Chapter 6 - What Ethan Was Hiding
I had imagined confronting Ethan many times.
Never in a basement storage room.
Never surrounded by letters from a woman I had never met.
Never with a photograph of him standing beside a newborn in my hand.
He knocked again.
“Open the door.”
Margaret looked at me.
“You don’t have to.”
I surprised myself.
“Yes, I do.”
The manager opened it.
Ethan stood outside.
No jacket.
Tie loosened.
Face flushed from moving quickly.
His eyes found me.
Then the photograph.
Then the open filing cabinet.
Something collapsed behind his expression.
“How did you get in here?”
Not hello.
Not explanation.
Not apology.
Control.
Still.
Even now.
I held up the photograph.
“Who is Rebecca?”
He looked at Margaret.
“I’m not discussing this with counsel present.”
Margaret smiled faintly.
“That’s generally when people should discuss complicated legal matters.”
“This doesn’t concern the divorce.”
“Hidden marital assets concern the divorce.”
“This storage unit belongs to a business entity.”
“A business entity funded partly with marital assets.”
Ethan’s eyes returned to me.
“You need to stop letting strangers manipulate you.”
I almost laughed.
“Strangers?”
“Claire. Margaret. Whoever gave you that key.”
“Rebecca.”
His face changed.
Barely.
Enough.
“She gave me the key.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Why?”
Silence.
“Why is that impossible, Ethan?”
He didn’t answer.
I stood.
“The baby isn’t yours.”
His jaw tightened.
“What?”
“Rebecca wrote it.”
He stepped forward.
“Give me the letters.”
“No.”
“They’re private.”
“They’re addressed to me.”
“She was unstable.”
There it was.
Again.
Another woman.
Another diagnosis.
Another explanation.
“She knew about your divorce threats.”
“She misunderstood.”
“She knew I was afraid of you.”
“I never said that.”
“She wrote that you told her I would never leave because I was too afraid.”
Ethan looked at Margaret again.
He wanted a different audience.
One he could control.
He didn’t have one.
I held up another letter.
“She said you wanted people to think the baby was yours.”
“That’s absurd.”
“Then whose baby is she?”
He stopped.
The question changed the room.
Even Margaret looked more alert.
“I don’t know.”
“You were at the hospital.”
“I was helping Rebecca.”
“Why?”
“She worked for me.”
“You visit every employee after childbirth?”
“She didn’t have anyone.”
“Where is she?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why is she gone?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why did she say the real father would expose what you did August fourteenth?”
That broke him.
Not completely.
But enough.
His face went white.
He looked at the manager.
“Leave.”
The manager didn’t move.
Margaret spoke.
“He stays.”
Ethan’s voice hardened.
“This is private.”
“Not your building,” Margaret replied.
I stepped closer.
“What happened August fourteenth?”
“Nothing.”
“Twenty-six thousand dollars went to a medical clinic.”
“That has nothing to do with Rebecca.”
“Then what?”
No answer.
“Ethan.”
He looked at me.
For the first time since this began, I saw something that wasn’t anger.
Fear.
Raw.
Real.
“Go home.”
I almost whispered.
“What?”
“We can fix this.”
I stared at him.
“Fix what?”
“All of it.”
“You don’t even know what I know.”
“I know enough.”
“That sounds like a confession.”
“It isn’t.”
“Then explain.”
He ran a hand through his hair.
“This is bigger than you understand.”
“I’m listening.”
He looked at Margaret.
“I won’t discuss confidential client matters.”
She crossed her arms.
“Convenient.”
“It’s the law.”
“Then hire counsel.”
“I am counsel.”
“Not your own.”
For the first time, Ethan looked tired.
Not polished.
Not strategic.
Just tired.
He lowered his voice.
“Please.”
The word shocked me.
Ethan almost never said please.
“Come home.”
“No.”
“We can sit down.”
“No.”
“I’ll explain the company.”
“Explain it here.”
“I can’t.”
“You won’t.”
His eyes sharpened.
“You think divorcing me makes you safe?”
Margaret straightened.
“That sounds dangerously close to a threat.”
“It wasn’t.”
I believed that.
Strangely.
It didn’t sound like a threat.
It sounded like a warning.
“Safe from what?”
Ethan looked toward the hallway.
Then back.
“You need to stop digging.”
My stomach tightened.
“Why?”
“Because Brooks Strategic Holdings wasn’t created for an affair.”
“Then why?”
Silence.
“The condo wasn’t for Rebecca.”
“Then who?”
Nothing.
“The money wasn’t about a baby.”
“Then what was it about?”
He closed his eyes briefly.
When he opened them, he looked older.
“Someone at my firm.”
Margaret and I exchanged a glance.
“What about them?”
“I found something.”
“What?”
“Financial misconduct.”
The phrase sounded rehearsed.
“What kind?”
“Client money.”
My chest tightened.
“You stole money?”
“No.”
“Did Rebecca?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
He shook his head.
“I can’t tell you.”
“Why?”
“Because the person has more power than you understand.”
“Who?”
“I said I can’t.”
I looked at the letters.
“Rebecca knew.”
“Yes.”
“Claire?”
“Partly.”
“Vanessa?”
“No.”
“And you moved our money to investigate?”
“It wasn’t that simple.”
“Nothing with you ever is.”
He flinched.
Good.
