Chapter 5 - NINETY-NINE MISSED CALLS
Preston didn't call again for twenty-three minutes.
That silence was louder than the previous ninety-nine calls combined.
When his name finally appeared on my screen, I answered.
Not because I wanted an explanation.
Because Margaret wanted the conversation documented.
“Claire.”
His voice came too quickly.
Too controlled.
“Where are you?”
I looked through the ICU window.
“Why?”
“I’ve been calling for hours.”
“I noticed.”
“What did you do to the accounts?”
“I protected them.”
“From what?”
“You.”
He exhaled sharply.
“Can we not play games?”
“I’m not playing.”
“Where are you?”
“Where should I be, Preston?”
Silence.
I let it grow.
Finally he said, “The hospital?”
“Yes.”
Another silence.
“How is Sadie?”
There it was.
Not first.
Not second.
After hours of calls about cards, money and yacht access.
“How is your daughter?”
“I asked how she is.”
“She’s twelve years old and spent last night in intensive care without either parent beside her.”
“That’s not fair.”
I nearly laughed.
“Not fair?”
“I brought her there.”
“Seven hours after she told you she couldn't breathe properly.”
“She had a fever, Claire. Kids get fevers.”
“And then you left.”
“I thought she was stable.”
“So you went drinking.”
“I wasn't drinking.”
I looked at the photograph.
There were two champagne glasses.
“You should be careful with lies when photographic evidence exists.”
His voice changed.
“Sadie showed you?”
Interesting.
He already knew she had seen something.
“Yes.”
“Claire, Marina is a consultant.”
“Consultants usually bill one-point-eight million dollars?”
He went silent.
There.
Fear.
Real fear.
“How did you—”
“Finish that sentence.”
He didn't.
I continued.
“Do not touch a business account. Do not instruct an employee. Do not contact my bankers. Do not attempt to access my companies.”
“Your companies?”
There was the Preston I knew.
Entitled.
Incredulous.
“We built this life together.”
“My father built those companies.”
“I supported you for sixteen years.”
“And you compensated yourself generously.”
“Watch yourself.”
The phrase was soft.
Almost automatic.
I had heard it hundreds of times.
Whenever I challenged him publicly.
Whenever I refused to agree.
Whenever his charm stopped working.
Watch yourself.
This time it sounded pathetic.
“I have been watching myself, Preston. That’s why I finally started watching you.”
He breathed hard through his nose.
“Marina and I can explain everything.”
“We?”
“It isn’t what you think.”
“What do I think?”
No answer.
“Are you sleeping with her?”
Silence.
That was enough.
I hung up.
A minute later, Margaret texted.
GOOD. DO NOT SPEAK TO HIM AGAIN WITHOUT PURPOSE.
Sadie was awake.
She had heard only my half of the conversation.
“Was that Dad?”
“Yes.”
“Is he coming?”
“Probably.”
She looked toward the ceiling.
“I don't want him here.”
That hurt.
Not because I disagreed.
Because daughters shouldn't have to say it.
“You don’t have to see him right now.”
“What if he gets mad?”
“He can be mad.”
“At me?”
I moved closer.
“No. None of this is your fault.”
Her eyes filled.
“He told me not to tell you about the messages.”
My body went still.
“When?”
“Before we came to the hospital.”
“What exactly did he say?”
“He said adults sometimes have complicated friendships and I shouldn't make trouble.”
My daughter had been sick.
Scared.
Struggling to breathe.
And Preston had still found time to recruit her into his deception.
“What did you say?”
“I told him lying is still lying when adults do it.”
Despite everything, pride swelled inside me.
“That sounds like you.”
She gave a tiny smile.
Then whispered, “He got really mad.”
“What did he do?”
“He grabbed the iPad and told me I was spoiled.”
My jaw tightened.
“Did he hurt you?”
“No.”
“Did he threaten you?”
She hesitated.
“Not exactly.”
“Sadie.”
“He said if I told you, everything would change and it would be because of me.”
I closed my eyes briefly.
There are sentences children remember for life.
That would have become one of them.
Unless I replaced it.
I took both her hands.
“Everything is changing because of choices adults made. You did nothing wrong.”
“But if I hadn't seen the messages—”
“Then I might still be trusting someone who didn't deserve it.”
Her face crumpled.
I pulled her gently against me.
She cried into my shoulder.
When she finally settled, Elena entered.
“Mrs. Whitmore?”
“Yes?”
“Your husband is downstairs.”
I looked at Sadie.
Her fingers tightened around mine.
“He’s demanding to come up.”
“Does Sadie have to see him?”
“No.”
“Then she doesn’t.”
Elena nodded.
“I’ll notify security.”
My phone vibrated with a message.
Preston.
YOU CAN’T KEEP MY DAUGHTER FROM ME.
I typed nothing.
Another appeared.
I’M HER FATHER.
Then another.
CLAIRE, OPEN THE DOOR OR I’LL MAKE A SCENE.
Sadie saw my face.
“What is it?”
“Nothing you need to worry about.”
But there was something I needed to worry about.
May you like
Because downstairs, the man who had ignored his daughter’s illness for hours was suddenly desperate to play father.
And I suspected it had very little to do with love.
