Chương 7
I had laughed and said, I don’t watch the boring accounts.
Jonathan does.
It had been a joke about investment statements.
A throwaway sentence.
Ethan had remembered it.
“Where did he write that?”
“In an email to Vale.”
“What was he asking?”
Reeves glanced at the page.
“Which assets you were least likely to monitor closely.”
I looked at Jonathan.
He closed his eyes for half a second.
“How much exposure?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“You manage my accounts.”
“I manage some of them.”
“Jonathan.”
“There are layers, Claire.”
His voice became firmer.
“We need to review everything before assuming losses.”
“What could he access?”
“Not much directly.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“No.”
He rubbed his forehead.
“He may have had enough personal information to impersonate you with institutions that didn’t know you personally.”
“From my passport.”
“Passport, driver’s license, address history, tax information if he found it.”
My mind moved to the file drawer.
Old returns.
Copies of insurance policies.
Documents I had kept because adults apparently spent their lives keeping documents they never expected anyone to steal.
“Did he take my tax returns?”
Reeves said, “We found PDFs.”
Maya stood and walked to the window.
She did not say anything.
That frightened me more than her anger.
“Why seven months?”
I asked.
Reeves hesitated.
“What happened seven months ago?”
I counted backward.
January.
Ethan’s development project had still been publicly described as successful.
Chloe had not yet announced their engagement.
I had just completed a secondary investment sale that moved another large portion of my net worth into personally held accounts.
Very few people knew.
Jonathan.
My accountant.
Maya.
My parents knew vaguely.
Ethan could have learned from them.
“Did he know how much money I had?”
“I can’t answer that.”
“Did the emails mention a number?”
Reeves glanced at Jonathan.
Jonathan said, “Tell her.”
Reeves did.
“Forty-eight million.”
I laughed once.
It sounded awful.
“What?”
“That number is wrong.”
“How wrong?”
“Very.”
Nobody spoke.
I looked at Jonathan.
He gave the smallest shake of his head.
Do not explain.
For years, my family had assumed the company sale made me comfortable.
Maybe ten million.
Maybe fifteen.
Enough for the penthouse if I had been reckless.
They did not know about the earn-out, retained equity, later acquisition payment, or the investments Jonathan had spent years protecting from my own tendency to ignore financial statements.
Ethan had built a fraud around incomplete information.
“That’s why he wanted the apartment,” I said.
Reeves leaned forward slightly.
“Explain.”
“He thought it was the biggest thing he could reach.”
Jonathan nodded slowly.
“Possibly.”
My brother had not targeted my penthouse because he wanted to live there.
Not really.
He had targeted it because he thought it was the visible center of my wealth.
He had mistaken visibility for value.
The idea should have made me feel safer.
Instead, it made everything worse.
He had been willing to take the most obvious thing I owned without knowing what else existed.
“How much trouble is Ethan in?”
Reeves rubbed one thumb along the edge of the folder.
“Potentially significant.”
“That’s another careful answer.”
“It’s the only one I can give.”
“Could he go to prison?”
“Yes.”
The room became very quiet.
My next contraction arrived hard enough to erase federal law from the universe.
I bent forward with a sound I did not recognize as mine.
Maya rushed back to me.
Dr. Patel came in almost immediately, followed by Marcus.
The conversation ended without anyone formally ending it.
Reeves and Jonathan moved toward the wall while the medical staff took over.
I heard numbers.
Instructions.
The fetal monitor changed rhythm.
Dr. Patel examined me.
Then she looked directly at me.
“We’re getting close.”
“How close?”
“Closer than I’d like.”
“That is a terrible unit of measurement.”
“I know.”
She smiled briefly.
Then her attention returned to the monitor.
The baby’s heart rate dipped again.
This time it recovered more slowly.
Dr. Patel’s face changed.
Not panic.
Concentration.
The kind I had seen on engineers when a system failed in a way they had not predicted.
“What is it?”
“She’s not tolerating every contraction perfectly.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means we watch carefully.”
“And if she keeps doing that?”
“Then we may need to deliver quickly.”
Maya took my hand.
I squeezed so hard she winced.
“Sorry.”
“Break it.”
Another contraction began.
The monitor slowed.
I watched the number fall.
My entire world narrowed to glowing digits.
One hundred ten.
Ninety-eight.
Eighty-seven.
“Dr. Patel.”
“I see it.”
Seventy-nine.
“Do something.”
“We are.”
Marcus adjusted my position.
Another nurse placed oxygen near me.
Dr. Patel’s voice remained maddeningly calm.
“Claire, turn onto your left side.”
I obeyed.
The number climbed.
Eighty-eight.
Ninety-five.
One hundred twelve.
My daughter’s heartbeat returned.
I started crying again.
Dr. Patel waited until the tracing stabilized.
“We may not have much more time.”
“Then take her out.”
“If we need to.”
“No.”
I looked at her.
“If she’s in trouble, take her out.”
“We will.”
“Promise me.”
Her expression softened.
“I promise I won’t leave her in distress to avoid a premature delivery.”
That was the answer I needed.
Not reassurance.
A plan.
Behind her, Reeves quietly stepped into the hallway.
Jonathan followed.
Maya stayed.
My phone lit up on the table.
Unknown number.
I ignored it.
It rang again.
Then a text appeared.
Claire, please answer.
It was Ethan.
Every muscle in my body tightened.
Maya saw the screen.
“Don’t.”
I stared at the message.
A second appeared.
I need to explain before they arrest me.
Then a third.
Chloe left.
I picked up the phone.
Maya whispered, “Claire.”
I did not call him.
I opened the message thread.
My fingers shook, but not from fear.
Not entirely.
I typed one sentence.
Tell the truth to the agents.
The reply came almost instantly.
You don’t understand.
I looked at those three words.
May you like
They were the same refuge he had used all his life.
You don’t understand how hard this is.
