Chapter 3
I forgot how to breathe.
“What?”
Ethan tried sitting up, then winced and fell back against the pillow.
“Emily, I need you to listen to me.”
“No.”
I gripped the arms of the wheelchair.
“You just said your mother tried to murder me.”
“I know.”
“And you knew she might?”
His silence answered before his mouth did.
Something inside me cracked.
“You knew.”
“Not exactly.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“I didn’t know about the brakes.”
“But you knew she wanted me hurt.”
His eyes filled with tears.
“I knew she was becoming dangerous.”
I stared at the man I had slept beside for six years.
The man who kissed me before work.
The man who held me through miscarriages.
The man who promised there were no secrets between us.
“How long?”
“Emily—”
“How long?”
“About three months.”
Margaret’s words came rushing back.
Ask your husband what he promised me three months ago.
I felt nauseated.
“What happened three months ago?”
Ethan looked at Harris.
The detective stepped toward the door.
“This is between you two for the moment. But don’t leave anything out, Mr. Carter.”
He walked outside.
The nurse followed.
The officer remained at the door.
Ethan looked at me.
“My father called me into his office.”
“Richard?”
“Yes.”
Richard Carter was nothing like Margaret.
At least I had always believed that.
Quiet.
Reserved.
Almost invisible whenever his wife entered a room.
He had built Carter Medical Technologies from a tiny engineering firm into a corporation worth hundreds of millions of dollars.
Ethan worked there.
Margaret loved telling people it was a family empire.
“What did Richard want?”
“He told me he was sick.”
My anger paused.
“What?”
“Pancreatic cancer.”
I stared at him.
“He has cancer?”
“Advanced.”
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“He asked us not to.”
“Us?”
“My mother and me.”
Another secret.
Of course.
Ethan continued.
“He said he probably had less than a year.”
“Oh my God.”
Despite everything, tears filled my eyes.
Richard had always been kind to me.
Not warm.
But kind.
At family dinners, when Margaret insulted my clothes or my job or my family, Richard would quietly redirect the conversation.
Once, after Margaret called me “a temporary addition,” Richard had found me crying in the pantry.
He handed me a glass of water and said, “People who make you feel small are usually terrified of how large your place in the world may become.”
I never forgot it.
“Where is he now?”
“Switzerland.”
“What?”
“He left for treatment two weeks ago.”
That matched what Margaret had told everyone.
A business trip.
“How does this connect to me?”
Ethan closed his eyes.
“My father changed his estate plan.”
My stomach tightened.
“He transferred controlling shares of the company into a trust.”
“For you?”
“For our child.”
I stared at him.
“We didn’t have a child.”
“He knew we were trying.”
“That makes no sense.”
“It wasn’t only for a biological child. The trust says the controlling shares eventually pass to my first legally recognized child. Until that child turns thirty, you and I serve as trustees together.”
I felt the blood drain from my face.
“And if I die?”
Ethan looked away.
“Ethan.”
“You would normally remain trustee.”
“Normally?”
“My mother pressured Dad to include a contingency clause.”
My voice turned cold.
“What clause?”
“If either parent is declared unable to serve, another Carter family member can petition to replace that parent as trustee.”
“Your mother.”
“Yes.”
The room became very quiet.
“So if I die—”
“She could petition.”
“And if you die?”
“You would control it alone unless challenged.”
I stared at him.
“Then why would she target me instead of both of us?”
“Because she thought she could control me.”
That hurt more than I expected.
“Could she?”
“No.”
“But you let her believe she could.”
Ethan rubbed his face.
“I was trying to protect you.”
I laughed bitterly.
“You did a wonderful job.”
“I deserve that.”
“You deserve worse.”
He swallowed.
“I know.”
“Keep talking.”
“When Dad changed the trust, Mom exploded. She said he was giving the company to an unborn stranger.”
“Our child.”
“Yes.”
“She called our child a stranger?”
“She said you would use a baby to steal everything.”
I felt my hand move protectively toward my stomach.
Ethan noticed.
His eyes softened.
“Is the baby okay?”
