Chapter 4 - The Woman Behind Martha
For the first time since the wedding, I understood that Martha might not be the most dangerous person involved.
That didn't make her innocent.
But it changed the question.
Who had been using whom?
Samuel arranged for us to meet privately at his office.
Claire came too.
She brought everything she could access from her mother's business records.
Emails.
Calendar entries.
Travel receipts.
Payments.
One name appeared repeatedly.
Evan Cole.
Patricia's driver.
The man from the staged photographs.
Evan had worked for Patricia for nine years.
According to Claire, he wasn't simply a driver.
He handled errands Patricia didn't want connected directly to her.
“Did he take my coat?”
“Probably.”
“How did he get inside our house?”
Claire looked embarrassed.
“My mother had a key.”
Nick stared at her.
“What?”
“Martha gave it to her.”
I closed my eyes.
Months earlier, we'd given Martha an emergency key after a pipe burst while we were traveling.
She'd copied it.
Of course she had.
Samuel leaned back.
“Patricia's petition is weak. But the criminal issues are becoming serious.”
Nick looked at him.
“Forgery?”
“Forgery. Fraud. Potential burglary. Identity theft.”
Claire looked sick.
“My mother did all this for money?”
Samuel answered carefully.
“People often tell themselves they're protecting something when they're really trying to control it.”
That sounded exactly like Martha.
Nick finally returned one of her calls.
She answered before the first ring finished.
“Nick.”
“Where are you?”
“At home.”
“We need to talk.”
“I've been trying to tell you that.”
“Samuel's office. One hour.”
“Is Rebecca there?”
“Yes.”
Silence.
“Then I won't come.”
Nick's expression changed.
“Then we're done talking.”
He started to hang up.
“Wait.”
Martha arrived forty-eight minutes later.
No makeup.
No jewelry.
Plain sweater.
I'd never seen her look so ordinary.
She wouldn't meet my eyes.
Nick placed the photograph on the table.
SHE WAS NEVER IN CHARGE.
Martha stared at it.
Then sat down.
“Where did you get this?”
“Evan.”
Her face changed.
“You found him?”
“No.”
Martha looked genuinely frightened.
“Then you need to stop.”
“Stop what?”
“Everything.”
Nick leaned forward.
“No.”
“Patricia won't let this go.”
Claire stared at her.
“You're afraid of my mother?”
Martha laughed bitterly.
“You should be too.”
Claire's face tightened.
“Tell us.”
Martha rubbed her hands together.
“The original plan wasn't mine.”
Nick said nothing.
“Patricia approached me after Richard died.”
“About the trust?”
“Yes.”
“She knew?”
“She'd known for years.”
“Dad's shares.”
Martha nodded.
“Patricia's company has debt.”
Claire whispered, “How much?”
“A lot.”
The Beaumont lifestyle suddenly looked different.
The houses.
Cars.
Charity galas.
Private clubs.
Maybe it was all scaffolding around a collapsing building.
Martha explained.
Patricia needed Richard's shares consolidated under her control to secure refinancing.
But Richard's trust prevented that.
Then Nick turned thirty.
The trust became accessible.
But only to Nick.
And if he married me, I became co-trustee.
Patricia needed me gone.
“So she convinced you to break us up,” Nick said.
Martha looked down.
“She told me Claire loved you.”
Claire shook her head.
“I never said that.”
“I know that now.”
“You knew it then.”
Martha looked at her.
“I wanted to believe it.”
Nick laughed bitterly.
“Because Claire was rich.”
“Because I thought she was right for you.”
“No. Because she was right for you.”
That landed.
Martha cried quietly.
She admitted to the fake settlement.
The forged letters.
The copied key.
But when Nick asked about the wedding, she hesitated.
“Patricia wanted Rebecca publicly humiliated.”
My skin crawled.
“How?”
“She said if you looked unstable in front of enough witnesses, she could use it later.”
“So the haircut was your idea?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Martha finally looked at me.
“Because it was supposed to be harmless.”
I stared at her.
“You cut off twelve years of my hair.”
“I know.”
“No. You don't get to call that harmless.”
She swallowed.
“I thought you'd scream. Maybe leave. Patricia wanted something worse.”
Nick leaned forward.
“What?”
Martha shook her head.
“I refused.”
“What?”
“She wanted something put in Rebecca's champagne.”
The room froze.
I felt Nick's hand close around mine.
“What?”
“Nothing lethal.”
Martha said it too quickly.
