Chapter 4 - The Woman Who Sold My Marriage
For one second, I wondered if exhaustion had finally broken something in my mind.
Florence stood inside Garrett Corbin's mansion.
The woman who had blamed me for her son's betrayal.
The woman who had watched me leave my marriage with two suitcases.
She looked at me.
“Rebecca.”
I didn't answer.
Gertrude tightened her grip on the ledger.
Garrett's voice sharpened.
“What is she doing here?”
Florence looked at him.
“I came to stop Douglas.”
I laughed.
It came out harsher than I intended.
“You expect me to believe that?”
“No.”
At least she had learned something.
Gertrude suddenly thrust the ledger toward Garrett.
“Take it.”
Garrett didn't.
“What changed?”
“My husband.”
Her voice trembled.
“He knows you've been hiding your recovery.”
The hallway became silent.
Garrett's face showed nothing.
“How?”
“I heard him talking to someone this morning.”
“Who?”
Gertrude looked at Florence.
Florence answered.
“Brenda.”
My stomach tightened.
“Brenda is here?”
“No,” Florence said. “But she's alive.”
Christopher had said she disappeared.
“Where?”
“I don't know.”
Garrett wheeled closer.
“What does she have to do with Douglas?”
Florence sat down.
For once, she looked nothing like the domineering woman I remembered.
She looked frightened.
“Eight months ago, a man contacted me. He knew about my debts. He offered to clear them.”
“In exchange for what?” I asked.
“Information about Christopher.”
I felt cold.
“What information?”
“His schedule. His travel. Whether he was speaking to anyone at Corbin Medical.”
“You sold information about your son?”
Her face crumpled.
“I told myself it was corporate nonsense.”
“And me?”
She couldn't look at me.
“When they realized Christopher was working with Brenda, they wanted instability around him. They wanted him distracted.”
“So you encouraged our divorce.”
“Yes.”
That single word hurt more than I expected.
“Why blame me?”
“I thought if you hated Christopher, you would leave quickly.”
I stared at her.
“That doesn't make it better.”
“I know.”
“No. You don't.”
Garrett interrupted.
“Who paid you?”
Florence whispered:
“Douglas Corbin.”
Gertrude closed her eyes.
Garrett's expression went empty.
“My brother paid you to destroy Rebecca's marriage?”
“To isolate Christopher.”
Florence looked at me.
“I didn't understand how far it went until after Garrett's accident.”
I wanted to scream.
Instead, I asked:
“Why are you here now?”
“Because Christopher disappeared this afternoon.”
Everything inside me stopped.
“What?”
“He called me. He said someone had followed him from the coffee shop.”
I reached for my phone.
No messages.
No missed calls.
Garrett immediately called security.
While he did, Gertrude handed me the ledger.
“There's something else.”
Inside the back cover was a sealed envelope.
Garrett opened it.
A handwritten note from his father.
Garrett read silently.
Then again.
“What does it say?” I asked.
He passed it to me.
If either of my sons attempts to transfer controlling shares without unanimous trustee approval, the transfer is invalid. The trust remains with Garrett unless he voluntarily resigns while medically competent.
Douglas couldn't legally seize control simply because Garrett was disabled.
He needed Garrett declared incompetent.
Or dead.
Garrett looked toward Gertrude.
“Did Douglas know about this?”
“Yes.”
“Then why steal the ledger?”
“To destroy it.”
“And why didn't you?”
Gertrude's eyes filled.
“Because I finally understood what I married.”
The words hung there.
Garrett asked:
“Did Douglas cause my accident?”
Gertrude's mouth opened.
Before she could answer, glass shattered downstairs.
A scream followed.
Security rushed toward the front entrance.
Garrett tried to wheel himself forward.
I stopped him.
“Stay here.”
“No.”
“Garrett—”
“My mother is downstairs.”
That changed everything.
We moved together.
In the foyer, one of the large windows had been broken.
A brick lay on the marble floor.
Wrapped around it was paper.
Security picked it up.
One sentence:
STOP DIGGING OR CHRISTOPHER MILLER DISAPPEARS FOR GOOD.
Florence collapsed into a chair.
I stared at the threat.
My ex-husband had hurt me.
He had lied.
But whatever he'd done, he didn't deserve this.
Neither did I.
Garrett looked at his security chief.
“Call the police.”
“No,” Florence said.
Everyone turned.
“They'll know.”
“Who?”
“The people Douglas paid.”
Garrett's voice hardened.
“My brother isn't a criminal mastermind.”
“No,” Florence whispered.
“He isn't the one in charge.”
Silence.
“Then who is?” I asked.
Florence looked at me.
“ApexBio.”
That night, the mansion became a fortress.
Private security monitored every entrance.
Garrett contacted an attorney he trusted.
Copies of the files went to three separate locations.
And for the first time, Garrett told Evelyn the truth about his legs.
He stood.
Only for three seconds.
His hands gripped parallel bars.
His knees trembled violently.
But he stood.
Evelyn covered her mouth.
Tears ran down her face.
“My boy.”
Garrett sat again, exhausted.
His mother knelt and hugged him.
I looked away.
Some moments belonged to families even when those families were broken.
Later, Garrett found me on the balcony.
“You okay?”
“No.”
“Good.”
I looked at him.
He shrugged.
“People keep asking that when obviously nobody is okay.”
I laughed despite myself.
He smiled.
It was the first real smile I'd seen from him.
“Christopher loved you,” Garrett said.
I looked toward the city lights.
“Love without trust can still destroy people.”
“Yes.”
“You sound experienced.”
“My fiancée left two years before the accident.”
“Why?”
“She wanted children.”
I glanced at him.
“And you didn't?”
“I did.”
He paused.
“I was told I probably couldn't.”
Something passed between us.
Two people who had built futures around children who never came.
“I spent years thinking motherhood was the thing missing from my life,” I said.
“And now?”
“Now I think I was missing from my life.”
Garrett watched me.
That sentence surprised even me.
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
“Rebecca?”
Brenda.
“Where are you?”
“I can't tell you.”
“Christopher is missing.”
“I know.”
“Do you know where he is?”
A pause.
“Yes.”
My heart slammed against my ribs.
“Tell me.”
“I will. But Garrett cannot come.”
I looked at him.
He could hear enough to understand.
“Why?”
“Because the person holding Christopher wants Garrett.”
“What for?”
“His signature.”
“On what?”
Brenda's voice dropped.
“The document that gives Douglas control.”
I closed my eyes.
“Where?”
“I'll text you.”
The line disconnected.
A location arrived seconds later.
An abandoned rehabilitation facility owned by a Corbin subsidiary.
Garrett looked at me.
“You're not going alone.”
“I know.”
We contacted his attorney and private security.
Police were notified through a federal contact the attorney trusted.
No heroics.
No secret rescue mission.
I had already survived one marriage built on hidden truths.
I wasn't going to survive another situation by creating more.
At 11:40 p.m., we reached the facility.
Security entered first.
The building appeared empty.
Then we heard Christopher's voice.
“Rebecca!”
I ran toward it.
He was tied to a chair in an old therapy room.
Alive.
Bruised.
But alive.
I rushed toward him.
“Don't!”
Christopher shouted.
I froze.
His eyes weren't looking at me.
They were looking behind me.
I turned.
Douglas stood in the doorway.
He held a folder.
No weapon.
Just papers.
And beside him was a woman I had never met.
Garrett whispered her name.
“Brenda.”
She smiled.
May you like
Then she looked at me and said:
“You still think Douglas is the one who caused the accident.”
