Chapter 5 - THE DOCTOR WHO OWED HIM
Nathan Cole arrived at the hospital at seven forty the next morning.
He did not come voluntarily.
Detective Bennett brought him.
Technically, he had agreed to an interview.
But the presence of his attorney suggested he understood how serious the situation had become.
Emily watched through the glass panel of a private consultation room.
Nathan looked older than she remembered.
Gray at his temples.
Expensive navy suit.
No white coat.
No smile.
He had attended Emily and Preston’s wedding.
He had toasted them.
He had once held a glass of champagne and told Emily she was “the first person who ever made Preston slow down.”
Now his signature appeared on paperwork for a procedure Emily had never requested.
Emily turned away.
“I don’t want to see him.”
Raymond nodded.
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to know what he says.”
“That, you can do.”
Detective Bennett came out twenty minutes later.
Her expression told Emily enough.
“He says the appointment was created at Preston’s request.”
Emily’s hands curled.
“Why?”
“Preston told him you had been experiencing severe anxiety and wanted to discuss early delivery.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“I know.”
“Did Nathan speak to me?”
“No.”
“Did he verify anything?”
“No.”
“So why did he create the appointment?”
Detective Bennett hesitated.
“Because Preston has invested heavily in Dr. Cole’s clinic.”
Emily stared.
“How heavily?”
“Enough that Dr. Cole admits he rarely questioned him.”
Emily laughed bitterly.
“So my husband buys loyalty by the percentage.”
Detective Bennett sat.
“There’s more.”
Emily leaned back.
“Of course.”
“The consent form was not created by Dr. Cole.”
“Who created it?”
“His office manager received it by email.”
“From?”
“A Whitmore Capital address.”
Emily looked at Raymond.
“Preston?”
“Not necessarily.”
Detective Bennett turned her notebook.
“The sender account belonged to Laura Bell.”
Preston’s assistant.
Again.
“What is Laura saying?”
“She claims Preston dictated everything.”
“Do you believe her?”
“Parts.”
Emily nodded.
“What parts don’t you believe?”
“The money.”
“What about it?”
“Two hundred thousand dollars is a lot for someone who thought she was performing ordinary administrative work.”
Emily agreed.
Detective Bennett continued.
“We also found a second payment.”
Raymond looked up.
“To Laura?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Three hundred thousand.”
Emily stared.
“When?”
“Yesterday morning.”
Before the kick.
Before Emily called Raymond.
Before everything fell apart.
“For what?”
“Consulting.”
Emily shook her head.
“From Vanessa again?”
“No.”
Detective Bennett looked at Raymond.
“This payment came from an entity tied to Preston’s father.”
Emily had not seen Harold Whitmore in almost four months.
Preston claimed his father was traveling.
Harold was seventy-one.
Old-school.
Polished.
Quietly cruel.
He had never approved of Emily.
Not because she lacked money.
Because the wrong side of her family had more.
Harold believed the Whitmore name should dominate every room.
The Saint Claire name prevented that.
Emily swallowed.
“Harold knew?”
“We don’t know yet.”
Raymond looked toward Margaret.
“Find out.”
Emily rubbed her forehead.
The baby moved.
She exhaled.
Detective Bennett noticed.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t have to do this right now.”
“I do.”
“No, you don’t.”
Emily looked at her.
“If I stop asking questions, they keep deciding things for me.”
The detective held her gaze.
Then nodded.
“Okay.”
Emily asked the question that had been sitting beneath everything.
“What would happen if I delivered early?”
Raymond looked at her.
“Emily.”
“No.”
She turned to Detective Bennett.
“Why next Tuesday?”
The detective flipped a page.
“That’s what we’re trying to understand.”
Margaret spoke from near the window.
“I may know.”
Everyone turned.
She held a tablet.
“The Saint Claire annual voting date is next Thursday.”
Emily stared.
“One day later.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
Margaret brought up a trust document.
“If Emily were medically incapacitated during the meeting, an approved proxy could vote for her.”
“The forged proxy.”
“Yes.”
Raymond swore.
Emily felt suddenly cold.
“So the plan was to have me hospitalized.”
Margaret nodded.
“Possibly.”
“Deliver my baby early.”
“Possibly.”
“Keep me sedated.”
“We can’t establish intent yet.”
Emily looked at her.
“But the timing works.”
“Yes.”
“And Preston’s proxy would be used the next day.”
“Yes.”
Silence filled the room.
Emily thought of all the ways people imagined financial crimes.
Dark rooms.
Hidden transfers.
Numbers moving between accounts.
