Chapter 3 - The Board Member Who Refused
Victor Hayes looked smaller than I remembered.
He had always been broad-shouldered and loud.
At seventy-one, he still attended every company meeting in a dark suit and bright tie.
Now he lay beneath a hospital blanket with tubes running from his arm.
His wife, Helen, sat beside him.
When she saw my father, anger flashed across her face.
“You finally came.”
My father stopped.
“I didn’t know.”
Helen stared.
“Caleb said he told you.”
My father’s jaw tightened.
“He didn’t.”
Victor opened his eyes.
“Daniel?”
My father moved closer.
“I’m here.”
Victor looked toward me.
“Anna too.”
“Yes.”
His weak smile disappeared.
“Then something happened.”
My father sat.
“What happened to you?”
Victor’s expression hardened.
“Someone tried to make me look senile.”
My skin prickled.
Helen stood.
“Three weeks ago, Victor received documents asking him to approve a temporary executive succession plan.”
My father glanced at me.
The blue folder.
Victor continued.
“It named Caleb acting CEO if you took medical leave.”
“I never approved that.”
“I knew you didn’t.”
“How?”
“Because the document claimed you wanted to slow down after the baby arrived.”
My father’s face tightened.
Victor looked confused.
“What?”
My father exhaled.
“There is no baby.”
Victor stared.
Helen did too.
My father explained.
The fake pregnancy.
The belly.
Rebecca leaving.
The documents.
Caleb.
Victor closed his eyes.
“Damn.”
Helen sat again.
Victor whispered, “Then I was right.”
“About what?”
“Something was wrong.”
He reached toward the bedside drawer.
Helen opened it and removed an envelope.
Inside were copies of emails.
Caleb had sent them.
He described my father as increasingly distracted.
Emotionally unstable.
Concerned about becoming a father at his age.
My father read silently.
Victor spoke.
“He wanted me to sign.”
“I refused.”
“What happened after?”
“Your wife came to my house.”
My father looked up.
“Rebecca?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Two days later.”
“What did she say?”
“That you were struggling.”
“She cried.”
“She said the baby had changed you.”
My stomach turned.
My mother had weaponized an imaginary child to make my father appear unstable.
Victor continued.
“She asked me to support Caleb temporarily.”
“I told her no.”
“What happened then?”
“A week later, I received a call from a doctor’s office.”
Helen’s face tightened.
“They said Victor had been referred for cognitive testing.”
“I never referred you.”
“I know.”
“Who did?”
“The paperwork listed Reeves Development executive wellness program.”
My father shook his head.
“We do not have one.”
Victor gave a tired smile.
“Exactly.”
The appointment was fake.
The doctor was real.
But the referral was not.
Someone had apparently tried to create a medical record suggesting Victor suffered memory problems.
He refused the appointment.
Then, three days later, he collapsed during dinner.
My father leaned forward.
“What happened?”
Victor’s expression darkened.
“The doctors found sedatives in my system.”
My stomach dropped.
“You took them?”
“No.”
Helen shook her head.
“Victor does not take sleeping medication.”
My father stared at Victor.
“Did you eat with anyone that day?”
Victor nodded.
“Lunch.”
“With who?”
“Caleb.”
Silence.
My father’s face changed.
“Did you tell police?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“They said it could have been accidental contamination.”
Helen scoffed.
“We are pushing them.”
Victor looked at my father.
“I did not know whether Caleb poisoned me.”
“But I knew I would never sit alone with him again.”
My father stood.
“I am removing him tomorrow morning.”
Victor raised a hand.
“No.”
My father frowned.
“No?”
“If he thinks you know everything, he destroys evidence.”
“So I should leave him running my company?”
“For one night.”
Victor looked toward me.
“You need someone inside.”
I understood before my father did.
“You want us to pretend nothing happened.”
“Exactly.”
My father shook his head.
“That is insane.”
Victor’s eyes sharpened.
“Daniel, somebody tried to steal your company while your wife pretended to carry your child.”
“This stopped being normal weeks ago.”
Helen placed a hand on Victor’s arm.
He continued.
“If Caleb is moving eight million dollars in six weeks, there will be a preparation trail.”
“Bank approvals.”
“Board consents.”
“Tax structure.”
“Someone at Reeves knows.”
My father slowly sat again.
“Who can I trust?”
Victor looked at him.
“That is the question.”
The unknown sender messaged me while we were still in the room.
YOU FOUND VICTOR.
I showed my father.
He typed from my phone.
WHO ARE YOU?
The answer came.
NOT HERE.
My father typed again.
YOU ARE INVOLVED.
YES.
HOW?
A long pause.
Then:
I CREATED THE ULTRASOUNDS.
My stomach turned.
I stared at the message.
The fake ultrasound photographs my mother had shown us had looked convincing.
She had displayed them at dinner.
Sent them to relatives.
Framed one.
My father had carried a copy in his wallet.
I typed.
ARE YOU A DOCTOR?
NO.
THEN WHO?
The response came.
I WORK FOR THE PRINTING COMPANY THAT CALEB USED.
My father frowned.
Printing company.
Then another message.
THAT IS NOT THE IMPORTANT PART.
WHAT IS?
I SAVED THE ORIGINAL FILES.
AND I KNOW WHERE REBECCA WENT.
My father typed immediately.
WHERE?
No response.
Victor watched.
“Who is this?”
“We don’t know.”
I explained.
Victor thought for a moment.
“Could be bait.”
“I know.”
My father looked at me.
“We don’t chase anonymous messages.”
I nodded.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown caller.
I answered on speaker.
A woman’s voice whispered.
“My name is Maya Torres.”
My father leaned closer.
“I worked for Northbridge Consulting.”
My skin prickled.
“I created Rebecca’s pregnancy package.”
My father’s eyes narrowed.
“What is a pregnancy package?”
Maya’s voice shook.
“Ultrasound images.”
“Appointment confirmations.”
“Clinic emails.”
“Insurance statements.”
“A fake patient portal.”
I stared at the phone.
It was more elaborate than I imagined.
My mother had not simply stuffed a pillow under her dress.
She had built an entire medical reality.
My father’s voice became cold.
“Where is my wife?”
“Apartment in Arlington.”
“With Caleb?”
“No.”
“Then with who?”
Maya hesitated.
“A lawyer.”
“What lawyer?”
“Martin Keene.”
My father went completely still.
I recognized the name.
Martin Keene had written my parents’ original prenuptial agreement twenty-nine years earlier.
He had also represented my mother privately during the failed divorce discussion seven months ago.
My father whispered, “Why would she be with Martin?”
Maya answered.
“Because he designed the anniversary loophole.”
The room became silent.
“What loophole?”
My father asked.
“The one Caleb and Rebecca were using.”
My stomach tightened.
Maya continued.
“But there is something you need to understand.”
“Caleb did not come up with the fake pregnancy.”
My father looked at me.
“Who did?”
Maya’s answer came quietly.
“Rebecca did.”
That hurt in a way I could not explain.
Some part of us had still been looking for a mastermind outside the family.
Someone who manipulated my mother.
Someone who turned fear into fraud.
Maya destroyed that hope with one sentence.
“She planned it before Caleb even agreed.”
My father closed his eyes.
Then Maya said something worse.
“And the pregnancy was not originally supposed to end with a miscarriage.”
My heart accelerated.
“What was supposed to happen?”
Maya took a breath.
“Rebecca had paperwork prepared for a baby.”
I stared at the phone.
“What baby?”
“A real one.”
My father stood.
“What are you talking about?”
Maya whispered.
May you like
“She was trying to buy a newborn.”
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