Chapter 5 - The Other Women
The folder did not contain photographs of mistresses.
For one strange second, that possibility would have been easier.
Instead, it contained names.
Women.
Six of them.
Rebecca and I sat together while investigators determined what could properly be shared.
Some names meant nothing to me.
One did.
Melissa Grant.
Brian's former fiancée.
I knew almost nothing about Melissa.
According to Brian, their relationship had ended because she was “unstable.”
The word hit me immediately.
Unstable.
He had used it about me.
Charles had used it in his notes.
Now I wondered whether Brian's description of Melissa had ever been true.
Through appropriate legal channels, investigators contacted her.
Melissa agreed to speak.
I did not meet her immediately.
But I learned enough to understand why her name mattered.
Years earlier, when she and Brian were engaged, Charles had become involved in their finances.
Melissa resisted.
Arguments followed.
Brian accused her of being irrational.
The engagement ended.
There had been no pregnancy.
No penthouse.
No fortune comparable to mine.
And no evidence that what happened to me had happened to her.
That distinction mattered.
But the pattern of language was unmistakable.
Women who resisted Charles became difficult.
Women who established boundaries became selfish.
Women who questioned Brian became unstable.
The folder appeared to contain information Charles had gathered on several women connected to business disputes and family conflicts.
Not all were victims.
Not all circumstances were the same.
But Charles had a habit.
He collected leverage.
Financial problems.
Divorces.
Embarrassing photographs.
Private messages.
Anything that might become useful later.
That was his real business.
Control.
Suddenly New Year's Eve looked different.
The cigarette had been violence.
But behind it was something Charles had practiced for years in quieter ways.
Make people afraid.
Find their vulnerability.
Then press exactly there.
Brian had grown up inside that system.
For a while, I wondered whether that made him another victim.
Then I remembered his hands around my wrists.
Understanding someone isn't the same as excusing them.
Brian had choices.
He made them.
Weeks passed.
My pregnancy entered its final trimester.
The legal process moved slowly, as legal processes often do.
That frustrated me at first.
I wanted everything resolved immediately.
Rebecca taught me patience.
“Evidence doesn't become stronger because we're angry,” she said.
So we documented.
We waited.
We followed procedure.
And gradually, the truth became harder for Brian to escape.
Then he requested a meeting.
Not privately.
Through attorneys.
Rebecca asked whether I wanted to attend.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to hear what he says when his father isn't in the room.”
The meeting took place in a conference room.
Brian looked older.
His suit hung loosely.
Dark circles sat beneath his eyes.
For several seconds, he stared at my stomach.
Then he looked away.
“Is she okay?”
“Yes.”
His eyes filled.
I felt nothing.
That frightened me more than anger would have.
“Valerie, I need you to understand—”
“No.”
He stopped.
“For years, I listened while you explained things. Tonight you answer.”
He nodded.
“Did you know about Phase One?”
“Yes.”
“Did you participate?”
“Yes.”
“Did you try to get access to my accounts?”
His attorney shifted.
Brian answered anyway.
“Yes.”
“Did you want my name declared financially incompetent?”
“No.”
“Then why were documents prepared?”
“My father.”
“That wasn't my question.”
Brian looked down.
“I knew he was preparing them.”
“Did you stop him?”
“No.”
“Did you photograph me?”
“No.”
“Did you know someone was?”
A long silence.
“Yes.”
My stomach tightened.
“Who?”
“My father hired someone.”
“Why?”
“To document things.”
“What things?”
“Anything he could use.”
I leaned back.
“And the baby?”
Brian's face changed.
“I never agreed to take her from you.”
“You wrote: ‘If she refuses, Dad says we use the baby.’”
“I know.”
“What did that mean?”
“He wanted you scared.”
“So did you.”
Brian began crying.
I didn't.
“I wanted you to put me on the deed,” he whispered.
“Why?”
“Debt.”
“How much?”
He told me.
More than Rebecca had initially found.
Much more.
Charles had persuaded Brian to invest in a failing venture.
When losses mounted, Brian borrowed money.
Then borrowed again to hide the first debt.
Charles convinced him everything could be fixed if they gained access to my resources.
“And you believed him?”
“At first.”
“At first?”
“Then I couldn't get out.”
“You could have told me.”
“I was ashamed.”
“So instead you planned to manipulate me.”
“Yes.”
The simplicity of his answer hurt.
“Why did you hold me?”
He covered his face.
“I don't know.”
“Yes, you do.”
He lowered his hands.
“Because Dad told me to stop you from leaving.”
There it was.
A grown man.
A husband.
Soon-to-be father.
Still obeying Charles.
“And when he hurt me?”
“I froze.”
“You didn't freeze, Brian. You held me tighter.”
He looked destroyed.
Good.
Some truths should hurt.
“I’m sorry.”
“I believe you're sorry.”
Hope flashed across his face.
Then I finished.
“But being sorry doesn't restore trust.”
His face fell.
“You tried to delete the camera footage.”
“I panicked.”
“You tried to protect yourself.”
“Yes.”
“Not me.”
“No.”
“Not our daughter.”
His voice became barely audible.
“No.”
I stood carefully.
The meeting was over.
Brian looked up.
“Will I ever see her?”
I stopped.
“That isn't a decision we're making in this room. It will be handled through the proper process based on her safety and best interests.”
He nodded.
I walked toward the door.
“Valerie.”
I turned.
“There was a reason Dad wanted forty thousand that night.”
“I know. Debt.”
Brian shook his head.
“No.”
I waited.
“The forty thousand wasn't for his business.”
“Then what was it for?”
Brian looked toward his attorney.
The attorney quietly told him to think carefully before speaking.
Brian did.
Then he looked at me.
“He was going to pay someone.”
“For what?”
“To finish Phase Two.”
My heart began pounding.
“Finish what?”
Brian swallowed.
“I don't know exactly.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“He stopped telling me details after I told him I wouldn't let anything happen while you were pregnant.”
The sentence disgusted me.
While I was pregnant.
As though there were a safer season for destroying me.
“Who was he paying?”
Brian gave us a name.
Rebecca wrote it down.
I left without another word.
By evening, investigators were looking into the name.
The answer arrived the following afternoon.
The person Charles allegedly intended to pay wasn't a doctor.
Wasn't a lawyer.
Wasn't a private investigator.
May you like
He was a document forger.
And among the materials recovered from Charles's storage unit was a nearly perfect copy of my signature.
