Chapter 3

The next morning, Mrs. Whitmore showed up at my office.

She hadn't made an appointment. She was sitting by the front desk with a red gift bag in front of her.

I'd just come out of a meeting. She pushed the bag toward me.

"I've already called the wedding people. Everything that needs to be reinstated has been reinstated."

"That's not possible."

The smile left her face.

"Claire, a woman should know when to rein in her temper."

Inside the bag was a gold bracelet and a ledger.

She tapped the ledger with her fingertip.

"Everything Nathan has spent on you over the years—I haven't tallied it precisely. The bracelet is a gesture from the Whitmore family."

I opened it.

Seven years of dinners he'd treated me to, flowers he'd sent, holiday red envelopes, even cab fares—all itemized.

Total: eighty-six thousand three hundred and twenty dollars.

I asked her:

"Would you like to itemize the three million I put toward the wedding too?"

Mrs. Whitmore's expression changed.

"Child, why must everything with you come down to money?"

"You're the one who started keeping accounts."

She lifted her teacup and took a sip.

"Nathan is a man. His career comes first. Once you marry in, stop fixating on these small sums."

"Three million is a small sum, but eighty-six thousand is a debt?"

She was cornered. Her expression soured further.

The receptionist and several colleagues had turned to look.

Mrs. Whitmore lowered her voice.

"Claire, some things cannot be made into a public scene. If you really tear off the Whitmore family's face, don't expect to ever walk through our door again."

"I have no intention of walking through it."

She set down her cup.

"Think carefully. That agreement from seven years ago—you signed it."

I looked at her.

"And?"

"So there are things you cannot say. Things you cannot touch."

"What if I touch them?"

She fixed her eyes on me.

"The penalty is five million. Can you afford that?"

I remembered that agreement.

Seven years ago, I'd woken up with an IV still in my hand, and Mrs. Whitmore placed documents in front of me to sign.

She said it was just to protect Nathan.

She said as long as I was sensible, the Whitmore family would accept me as a daughter-in-law.

I believed her then.

Mrs. Whitmore pushed the gold bracelet closer.

"The wedding continues. Sign the property transfer. And go apologize to Lily while you're at it. Her health is fragile. She can't handle you making trouble like this."

I took out my phone.

"I'll have a lawyer review that agreement."

"Claire Bennett, do you really think Nathan can't live without you?"

I looked at her.

"You're right. That's why I don't want him anymore."

Mrs. Whitmore stood, her face white with rage.

"You'll regret this."

"That's my business."

After she left, a colleague from legal sent me a message.

"Claire, that old agreement you mentioned—we'd need to check the medical records for the signing date. If you were still in post-operative recovery at the time, the document may not be enforceable."

I pulled up the hospital system.

The records from seven years ago were locked. Access denied.

That afternoon, an unfamiliar number called.

The woman on the other end said her name was Parker. She'd worked in the emergency department at Westbridge General Hospital.

"Ms. Bennett, I'm about to retire. While sorting through old files, I saw your name. There are some things I think should be returned to you."

I arranged to meet her across from the hospital.

Nurse Parker sat by the window. Her hair had gone mostly gray.

She slid an old USB drive across the table.

"The surveillance footage from the ER corridor that night. Someone told me to delete it. I didn't delete all of it."

I asked:

"Who told you to delete it?"

She didn't answer. She just looked at me.

"Watch it. You'll understand."