No one imagined a maternity ward.
No one imagined a pregnant woman being induced too early because her signature was inconvenient.
Emily’s voice came out barely above a whisper.
“They were going to use my body as part of the transaction.”
Raymond’s eyes filled with anger.
“Yes.”
Emily closed hers.
She let herself feel it for five seconds.
The horror.
Then she opened her eyes.
“Change the annual meeting date.”
Margaret blinked.
“What?”
“Can we?”
“Yes.”
“Move it.”
“To when?”
Emily looked at Raymond.
“Tomorrow.”
Margaret stared.
“That’s aggressive.”
“Good.”
Raymond understood immediately.
“If Preston planned around next Thursday, moving it forces him to react.”
Emily nodded.
“People make mistakes when they have to move faster than planned.”
Margaret looked between them.
“That sounds like something your mother would say.”
Emily’s chest tightened.
“She said it often.”
Raymond smiled faintly.
“She did.”
Margaret picked up her phone.
“I’ll see what can be done.”
By noon, the meeting was officially rescheduled.
By twelve thirty, Preston knew.
At twelve forty-two, he called Emily.
She watched the phone vibrate.
Raymond looked at her.
“Don’t.”
Emily answered.
“Hello.”
Preston said nothing for two seconds.
Then:
“You moved the meeting.”
Emily looked out the hospital window.
“Yes.”
“You have no idea what you’re doing.”
“I’m learning.”
“This is Raymond.”
“No.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
Emily almost smiled.
“You have been lying to me for months.”
“Emily, listen.”
“I am.”
Preston lowered his voice.
“This company affects thousands of people.”
“Whose company?”
A pause.
“You’re angry.”
“Yes.”
“You’re scared.”
“Yes.”
“And Raymond is using that.”
“No.”
Preston exhaled.
“Vanessa lost her temper.”
“She kicked me.”
“She was wrong.”
“You watched.”
“I froze.”
“You tried to delete the video.”
Silence.
Emily’s heart pounded.
That was the first accusation he could not immediately explain away.
“Who told you that?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters.”
“No, Preston.”
She looked at the fetal monitor.
“What matters is you tried to erase what happened to me.”
He spoke quickly.
“I was trying to prevent a scandal.”
“A scandal.”
“Yes.”
“You mean evidence.”
“No.”
“You monitored my hospital visits.”
“I worried about you.”
“You forged my proxy.”
“I did not.”
“Laura says otherwise.”
Silence.
Emily waited.
When Preston finally spoke again, his voice had changed.
“Laura is a liar.”
“So is my signature?”
“You signed more documents than you remember.”
“I was in Cleveland on the date.”
Silence again.
Emily closed her eyes.
She had him.
Maybe not legally.
But emotionally.
For the first time, Preston understood that Emily knew.
Not some things.
Enough things.
“Come home,” he said.
“No.”
“Let me explain.”
“No.”
“You owe me that.”
Emily opened her eyes.
“I owe you nothing.”
“You are carrying my son.”
Emily’s hand tightened around the phone.
“Our son.”
“Yes.”
“And you scheduled a procedure using my name.”
“I didn’t.”
“Nathan says you did.”
“He misunderstood.”
“The appointment was one day before the Saint Claire vote.”
No response.
Emily felt her pulse beating in her throat.
“Was I supposed to be awake at that meeting, Preston?”
“Stop.”
“Was I supposed to be awake?”
“Emily.”
“Answer me.”
His voice sharpened.
“You’re making accusations you can never take back.”
She stared at the wall.
“You’re right.”
For one second he sounded relieved.
Then Emily continued.
“So I’m going to make sure I only accuse you of things we can prove.”
She ended the call.
Raymond was watching her.
“You okay?”
“No.”
She placed the phone on the table.
“But I will be.”
Five minutes later, Detective Bennett called.
Her voice was urgent.
“We found Harold Whitmore.”
Emily sat straighter.
“Where?”
“Not where Preston said he was.”
Raymond came closer.
“Where?”
Detective Bennett paused.
“A private rehabilitation center outside Philadelphia.”
Emily frowned.
“Rehabilitation?”
“For stroke patients.”
Her stomach dropped.
“What?”
“He suffered a stroke eleven weeks ago.”
Emily stared at Raymond.
Preston had told everyone Harold was traveling in Europe.
Why hide a stroke?
Detective Bennett continued.
“He has significant speech impairment.”
Emily felt dread building.
“But he can communicate?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Writing.”
May you like
The detective’s next words changed the direction of the entire investigation.
“He wrote your name six times when we asked him who we should contact.”
