Because you never knew when to stop.""
I stared at him.
"What?""
"You had everything, Ethan. The company. The house.
The money. Everyone respected you. Everyone wanted to be you.""
He pointed at me.
"And somehow, you still needed to control every decision.""
I shook my head.
"I gave you half the company.""
"You gave me a title.""
"I gave you a future.""
"You gave me whatever you didn't want!""
His voice echoed across the ballroom.
Brooke grabbed his arm.
"Chad, stop.""
But he continued.
"You always had the final say. You made me ask permission to spend company money. You treated me like an employee.""
"Because you were stealing from the company.""
He fell silent.
Laura opened her folder again.
"There's one more recording.""
Chad's head snapped toward her.
"No.""
Laura looked at me.
"I didn't want to play this here. But I think you deserve to hear it.""
She pressed the screen.
A man's voice filled the ballroom.
Chad's voice.
"Once the truck hits him, everything becomes easier. The board will accept the emergency transfer. Brooke gets the trust, I get the company, and nobody asks questions.""
Then another voice spoke.
Brooke.
"What if he survives?""
Chad answered without hesitation.
"Then we make sure he never gets close enough to challenge us.""
A collective gasp swept through the guests.
Brooke covered her mouth.
I felt my legs weaken.
Not from the injury.
From the realization that the woman who had kissed my forehead in the hospital had been discussing my possible death before I even arrived there.
The recording continued.
Then came a sentence that changed everything.
Brooke's voice.
"There's something you still don't know about Ethan.""
Chad replied:
"What?""
She hesitated.
"Before the accident, he changed his will.""
I looked at Whitmore.
His face had gone pale.
The recording continued.
Brooke whispered:
"He left everything to someone else.""
Chad laughed.
"Who?""
There was a long silence.
Then Brooke answered.
"His daughter.""
My heart stopped.
I had no daughter.
At least, that was what I'd believed.
I turned toward Brooke.
"What did you just say?""
She stared at me.
Her eyes filled with tears.
"Ethan, please.""
"Who is my daughter?""
She looked toward the ballroom doors.
Laura closed her eyes.
Then she whispered something that made my blood run cold.
"Her name is Emily.""
I couldn't move.
Emily.
The name of the little girl I'd once seen in a photograph tucked inside Brooke's bedside drawer.
I'd asked about it.
She'd told me it was a picture of her niece.
A child she'd lost touch with years ago.
I looked at my wife.
"How old is she?""
Brooke's lips trembled.
"Twenty-two.""
Twenty-two.
I'd known Brooke for twenty years.
Which meant the child had been born before we met.
I took one step toward her.
"Who is her father?""
Brooke began crying.
But before she could answer, the ballroom doors opened again.
A young woman entered.
She had dark hair, a cream-colored coat, and a small silver necklace.
Her eyes were fixed on me.
She walked directly across the ballroom.
Stopped in front of my wheelchair.
Then she looked up at my face.
"Mr. Vance," she said quietly.
I swallowed.
"Yes?""
She reached into her handbag and removed a folded piece of paper.
"My mother told me you would never want to meet me.""
She placed the paper in my hand.
"But she was wrong.""
I unfolded it.
It was a DNA test.
The result was printed in bold letters.
*Probability of paternity: 99.99%.*
I looked at the young woman again.
She was crying now.
"My name is Emily," she whispered.
Then she glanced at Brooke.
"And there's something else you need to know.""
Her voice broke.
"Your accident wasn't supposed to happen to you.""
She looked toward Chad.
May you like
"It was supposed to happen to me.""
And suddenly, the entire story changed.