Claire stood.
“Are you insane?”
“I refused!”
“What did she want?”
“A sedative.”
Nick slammed his palm against the table.
Martha jumped.
“She wanted my wife drugged at our wedding?”
“She said Rebecca would appear intoxicated. Emotional. Unstable.”
“And you still helped her?”
“I thought cutting the hair would satisfy her!”
Suddenly the bouquet made sense.
“Check the flowers.”
Maybe something had been hidden there.
Or transferred through them.
Samuel called the police investigator assigned to the case.
Within an hour, officers retrieved security footage from the reception hall.
We watched it together.
At 7:54 p.m., Evan entered through a service corridor carrying a florist box.
At 8:03, he approached our table.
At 8:05, he switched my champagne flute.
At 8:06, Martha saw him.
She walked over.
They argued.
No audio.
Then Martha took the glass.
She dumped it into a planter.
My mouth went dry.
She had protected me.
Then, thirty-six minutes later, she cut my hair.
The truth was uglier than simple villainy.
Martha had participated in a scheme to destroy my relationship.
Then discovered Patricia intended to physically endanger me.
Instead of telling us, she improvised.
She created the public scene herself.
She still hurt me.
But perhaps she believed she was choosing the lesser evil.
Nick looked at his mother.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because then you'd know everything else.”
There it was.
Cowardice.
Not cruelty alone.
Fear of consequences.
Martha whispered, “I thought I could control Patricia.”
Claire stared at the screen.
“You never controlled her.”
“No.”
“Neither did I.”
Claire began crying.
She told us something she had hidden.
Her engagement ring wasn't from a fiancé.
Her mother bought it.
Patricia had instructed Claire to wear it publicly, then eventually announce that Nick had been the secret fiancé after our relationship collapsed.
The ring found in Claire's purse at the wedding was supposed to become evidence.
A fabricated romantic triangle.
Patricia had built multiple stories.
Whichever one worked first would become “truth.”
Samuel looked horrified.
“This is organized fraud.”
Martha nodded.
“And she's not finished.”
“How do you know?”
Martha pulled out her phone.
A message had arrived that morning.
From Patricia.
One sentence.
YOU HAVE UNTIL MIDNIGHT TO FIX WHAT YOU BROKE.
Nick read it.
“What's at midnight?”
Martha shook her head.
“I don't know.”
Claire did.
Her face went white.
“The Beaumont refinancing.”
She checked her phone.
“My mother's company has a board meeting tomorrow morning. If she doesn't show control of Richard's shares before midnight, the bank can call the loans.”
“How much?”
Claire logged into an account.
Then stopped breathing.
“Thirty-eight million.”
Patricia wasn't trying to gain wealth.
She was trying to prevent collapse.
And desperate people were dangerous.
Police began searching for Evan.
At 6:40 p.m., they found his sedan.
Abandoned.
At 7:15, Samuel received notice that Patricia had withdrawn her petition against our marriage.
That should have been good news.
It wasn't.
“She wouldn't surrender,” Claire said.
At 8:03, my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
“Rebecca Carter?”
“Yes.”
A woman's voice.
Patricia.
“I'm sorry about your wedding.”
I looked at Claire.
She mouthed, Keep her talking.
“You don't sound sorry.”
“I didn't want things to become ugly.”
“You tried to drug me.”
Silence.
Then:
“Martha told you.”
“She told us everything.”
“No,” Patricia said softly. “She told you what makes her look useful.”
My stomach tightened.
“What does that mean?”
“Ask your husband what his father discovered the week before he died.”
Nick froze.
“What are you talking about?”
“Richard wasn't changing the trust because of Martha.”
Patricia's voice became quieter.
“He was changing it because of Nick.”
Nick took the phone.
“What did my father discover?”
Patricia laughed once.
“You really don't know.”
“Tell me.”
“I'd rather show you.”
A message arrived.
One photograph.
Richard Carter.
Alive.
Sitting at a restaurant.
Across from him was a man neither Nick nor I recognized.
The timestamp was six days before Richard died.
On the table between them was the original trust document.
Nick zoomed in.
There was writing across the top.
One sentence.
REMOVE NICHOLAS AS BENEFICIARY.
Then Patricia whispered:
“Your father wasn't protecting you, Nick.”
The call ended.
And before any of us could speak, someone knocked on Samuel's locked office door.
Three times.
May you like
Samuel checked the security monitor.
The man from Richard's photograph was standing outside.
