Chapter 4 - Twenty Million ReasonsBy Monday morning, Nathan and I were sitting in the conference room of a law firm neither of us had ever used before.
That mattered.
No recommendations from Victoria.
No family contacts.
No attorneys who played golf with her.
The firm belonged to Catherine Moore, a former federal prosecutor Rachel knew from college.
Catherine was fifty-six, silver-haired and utterly unimpressed by wealthy families.
I liked her immediately.
Nathan hired separate counsel from the same independent referral network to protect against conflicts.
His attorney, Marcus Reed, arrived carrying two legal pads and the expression of a man who had already discovered something unpleasant.
Catherine connected a laptop to the conference screen.
“Before we discuss the trust, let's establish what we know.”
She displayed copies of Brianna’s messages.
“Ms. Shaw appears to have preserved communications going back approximately nineteen months.”
Nathan nodded.
“She sent everything.”
“Not everything,” Catherine said.
He frowned.
“What do you mean?”
“Some exchanges clearly reference earlier conversations that are missing. That could mean ordinary deletion. It could also mean selective preservation.”
I appreciated that she wasn't automatically treating Brianna as a hero.
Catherine continued.
“Second, we have apparent evidence your mother shared private medical information belonging to Emma.”
“How she obtained it is our priority,” I said.
“Yes.”
“Could Hawthorne have given it to her?”
“Possibly. But we don't accuse the clinic before we know.”
Marcus opened his folder.
“I've already obtained Nathan's copies of every document produced during the divorce.”
He placed two nearly identical consent forms on the table.
One from Nathan's file.
One from mine.
Catherine leaned closer.
“They're different.”
I stared.
They looked identical at first.
Then I saw it.
The document ID in the bottom-right corner.
My copy ended in 7714-B.
Nathan’s ended in 7714-C.
“Why?” I asked.
Marcus pointed to a paragraph halfway down.
“In Emma’s version, Nathan authorizes embryo transfer.”
Then he pointed to Nathan’s copy.
“In Nathan's version, the same paragraph states that no transfer may occur without fresh written authorization.”
My stomach dropped.
“Two versions.”
“Correct.”
Nathan stared at the pages.
“And my divorce attorney never caught this?”
Marcus gave him a measured look.
“If Mr. Pike had both versions, that's an important question.”
Catherine looked at me.
“Your attorney produced which one?”
“Mine.”
“Did she ever show you Nathan's?”
“No.”
Nathan rubbed a hand across his face.
“So my mother wasn't merely lying between us. Documents were being altered.”
“Apparently,” Catherine said. “We still need to establish by whom.”
I thought about Victoria.
The elegant woman who hosted charity galas.
Who wore pearls to breakfast.
Who had sat beside me after my first miscarriage and stroked my hair while telling me everything happened for a reason.
My nausea returned.
Catherine noticed.
“We can stop.”
“No.”
“Emma.”
“I’m thirty-four weeks pregnant. If we stop every time I'm uncomfortable, we'll finish when she's in kindergarten.”
Catherine almost smiled.
“Fair enough.”
Marcus opened another folder.
“The trust.”
Nathan shifted.
“My grandfather created it twenty-two years ago.”
His grandfather, William Cole, had founded a chain of commercial construction companies. Nathan's father died when Nathan was nine.
William became his closest male influence.
I had met him only twice before he died.
He had been blunt, funny and unexpectedly kind to me.
At our engagement dinner, he pulled me aside and said, Don't let Victoria plan your marriage just because she's planning your wedding.
At twenty-six, I thought he was joking.
Now the memory chilled me.
Marcus continued.
“After William’s death, Victoria became interim trustee. Under the terms of the trust, she receives annual income and management authority until Nathan has a living biological or legally adopted child.”
“And then?” Rachel asked.
“She loses unilateral control.”
Nathan nodded.
“The assets split into three management shares. One for me, one reserved for descendants, and one charitable foundation share.”
“How much control does your mother currently have?” I asked.
“Approximately forty-two million in assets.”
Catherine corrected him.
“According to the most recent accounting we obtained this morning, thirty-seven point eight million.”
Nathan stared.
“What happened to the rest?”
Marcus answered.
“That is another issue.”
Of course it was.
Money had been moving out of the trust.
Not millions at a time.
Hundreds of thousands.
Consulting fees.
Real-estate investments.
Private loans.
Payments to entities with names vague enough to sound legitimate.
Catherine highlighted several.
“Carrington Strategic Services.”
Nathan frowned.
“Never heard of it.”
I had.
The name sat buried among Brianna's screenshots.
I searched my phone.
There.
A wire transfer from Carrington Strategic Services to Brianna Shaw.
Fifteen thousand dollars.
Then another.
Ten thousand.
Then five.
I placed the phone on the table.
“That's how Brianna was paid.”
Nobody spoke.
Marcus leaned closer.
“So Victoria may have used trust assets to finance the scheme.”
“Can she legally do that?” Rachel asked.