I hated that I still loved him enough for his fear to affect me.
“For now.”
He started crying.
“I thought I lost you both.”
“You didn’t even know about the baby until after the crash.”
“I suspected.”
“What?”
He looked guilty.
“I saw your bloodwork notification yesterday morning.”
“You accessed my medical records too?”
“No. Your patient portal sent an alert to the family tablet at home. You logged in on it last month and never signed out.”
I remembered.
I had checked test results while cooking dinner.
The tablet stayed in the kitchen.
Anyone in the house could have seen it.
Including—
“Margaret.”
Ethan nodded.
“She was at our house yesterday.”
“Why?”
“She said she wanted to bring you flowers before surgery.”
Margaret had never brought me flowers in her life.
“She saw the pregnancy result.”
“I think so.”
“And then she followed us?”
“I saw her SUV behind us for part of the drive.”
My skin prickled.
“You didn’t tell me.”
“I thought she was going to the hospital.”
“Why?”
“She knew you were having surgery.”
“Why did she know?”
“Because I told her.”
I looked away.
Every answer created another betrayal.
Ethan whispered, “I’m sorry.”
“Stop saying that.”
“I don’t know what else to say.”
“Tell me why you asked for Detective Harris.”
Ethan’s face changed.
That question frightened him.
“I met him two weeks ago.”
“Why?”
“Because Dad asked me to.”
“Richard knows?”
“Some of it.”
“Some of what?”
Ethan leaned toward me.
“My mother has been stealing from the company.”
I stared at him.
“Millions.”
“How many millions?”
“We don’t know. At least eighteen.”
I almost laughed from shock.
“Eighteen million dollars?”
“Possibly more.”
“And Richard discovered it?”
“Yes.”
“Why isn’t she in prison?”
“Because Dad wanted proof before confronting her. He thought she was moving money through shell companies.”
“And you helped investigate.”
“With Harris.”
My thoughts raced.
“So Margaret thinks Richard’s estate plan takes the company away from her, you’re investigating her theft, and now I’m pregnant with the child who eventually gets control.”
Ethan nodded.
“She had three reasons to hate me.”
“More than three.”
I looked at him.
His face tightened.
“What does that mean?”
Before he could answer, shouting erupted in the hallway.
An officer yelled.
Something crashed.
Harris burst through the door.
“Lock it!”
The officer slammed it shut.
“What happened?” Ethan asked.
Harris pulled his weapon.
“Someone tried entering Emily’s room wearing hospital scrubs.”
My heart stopped.
“Who?”
“They ran.”
“Margaret?”
“No.”
Harris looked directly at Ethan.
“A man.”
Ethan went pale.
“Description?”
“Six feet. Gray hair. Late fifties or early sixties.”
Ethan stared at him.
“No.”
“What?”
“No, that’s impossible.”
“Who are you thinking of?”
Ethan’s voice barely came out.
“My father.”
I looked between them.
“Richard is in Switzerland.”
Ethan shook his head.
“That’s what he told my mother.”
Harris lowered his weapon slightly.
“What are you saying?”
Ethan looked at me.
“My father never went to Switzerland.”
“Then where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
The lights suddenly went out.
Everything turned black.
I screamed.
Someone slammed into the door from outside.
The officer shouted.
Harris switched on a flashlight.
“Stay behind me!”
Emergency lights flickered red.
The door handle moved.
Once.
Twice.
Then stopped.
My heartbeat thundered.
Ethan whispered, “Emily.”
“What?”
“Come here.”
“I can’t walk.”
“Move your chair beside me.”
I pushed awkwardly with my feet.
Pain tore through my body.
Harris helped pull me beside the bed.
Then Ethan reached beneath his pillow.
He pulled out a folded envelope.
“What is that?”
“If something happens—”
“Nothing is happening.”
“Take it.”
He shoved it into my hands.
On the front, written in Ethan’s handwriting, were three words.
FOR EMILY ONLY.
“What’s inside?”
“The truth.”
A gunshot exploded somewhere in the hallway.
I screamed.
Another shot followed.
