Chapter 11 - The Fourth Bowl
Thomas stared at me.
Rebecca slowly moved closer.
Julian noticed.
“What’s going on?”
Thomas remained calm.
“Claire called my office.”
“I told your assistant nine.”
“She told me eight.”
“No.”
The temperature in the room seemed to drop.
Thomas reached toward his phone.
Rebecca said:
“Don’t.”
He stopped.
I had known Thomas Whitmore for years.
He handled several property transactions.
Trust structures.
Private closings.
He knew more about my holdings than almost anyone outside my legal team.
And suddenly Martin’s access made sense.
Not completely.
But enough.
“Do you know Martin Cole?”
Thomas sighed.
That was answer enough.
Julian stepped forward.
“You son of a—”
“Stop.”
I raised my hand.
Thomas looked at me.
“Yes.”
“How?”
“He contacted me.”
“When?”
“Six months ago.”
Rebecca’s expression hardened.
“And you didn’t tell us?”
“He claimed he represented potential litigants.”
“Against whom?”
“Claire.”
I felt my baby move.
My hand instinctively touched my stomach.
“What did you give him?”
“Nothing confidential.”
Rebecca laughed bitterly.
“That’s lawyer language.”
Thomas’s jaw tightened.
“I did not participate in fraud.”
“Then why are you here early?”
He hesitated.
Finally:
“Because I received a copy of the forged deed filing.”
“When?”
“Before dinner.”
“And you didn't call me?”
“I wanted to confirm it.”
“Why?”
His eyes shifted toward Eleanor.
Then Julian.
“There is something else.”
He opened the leather folder.
Beneath the deed documents was a sealed envelope I had never seen.
Rebecca stared at it.
Thomas said:
“This arrived at my office this afternoon.”
“From Martin?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
He slid it toward me.
My name was written across the front.
Claire Hayes.
Then beneath it:
Regarding the unborn child.
Julian stepped beside me.
“What the hell is that?”
Thomas shook his head.
“I haven't opened it.”
I reached toward the envelope.
Then Eleanor screamed:
“DON’T!”
Everyone turned.
She was shaking.
I stared at her.
“You know what this is.”
She backed away.
“No.”
“Yes, you do.”
Julian grabbed her shoulders.
“Mom, what did you do?”
Eleanor looked at my stomach.
Then at me.
May you like
And whispered:
“Claire… your marriage was never supposed to last long enough for you to have his baby.”