I wanted him to.
Then hated myself for wanting it.
“What happened August fourteenth?”
Ethan hesitated.
“We made a payment.”
“To the clinic.”
“Yes.”
“For Rebecca?”
“No.”
“Who?”
He looked at me.
“The baby’s father.”
My heartbeat changed.
“What?”
“He needed medical treatment.”
“Who is he?”
“I can’t—”
“Stop saying that.”
I slammed the photograph onto the filing cabinet.
“You forged my signature.”
His face went rigid.
“You moved our money.”
“I can explain.”
“You planned a postnup I never signed.”
“That document was never finalized.”
“My signature is on it.”
“Not by me.”
I stared.
“Then who?”
He looked toward the floor.
My pulse hammered.
“Ethan.”
He said nothing.
“Who signed my name?”
“Rebecca.”
The room went silent.
I laughed because the alternative was screaming.
“Rebecca forged my signature?”
“She was trying to help.”
“Help who?”
“Me.”
“With what?”
“Protecting the funds.”
“From me?”
“No.”
“Then why make them your separate property?”
“It was temporary.”
“Do you hear yourself?”
“I was trying to isolate the money.”
“You could have told me.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because if you knew, you became part of it.”
“I was already part of it. It was my money.”
His face tightened.
“Exactly.”
That answer made no sense.
Until Margaret spoke.
“You were using marital funds because transfers from firm-related accounts were being watched.”
Ethan looked at her.
He didn’t deny it.
My stomach turned.
“What were you investigating?”
He sat on one of the unopened boxes.
“The managing partner.”
I knew him.
Not well.
Richard Vale.
Sixty-two.
Prestigious.
Donor.
Photographed with judges and senators.
The man who toasted our wedding.
“What did Richard do?”
Ethan looked at me.
“Moved client settlement money into private entities.”
“How much?”
“Millions.”
“And you knew?”
“I suspected.”
“How does Rebecca connect?”
“She was Richard’s executive assistant before she worked for me.”
My pulse quickened.
“And the baby?”
Ethan looked away.
Then I understood.
“No.”
He said nothing.
“Richard is the father?”
Still nothing.
“Ethan.”
“Yes.”
The word seemed to echo.
“Was he married?”
“Yes.”
“Did his wife know?”
“No.”
“And August fourteenth?”
“Rebecca confronted him.”
“What happened?”
“She told him she was pregnant.”
“And?”
“He told her to end it.”
My stomach turned.
“The clinic payment?”
“Not for that.”
“What then?”
“Richard suffered a cardiac episode during the argument.”
I stared.
“Rebecca called you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“She had discovered the financial records.”
The story unfolded slowly.
Rebecca had copied documents.
Richard found out.
She threatened to report him.
Then she became pregnant.
Richard threatened her career.
Ethan decided to protect her while gathering enough evidence to expose him safely.
The condo became a temporary secure location.
The LLC became a way to move investigative expenses away from firm scrutiny.
It was reckless.
Possibly illegal.
Certainly dishonest.
But not the affair I had imagined.
Yet one question remained.
“Why tell Claire I approved?”
Ethan looked ashamed.
“Because I needed the transfers processed.”
“So you lied.”
“Yes.”
“And the forged signature?”
“I didn’t ask Rebecca to copy it.”
“But you used it.”
Silence.
“Yes.”
My eyes burned.
He had answers.
They didn’t absolve him.
They made everything worse in a different way.
“You could have trusted me.”
“I was trying to protect you.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No, Ethan. You were deciding for me.”
He flinched.
“You didn’t protect me. You controlled what I knew, what I could choose, what money I could access.”
“I thought—”
“That’s the problem.”
He stopped.
“You always thought your judgment mattered more than mine.”
Silence.
The truth sat between us.
Bigger than affairs.
Bigger than money.
Even bigger than divorce.
Ethan stared at the floor.
Finally, he whispered, “I know.”
That surprised me more than any defense could have.
Margaret checked her phone.
Then looked up.
“We have another issue.”
“What?”
She turned the screen toward Ethan.
His face drained.
A breaking-news alert.
FEDERAL INVESTIGATORS RAID VALE & BROOKS LLP.
Richard’s firm.
Ethan’s firm.
Our firm.
The article was seconds old.
Margaret scrolled.
Then stopped.
“What?”
She looked at Ethan.
“They arrested Richard Vale.”
Ethan stood.
“That’s good.”
“No.”
Margaret’s eyes remained on the screen.
“They’re saying an unidentified witness turned over internal documents this morning.”
“Rebecca,” Ethan whispered.
Then his phone rang.
Unknown number.
He answered.
For several seconds, he listened.
His face changed.
“What hospital?”
My heart stopped.
Ethan looked at me.
“It’s Rebecca.”
He ended the call.
“What happened?”
“She’s alive.”
“Then why hospital?”
He grabbed his jacket.
“She came back.”
“From where?”
He looked at me.
“She says she has the original evidence.”
Margaret stood.
“And?”
Ethan stared at us.
“She says Richard wasn’t the only person stealing.”
My stomach tightened.
“Who else?”
Ethan’s phone buzzed.
A photograph appeared.
He opened it.
Then went completely still.
I stepped closer.
The photograph showed a ledger.
May you like
At the bottom of one transfer authorization was a familiar name.
Ethan Brooks.