Then silence.
Harris pressed his radio.
No response.
The hospital’s emergency alarm began blaring.
The door opened a fraction.
Harris aimed.
“Police! Show your hands!”
A hand appeared.
Then Detective Harris lowered his weapon.
Dr. Reynolds stumbled inside.
Blood covered the sleeve of his white coat.
“Oh my God,” I gasped.
“It’s not mine,” he said.
“Whose?”
“One of the officers.”
Harris rushed past him.
Dr. Reynolds locked the door again.
“What happened?” Ethan asked.
“There was a man near the stairwell. The officer confronted him.”
“What did he look like?”
“Older. Gray hair.”
Ethan closed his eyes.
Dr. Reynolds stared at him.
“You know him?”
Ethan whispered, “Maybe.”
I clutched the envelope.
“Stop protecting people.”
“I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
I ripped the envelope open.
Ethan reached toward me.
“Emily, wait.”
“No.”
Inside was a photograph.
A bank statement.
And a handwritten letter.
The photograph showed Margaret standing in a parking garage beside a man.
A gray-haired man.
At first I didn’t recognize him because his face was turned slightly away.
Then my stomach dropped.
It was Richard.
They were arguing.
The date printed on the corner was yesterday.
Richard had been in Boston.
I turned to the bank statement.
Twenty-two million dollars had been transferred from a Carter Medical account to a company called Northstar Holdings.
The authorized signature at the bottom belonged to—
Ethan.
I looked up slowly.
“You signed this.”
His face broke.
“I can explain.”
“You transferred twenty-two million dollars?”
“It wasn’t what it looks like.”
“Everything you say isn’t what it looks like!”
“Emily—”
“Were you stealing with your mother?”
“No!”
“Then why is your name here?”
Ethan tried getting out of bed.
Pain stopped him.
“I was setting a trap.”
I stared at him.
He pointed to the handwritten letter.
“Read that.”
My hands shook as I unfolded it.
The handwriting was Richard’s.
Emily,
If you are reading this, things have gone worse than I feared.
Do not trust Margaret.
Do not trust the company attorneys.
And until you know who tampered with the trust, do not trust Ethan completely either.
My eyes lifted from the page.
Ethan looked devastated.
I kept reading.
The final sentence made my chest tighten.
The child you are carrying may be the only person standing between Margaret and everything she has spent thirty years trying to hide.
I stopped.
Richard knew I was pregnant.
Before the hospital.
Before the crash.
“How?” I whispered.
Ethan said nothing.
I held up the letter.
“How did your father know?”
The door shook.
Someone pounded from the other side.
“Dr. Reynolds!”
A nurse’s voice.
“Open the door!”
Dr. Reynolds moved forward.
Harris shouted from the hallway, “Don’t!”
Too late.
The door opened.
A nurse stood there.
Behind her was a security officer.
For one second, everything seemed fine.
Then the security officer pushed the nurse aside and raised a syringe.
He lunged straight toward me.
Ethan shouted.
I tried rolling backward.
The man grabbed my arm.
The needle came within inches of my skin.
Then Ethan threw himself out of the hospital bed.
His shoulder slammed into the attacker.
Both men crashed to the floor.
The syringe skidded beneath a cabinet.
My stitches tore with pain as I screamed for help.
The attacker punched Ethan across the face.
Ethan fell.
The man scrambled toward me again.
Then Harris appeared.
“Don’t move!”
The attacker froze.
Harris forced him facedown.
Officers rushed in.
Within seconds, the man was handcuffed.
I stared at the syringe.
Dr. Reynolds carefully picked it up with gloves.
“What is it?” I asked.
He examined the label.
Then his face drained of color.
“Doctor?”
He looked at me.
“If he had injected this entire dose…”
“What?”
Dr. Reynolds swallowed.
“You probably would have lost the baby.”
The attacker began laughing.
Not loudly.
Just enough for me to hear.
Harris dragged him upright.
“Who sent you?”
The man smiled at me.
May you like
Then he said something that turned Ethan completely still.
“Your father says hello.”
