Chapter 6 - JANUARY SEVENTEENTH
January seventeenth was sixteen days away.
I read those four words until Rebecca gently closed the laptop.
“Enough.”
“No.”
“Claire.”
“Open it.”
She did.
The calendar entry contained no explanation.
Just a time.
7:30 p.m.
And a location.
Lawson Advisory Group.
Grant’s office.
I had been invited there.
I remembered the email.
Ryan told me Grant wanted to discuss “family estate planning” before our daughter was born.
I had almost agreed.
Now I wondered what would have happened if New Year’s Eve had never exploded.
Would I have walked into that office on January seventeenth?
Would they have placed documents in front of me?
Would Ryan have asked me to sign?
Would Grant have stood behind him?
And what exactly did disappear mean?
Morales would not speculate.
Rebecca did.
“Best case, they meant divorce.”
“And worst?”
She looked at me.
“You know.”
Police continued examining the USB.
The divorce draft was brutal.
It claimed I had engaged in marital misconduct.
It claimed I suffered from emotional instability.
It claimed Ryan had become concerned for the safety of our unborn child.
I laughed when I read that.
Then I stopped laughing.
Attached to the draft were photographs.
Me yelling during arguments.
Me crying.
Me standing in the kitchen with broken glass near my feet.
Images stripped of context.
Images taken inside my own home.
Ryan had been building a story.
One where he was the patient husband.
One where I was unstable.
One where anything I said could be dismissed.
“They planned this,” I whispered.
Rebecca nodded.
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“The photographs go back ten months.”
My daughter kicked.
I placed both hands on my stomach.
They had not merely been stealing.
They had been preparing for me to discover it.
That evening, Brooke requested to speak with me.
We met at the district attorney’s office.
She looked smaller than I remembered.
No makeup.
Hair tied back.
A bruise darkened her forearm.
I noticed it immediately.
“Who did that?”
She pulled her sleeve down.
“Dad.”
“When?”
“Last night.”
My anger returned instantly.
“Why?”
“Because the cards stopped working.”
She gave a hollow laugh.
“He said I brought bad luck into the family.”
I sat across from her.
“You installed spyware on my computer.”
“I know.”
“You signed documents for Crestmont.”
“I know.”
“You watched your father hurt me.”
Her eyes filled.
“I know.”
“Why should I trust you?”
“You shouldn’t.”
That answer surprised me.
Brooke pushed a folder across the table.
“This is why I’m here.”
Inside were printed emails between Grant and Ryan.
Most discussed money.
One discussed me.
Ryan: She won’t sign if she knows what Crestmont holds.
Grant: Then she doesn’t know.
Ryan: She asks questions.
Grant: Pregnant women get emotional.
Ryan: She’s different lately.
Grant: Then remind her what happens when she becomes difficult.
My hands began shaking.
Another email was dated three days before New Year’s Eve.
Grant: If she challenges me in front of the family again, I’ll deal with it.
Ryan: Don’t make it worse.
Grant: Then keep your wife under control.
I looked up at Brooke.
“You knew.”
She was crying silently.
“I knew Dad was getting worse.”
“And you still came to dinner.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because in our family, you always came when Dad told you to come.”
For the first time, I saw something I had missed for years.
Brooke was not like Ryan.
Not completely.
She had done terrible things.
But she was afraid of the same man who had taught Ryan that fear was love.
“What does January seventeenth mean?”
Brooke went pale.
“I only heard part of that conversation.”
“What part?”
“Dad said if you signed, everyone walked away rich.”
“And if I didn’t?”
May you like
Her eyes dropped.
“He told Ryan there were other ways to become a widower.”
