Chapter 11 - The Recording
The second recording was shorter.
Eleanor's voice came first.
“The child must remain connected to Dominic.”
Chloe answered.
“What if Vivienne leaves him?”
“Then we make leaving expensive.”
“How?”
A pause.
Then Eleanor spoke.
“Custody.”
My hands went cold.
The recording continued.
Chloe laughed nervously.
“You can't just take someone's baby.”
“No.”
“But courts respond to evidence.”
“What evidence?”
“Whatever evidence exists.”
The audio ended.
Nobody moved.
Dominic looked sick.
I stood slowly.
“That woman will never come near my child.”
Rebecca nodded.
“We'll seek immediate protective orders.”
Dad already had his phone out.
Dominic approached me.
“I'll testify.”
I looked at him.
He expected gratitude.
Maybe forgiveness.
He would get neither.
“You should testify because it's right.”
“Not because you think it earns something from me.”
He lowered his eyes.
“I know.”
For the first time, he sounded like he actually did.
The next forty-eight hours moved quickly.
The stolen documents were recovered.
Gerald Pike retained counsel.
Eleanor was investigated for theft, unauthorized access, attempted fraud, and conspiracy connected to the forged documents.
Chloe faced her own legal nightmare.
The wedding reception became the story every wealthy guest whispered about for weeks.
But Dad kept my name out of the press as much as possible.
Not to protect the Caldwells.
To protect me.
I moved into my parents' townhouse.
Dominic moved out of our apartment.
Divorce papers were prepared.
Then, five days after the wedding, I received a package.
No return address.
Inside was a flash drive.
One note.
YOU'RE LOOKING AT THE WRONG PERSON.
I called Rebecca immediately.
We opened the drive on an isolated computer.
There were photographs.
Bank transfers.
Emails.
And one name repeated across dozens of documents.
Not Eleanor.
Not Chloe.
Not Gerald.
Dominic.
At first, my stomach dropped.
Then Rebecca zoomed in on the dates.
Some transactions were six years old.
Long before Dominic met me.
Someone had been using accounts connected to his identity for years.
At the bottom of the folder was a photograph of a man meeting Eleanor outside a bank.
The timestamp was twelve years old.
Dad stared at the screen.
“I know him.”
I looked at him.
“Who?”
His answer changed the entire story.
“Dominic's father.”
May you like
The man Eleanor had claimed died fifteen years ago.
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