Chapter 2 - THE FIRST PAGE OF THE ENVELOPENathan waited exactly forty-three seconds after Grace disappeared through the front door before tearing open the envelope.
Claire watched him from across the dining room.
Eleanor stood beside the table, arms folded.
“Don’t indulge her,” Eleanor said.
Nathan ignored his mother.
He removed three folded documents.
The first had the letterhead of Atlanta Center for Reproductive Medicine.
Nathan frowned.
He recognized the clinic.
Grace had gone there almost eight years earlier when they had first begun discussing children.
He unfolded the page.
Then stopped breathing.
PATIENT: NATHANIEL JAMES WHITMORE
Below his name were laboratory results.
He read the conclusion once.
Then twice.
Then a third time.
Probability of natural biological conception: effectively zero.
Nathan’s hands began trembling.
Claire’s face drained of color.
“What is it?” Eleanor asked.
Nathan looked at his mother.
Then at the newborns.
Then at Claire.
He barely recognized his own voice.
“The doctor says I’m sterile.”
Silence swallowed the room.
Eleanor stared at him.
“That’s impossible.”
Nathan looked down again.
The test was dated eight years earlier.
He remembered the appointment.
Or thought he did.
Grace had told him afterward that the results showed minor fertility complications but nothing they couldn’t overcome.
He had never asked to see the paperwork.
At the time, Whitmore Aerospace had been fighting for a defense contract worth nearly four billion dollars.
He had been traveling three weeks out of every month.
Grace had handled everything.
He hated himself for remembering that.
Claire tightened her arms around the babies.
“The tests could have been wrong.”
Nathan turned slowly.
She stepped backward.
“Nathan, fertility results change.”
“Not like this.”
“How do you know?”
“Because it says genetic.”
Eleanor snatched the report.
Her eyes raced across the page.
“This clinic could be mistaken.”
“There are three specialists’ signatures.”
“That was eight years ago.”
Nathan looked at Claire.
“Did you ever have a paternity test?”
Her lips parted.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because you knew they were yours.”
“I knew you told me they were mine.”
Claire’s expression hardened.
“You were the only man I was seeing.”
Nathan stared at her.
The babies suddenly began crying.
Both at once.
The sound pierced the room.
Claire bounced them gently.
Eleanor walked toward her.
“This changes nothing.”
Nathan turned.
“Mother.”
“It changes nothing.”
“I may not be their father.”
“You raised the possibility before they were born. Claire provided dates. Everything matched.”
“That isn’t proof.”
Eleanor lowered her voice.
“Nathan, calm yourself.”
He laughed bitterly.
“You just offered my wife eighty million dollars to disappear because I brought home children who might not even be mine.”
“Grace knew about this report and deliberately withheld it.”
Nathan looked back at the paper.
That part hurt.
Why had Grace hidden it?
Then he noticed handwriting at the bottom.
Not Grace’s.
A doctor’s notation.
Spouse requested that patient be informed directly. Patient declined follow-up consultation.
Nathan froze.
Memory returned.
Eight years earlier.
Grace had called him while he was boarding a flight to Seattle.
She had sounded shaken.
“Nathan, the clinic wants both of us to come in.”
He had answered impatiently.
“Handle it, sweetheart. Whatever they say, we’ll deal with it later.”
Later never came.
He rubbed both hands across his face.
Grace hadn’t hidden anything.
He simply hadn’t listened.
He opened the second document.
It was from the office of Special Agent Marcus Vale, Defense Criminal Investigative Service.
Nathan’s stomach tightened.
Whitmore Aerospace had been undergoing a routine compliance audit.
Or that was what he had been told.
The letter was addressed to Grace.
Major Grace Whitmore, U.S. Army Reserve Intelligence Command.
Nathan read the next line.
Then sat down.
“What?” Eleanor demanded.
He didn’t answer.
The letter stated that Grace had been cooperating for ten months in an investigation concerning unauthorized transfers from Whitmore Aerospace subsidiaries.
Transfers totaling $214 million.
Funds routed through shell companies.
Signatures forged.
Government contracts compromised.
One name appeared repeatedly.
Claire Bennett.
Nathan looked up.
Claire was already moving toward the hallway.
“Stop.”
She froze.
The babies cried louder.
“What is this?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
He held up the letter.
“Your name is in a federal investigation.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“My wife knew?”
Claire stared at him.
Nathan’s chest tightened.
“My wife knew my company was under investigation because of you?”
Eleanor stepped forward.
“Nathan, documents can be fabricated.”
He looked at her.
That was when he noticed she wasn’t shocked.
Not really.
She was afraid.
The third document remained folded.
Nathan suddenly didn’t want to open it.
He did anyway.
There was no government seal.
No medical letterhead.
Only a photocopy of a bank transfer authorization.
From Whitmore Aerospace’s Caribbean holding account.
Recipient:
EB Holdings International.
Authorized signatory:
Eleanor Beatrice Whitmore.
Amount:
$32,400,000.
Nathan slowly raised his eyes.
His mother looked at the floor.
“Mother?”
Eleanor said nothing.
“Tell me this isn’t real.”
Still nothing.
Claire began backing away again.
Nathan stood.
“Neither of you leaves this house.”
Claire stared at him.
“You can’t keep me here.”
“You’re right.”
He pulled out his phone.
“So I’ll call the FBI instead.”
Eleanor’s head snapped toward him.
“You will do no such thing.”
Nathan looked at the woman who had controlled his family for sixty-seven years.
For the first time in his life, she looked old.
Not powerful.
Not intimidating.
Old.
And terrified.
“What did you do?” he whispered.
Eleanor’s eyes filled with something colder than fear.
“Everything necessary to save this family.”
Nathan looked toward the open front door where Grace had disappeared minutes earlier.
Suddenly, eighty million dollars didn’t feel like a settlement.
It felt like hush money.
And the terrible possibility forming in his mind was worse than infidelity.
“What did you do to Grace?”
Eleanor didn’t answer.
But Claire did.
“She was never supposed to find out.”
Nathan turned toward her.
Claire immediately realized her mistake.
“What did you just say?”
Before she could answer, Nathan’s phone vibrated.
An unknown number.
He answered.
“Mr. Whitmore?”
“Yes.”
“This is Special Agent Marcus Vale.”
Nathan’s pulse stopped.
“We need to speak tonight.”
“About what?”
A pause.
“Your wife.”
Nathan gripped the phone.
“Is Grace in danger?”
May you like
Vale’s answer came quietly.
“She has been for months.”
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