Chapter 6 - The Woman Who Warned My WifeNothing made sense anymore.
“Speaker,” she said.
Victoria shook her head.
“You need a warrant.”
Sarah looked at her.
“You’re correct.”
She handed it back.
“Then you decide whether you want everyone here wondering why you’re afraid to answer.”
Victoria stared at the screen.
Michael Reese.
Grant’s driver.
The man seen entering my garage.
The phone rang again.
Victoria answered.
“Michael?”
His voice came through clearly.
“Why is the kid gone?”
Every person close enough to hear became still.
Victoria’s eyes closed.
“Michael, stop talking.”
“What happened?”
“Stop calling me.”
“Grant said the nanny would still be upstairs.”
My brother’s face changed.
Sarah’s gaze snapped toward him.
Grant said, “He’s lying.”
Michael continued.
“Did Julian find out?”
Victoria ended the call.
The ballroom erupted.
Grant moved toward the door.
An officer blocked him.
“You can’t hold me,” Grant snapped.
Sarah said calmly, “Nobody said you’re under arrest.”
“Then move.”
“I said nobody said it yet.”
Grant stopped.
Victoria stared at her phone as if it had betrayed her.
I looked at her.
“What was Michael supposed to do with Leo?”
“Nothing.”
“He asked why my son was gone.”
“I don’t know why.”
“He said Grant told him Teresa would still be upstairs.”
“Julian—”
“What was supposed to happen?”
She looked at me.
For the first time, she looked genuinely frightened.
Not of being caught.
Of Grant.
I followed her gaze.
My brother was watching her.
And suddenly I understood something.
Victoria had been part of this.
Absolutely.
But I wasn’t sure she had been told everything.
Sarah appeared to reach the same conclusion.
“Victoria,” she said quietly, “come with me.”
Grant spoke immediately.
“She doesn’t need to go anywhere.”
Sarah ignored him.
Victoria looked at me.
“Julian.”
I wanted to hate her cleanly.
That would have been easier.
Instead, I remembered nights she held Leo while he screamed with teething pain.
I remembered the way she had cried when I proposed.
Had those tears been real?
Had anything?
“Go with Detective Kim,” I said.
Victoria’s face crumpled.
Grant muttered, “Pathetic.”
I turned on him.
“What did you say?”
He gave me the same look he used to give me when we were teenagers and he thought I was being sentimental.
“You always were too soft.”
The words unlocked something.
All my life, Grant had played the role of protector.
When our father died, Grant was twenty-six and I was twenty-two.
He helped me negotiate the first family property sale.
He introduced me to investors.
He told everyone I was the visionary and he was happy staying behind the scenes.
When Sterling Developments became successful, I gave him twenty percent of the holding company.
Not because he asked.
Because he was my brother.
I thought generosity created loyalty.
Maybe all it created was appetite.
Sarah separated Grant and Victoria.
Officers began taking statements.
I called Teresa.
She and Leo were safe with Daniel at the hospital.
Leo was being examined as a precaution.
No injuries.
No evidence anyone had touched him beyond placing the note in his blanket.
I finally breathed.
Then Caroline and I went into the library.
Emma’s flash drive sat between us.
My hands shook when I inserted it into the computer.
Folders appeared.
Medical.
House.
Baby.
Sterling.
Private.
I clicked Sterling.
Hundreds of documents.
Spreadsheets.
Emails.
Scanned invoices.
Emma had been meticulous.
More meticulous than I remembered.
Caroline stood behind me.
“There.”
A document labeled Harlow.
I opened it.
Transfers.
The first payment dated eighteen months earlier.
Six months before Emma died.
The amounts started small.
Twenty thousand.
Forty-five thousand.
Then larger.
Two hundred thousand.
Three hundred.
Grant had apparently buried them inside development consulting contracts.
Emma had highlighted repeated invoice numbers.
She had written notes.
G — duplicate vendor?
Ask Julian after delivery.
My eyes blurred.
Her handwriting.
I hadn’t seen it in months.
I opened another file.
An email draft.
To me.
Subject: Something we need to talk about.
Julian,
I don’t want you to read this while you’re traveling because I know you’ll panic and come home early. Leo and I are fine. But I found something in the quarterly statements that worries me. Please don’t mention this to Grant until we can sit down together.
I stopped reading.
Caroline touched my shoulder.
“Keep going.”
I did.
Emma suspected Grant had created false consulting vendors.
She had asked a financial analyst to review records quietly.
