Chapter 6 - The Man We BlamedWe found Marcus Reed forty-eight hours later.
Detective Ruiz wanted evidence.
I wanted answers.
For once, none of us got what we wanted.
By noon, Ethan had hired an attorney.
By one, the attorney released a statement claiming the incident in the alley was “a private disagreement distorted by powerful individuals pursuing a personal vendetta.”
By two, grainy video appeared online.
It showed my father’s SUVs surrounding Ethan.
It did not show Ethan stepping on my foot.
Someone had edited the beginning.
The headline spread quickly:
BILLIONAIRE GABRIEL BENNETT USES PRIVATE SECURITY TO THREATEN DAUGHTER’S FIANCÉ.
Comments multiplied.
Nepotism.
Rich people behaving like gangsters.
Poor guy.
The daughter is probably insane.
I watched twenty seconds before Dad took my phone away.
“That isn’t helping.”
“I need to know what they’re saying.”
“No, you need to know what’s true.”
“You never cared what people said about you.”
“That took forty years and several expensive mistakes.”
I held out my hand.
“Phone.”
“No.”
“Dad.”
He gave it back.
Progress.
Barely.
By afternoon, Natalie Price agreed to speak with us.
We met at the hospital with Ruiz present.
Natalie was twenty-nine, with a fractured cheekbone and stitches near her hairline.
She looked at me with immediate shame.
“I’m sorry.”
“For following me?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Eight months.”
“Why?”
“Ethan said you were financially exploiting him.”
I almost laughed.
“I paid half our household expenses.”
“I know that now.”
“What did he ask you to find?”
“Your family connections.”
“And?”
“You were careful.”
“I wasn’t hiding from investigators. I just don’t use my father’s name.”
Natalie looked toward the door.
“There’s more.”
Ruiz leaned forward.
“Tell us.”
“Three months ago, Ethan stopped asking about Gabriel Bennett.”
“What did he start asking?”
“Your mother.”
My skin went cold.
“He wanted everything about her death. News articles. Crash reports. Former Bennett Meridian employees. Marcus Reed.”
There it was again.
“Did you find Marcus?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Vermont.”
“Did Ethan contact him?”
“I think so.”
“Why do you think?”
“Because after I gave Ethan the address, he transferred me to another assignment. Then Marcus disappeared from the rental house.”
Ruiz made a note.
“When were you attacked?”
“This morning.”
“By whom?”
Natalie hesitated.
Then she looked at me.
“Richard Vale.”
The name landed like glass.
“You’re sure?”
“He met me behind your restaurant.”
“Why?”
“I called him.”
“Why would you call Richard?”
“Because I discovered he had been paying Ethan privately.”
Dad went rigid beside me.
“How much?”
“Quarter-million over two years.”
“For what?”
“I don’t know.”
Natalie swallowed.
“I told Richard I wanted out. I said I had copies of everything and I was taking it to the police.”
“And he attacked you?”
“He tried to take my phone. Someone hit me from behind.”
“Someone?”
“I didn’t see who.”
“Was Ethan there?”
“No.”
She looked at me.
“At least, I don’t think so.”
Ruiz asked where the files were.
Natalie gave her a cloud-storage account.
By evening, we had enough information to understand the outline.
Not the purpose.
Ethan had been assigned to approach me.
Richard Vale had paid him.
Ethan later hired Natalie to investigate my past.
And somewhere in the middle, Ethan apparently learned something about my mother’s death.
But there was one thing none of us could explain.
Why marry me?
If he only needed information, two years was excessive.
Dad had a theory.
“Access.”
“To what?”
“To me.”
“You barely saw me.”
“That may have been the problem.”
He spread financial records across the conference table in his private office.
“After your mother died, I changed Meridian’s inheritance structure.”
I frowned.
“What does that have to do with Ethan?”
“Everything.”
Dad explained.
My mother had owned twelve percent of Bennett Meridian through an early partnership agreement.
When she died, her shares passed into a trust.
To me.
I stared at him.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“You told me Mom’s estate went through probate.”
“Most of it did.”
“You never told me about twelve percent of Meridian.”
“You wouldn’t speak to me.”
“You could have written.”
“I did.”
“I returned the letters.”
“Yes.”
That embarrassed both of us.
“How much is twelve percent worth?”
Dad hesitated.
“Currently?”
“Dad.”
“A little over eight hundred million.”
I stared at him.
“No.”
“Claire—”
“I make forty-eight thousand dollars a year.”
“I’m aware.”
“I have been clipping grocery coupons.”
“I’m also aware.”
“You let me clip coupons while I owned eight hundred million dollars?”
His expression sharpened.
“You told me never to interfere in your life again.”
“That was emotional!”
“You wrote it in a notarized letter.”
I covered my face.
“That sounds like me.”
“It was extremely you.”
Ruiz cleared her throat.
“Heartwarming. Continue.”
Dad pushed a document toward me.
“The trust has restrictions.”
I read.
My mother had designed them.
The shares could not be sold before I turned thirty-five without approval from two trustees.
Dad.
And Richard Vale.
My godfather.
“How old are you?” Ruiz asked.
“Thirty-one.”
Dad tapped another clause.
“But marriage changes the voting proxy.”
I read it.
My spouse would receive limited proxy participation if I became incapacitated.
Ruiz said, “That sounds dangerous.”
“It wasn’t intended to be,” Dad replied. “Elena believed Claire might one day marry someone who could protect her interests if something happened.”
My chest tightened.
Mom.
Even dead, still trying to protect me.
But someone had found a way to turn her protection into a weakness.
I looked at Dad.
“If Ethan married me…”
“He’d be connected to the trust.”
“And Richard is already trustee.”
“Yes.”
Ruiz understood first.
“So if something happened to Claire after the wedding…”
Dad’s voice went cold.
“Ethan and Richard could potentially influence nearly a billion dollars in voting rights.”
No one spoke.
My wedding was nine weeks away.
Nine weeks.
I remembered Ethan insisting on accelerating the date.
His complaints about legal agreements.
His anger when Dad’s old family attorney tried to contact me.
His fascination with my medical records after my accident.
I felt sick.
“Was last night supposed to happen?”
Ruiz asked.
“What?”
“The alley.”
“I don’t know.”
“Did Ethan know your father was coming?”
“No.”
Dad answered instead.
“I didn’t know I was coming until twenty minutes earlier.”
Everyone turned.
I frowned.
“Why did you come?”
Dad looked at me.
“I received a message.”
“From whom?”
“Anonymous.”
He opened his phone.
The text contained my location.
The alley address.
And one sentence.
If you still love your daughter, get there now.
Ruiz asked, “Did you trace it?”
“Burner.”
“Who knew where Claire was?”
“Ethan,” I said.
Then Natalie spoke.
“No.”
We looked at her.
She swallowed.
“I knew.”
My skin prickled.
“Were you there?”
She shook her head.
“I was following Ethan earlier. I saw him take Claire into the alley.”
“Did you send the message?”
“No.”
“Then who did?”
Natalie hesitated.
“There was someone else following them.”
“Who?”
“I never saw his face.”
“What did you see?”
“A man across the street. Limping.”
Dad and I looked at each other.
Marcus.
It had to be.
May you like
And if Marcus had saved me from Ethan—
then perhaps the man we had blamed for my mother’s death had been trying to save our family for six years.
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