“No.”
Nathan looked furious.
“How much has she taken?”
“We don't know yet,” Marcus replied.
“But enough to give her another motive for preventing a trigger event that would remove her as trustee.”
The baby kicked.
Twenty million dollars.
Maybe more.
But money still didn't explain everything.
I looked at Catherine.
“I want the clinic records.”
“We've submitted a preservation demand.”
“When will we get them?”
“Your medical records are yours. We can obtain those quickly. Internal access logs may require legal process.”
“I don't want Victoria alerted.”
“She may already know.”
That possibility sat heavily in the room.
Nathan's phone rang.
He glanced at the screen.
His mother.
Nobody moved.
It rang again.
Nathan turned it face down.
Catherine asked, “Has she contacted you since Saturday?”
“Twenty-three times.”
“Have you answered?”
“No.”
“Good.”
My phone rang next.
Unknown number.
Catherine nodded.
“Answer on speaker.”
I did.
“Hello?”
A woman spoke.
“Mrs. Cole?”
I hadn't used that name in seven months.
“This is Emma Bennett.”
A pause.
“This is Dr. Alan Pierce from Hawthorne Reproductive Center.”
I recognized my fertility specialist.
My heart raced.
“Hello, Dr. Pierce.”
“I received notice that your attorney requested your complete treatment records.”
“Yes.”
Another pause.
“Mrs. Bennett, there's something we need to discuss.”
Everyone at the table went still.
“Okay.”
“When our compliance department began pulling archived records, they found an irregularity.”
“What kind?”
“The authorization attached to your November transfer.”
Nathan leaned forward.
Dr. Pierce continued.
“The document in your file was not uploaded through our normal patient authorization system.”
I tightened my grip on the phone.
“How was it uploaded?”
“Through an employee administrative account.”
“Whose?”
“I can't disclose personnel information over the phone.”
Catherine slipped me a note.
Ask whether employee still works there.
“Does that person still work at Hawthorne?”
Silence.
“No.”
“Why did they leave?”
Another pause.
“They were terminated in January.”
“For what?”
“I believe this conversation should happen in person.”
My heart hammered.
“Doctor, did their termination involve my records?”
His voice became quiet.
“Yes.”
Nathan closed his eyes.
“What employee?” I asked.
Dr. Pierce hesitated.
Then said a name I knew.
“Lydia Shaw.”
Brianna's last name was Shaw.
Catherine immediately searched her notes.
I already knew.
At the country club, Brianna had mentioned an aunt.
An aunt who introduced her to Victoria.
I whispered, “Is Lydia Shaw related to Brianna Shaw?”
Dr. Pierce didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
Catherine typed the name into a public directory.
Her eyebrows rose.
Then she turned the laptop toward us.
An archived staff biography.
Lydia Shaw — Senior Patient Services Coordinator, Hawthorne Reproductive Center.
Nathan stared.
“My mother didn't hack Emma's records.”
“No,” Catherine said.
“She had someone inside.”
I remembered November fourteenth.
The phone call.
The friendly woman telling me Nathan's authorization had arrived.
I remembered trusting her because she knew intimate details about our treatment.
I remembered thanking her.
My hands began shaking.
Nathan moved toward me.
This time, I let him take my hand.
Not as a husband.
Not yet.
Maybe never again.
But because he was the only person in that room who understood exactly what had been stolen from us.
Not money.
Not privacy.
Choice.
Catherine's phone buzzed.
She read the message.
Her expression changed.
“What?” Nathan asked.
“The trust company just responded to our preservation request.”
“And?”
“Victoria filed an amendment petition six weeks ago.”
Nathan stood.
“She can't amend Granddad's trust.”
“She isn't trying to change William’s original language.”
Catherine looked at me.
“She’s trying to establish that Emma's baby cannot qualify as Nathan's descendant.”
My stomach tightened.
“How?”
“By claiming the embryo was transferred without Nathan's consent.”
Nobody said a word.
Then I understood the elegance of the trap.
Victoria had apparently arranged the forged consent that allowed the transfer.
Then she created a second document proving Nathan never consented.
She had made the pregnancy possible.
And simultaneously manufactured the argument that would invalidate my daughter's rights.
Nathan’s voice trembled with fury.
“She created the violation she's using against Emma.”
“Yes.”
“And if the baby doesn't qualify?”
“Victoria remains trustee.”
“How long?”
Marcus answered.
“Potentially for the rest of her life.”
Nathan looked at me.
I saw guilt there.
And something deeper.
Resolve.
“My mother isn't getting anywhere near our daughter.”
The word our hung between us.
Before I could respond, Rachel looked toward the conference-room windows.
“Uh, guys?”
A black sedan had stopped outside.
A woman stepped onto the sidewalk.
Pearls.
Cream suit.
Perfect silver-blonde hair.
Victoria Cole.
She looked up toward our floor as though she knew exactly where we were.
May you like
Then she smiled.
And walked toward the building.
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