The analyst’s name was Samuel Briggs.
I knew him.
He resigned three weeks after Emma died.
Moved to Arizona.
At least that was what Grant told me.
“Find Briggs,” I said.
Caroline nodded.
I opened the Private folder.
There were diary entries.
Voice memos.
Photographs.
Then a name.
Victoria Hale.
My breath caught.
The file contained emails between Emma and Victoria.
They were friendly.
Warm, even.
Victoria had worked as a patient coordinator at a private maternal health service.
Emma wrote:
Thank you for finding the night nurse.
Victoria replied:
Of course. You shouldn’t be worrying about logistics this close to delivery.
Another email:
Your husband sounds incredibly devoted.
Emma’s response:
Julian is impossible, stubborn, overprotective, and the best man I know.
I closed my eyes.
Caroline whispered, “I’m sorry.”
I kept reading.
Victoria had asked questions.
About my travel.
About company stress.
About who would care for Leo if something happened to Emma.
Nothing overtly sinister.
Until the last email.
Six days before Leo’s birth.
Victoria to Emma:
I spoke to Grant today. He said he can resolve the billing issue you mentioned. You probably don’t need to worry Julian with it.
Emma answered:
Why are you speaking to Grant?
No reply.
Then another diary note from Emma.
V.H. knows Grant. She pretended not to.
I feel stupid.
Need to tell Julian tomorrow.
Tomorrow never came.
Emma went into labor early.
My son was born eleven months ago.
My wife died twenty hours later.
I stared at that final note until the letters blurred.
Behind us, the library door opened.
Detective Kim entered.
“I need to ask you something.”
“What?”
“Did your wife’s death involve any medical irregularities?”
Every muscle in my body tightened.
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
I looked at Caroline.
She looked frightened.
“Why are you asking?”
Sarah sat across from me.
“Victoria told us something.”
“What?”
“She says Grant contacted her months before your wife died.”
My stomach twisted.
“She claims he asked her for information about Emma’s treatment schedule.”
I stood.
“Why?”
“Victoria says she didn’t know.”
“Do you believe her?”
“I believe she’s scared enough to start telling partial truths.”
Partial.
Of course.
“What else?”
Sarah’s expression darkened.
“Victoria says the original plan was financial.”
“Original?”
“According to her, Grant had been taking money for years. When Emma discovered it, he panicked.”
I could hear my pulse.
“And Victoria?”
“She helped him understand what Emma knew.”
“Why?”
“Money.”
Of course.
Always money.
“But she claims she never intended anyone to be physically harmed.”
I stared at her.
“And do you?”
Sarah didn’t answer directly.
Instead she said, “Do you still have Emma’s full hospital records?”
“Yes.”
“I want your permission to have them independently reviewed.”
For eleven months, I had lived with one terrible truth.
Emma died because childbirth went wrong.
Doctors tried.
Her body failed.
Life was unfair.
Grief was random.
Now someone had opened a door to a worse possibility.
“What exactly did Victoria say?”
Sarah hesitated.
Then:
“She said the morning Emma went into labor, Grant told her, ‘By tomorrow, this problem ends.’”
I couldn’t breathe.
Caroline started crying.
“No.”
Sarah continued carefully.
“That does not prove your wife was harmed. It may mean nothing criminal. I need you to understand that.”
But I barely heard her.
I was staring at Emma’s last diary note.
Need to tell Julian tomorrow.
Tomorrow.
That word had become the dividing line of my life.
Before tomorrow, I had a wife.
After tomorrow, I had a newborn son and a funeral to plan.
Now, for the first time, I wondered whether tomorrow had been stolen from us.
My phone rang.
Daniel.
I answered.
“Julian.”
His voice sounded strained.
“What?”
“Leo’s bloodwork is fine. He’s safe.”
I exhaled.
“But there’s something else.”
“What?”
“The hospital security team detained someone outside the pediatric entrance.”
My stomach tightened.
“Who?”
Daniel paused.
“Samuel Briggs.”
The missing financial analyst.
“He says he came because he saw your wedding announcement online.”
“Why would he come here?”
“He says he’s been waiting almost a year to tell you something.”
I gripped the phone.
“What?”
Daniel’s next words changed the entire investigation.
“He says Emma didn’t discover Grant’s theft by accident.”
A pause.
“He says Emma was investigating him because someone had already warned her.”
“Who?”
May you like
Daniel answered.
“Victoria.”
Related Stories
