PART 2 — THE ACCOUNT IN MY SON’S NAME
“The one under Leo’s name.”
For a moment, nobody moved.
I held my three-day-old son tighter against my chest and stared at my father.
“What do you mean, an account under Leo’s name?”
Dad didn’t answer immediately.
He was watching Rowan.
And that frightened me more than anything he could have said.
Because Gideon Sterling had spent forty years sitting across from men who lied for a living.
CEOs.
Bankers.
Investors.
People who could smile while moving millions of dollars somewhere no one was supposed to find them.
My father had a particular expression when he knew someone was lying.
He was wearing it now.
Rowan swallowed.
“This is ridiculous.”
Dad turned his eyes toward him.
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
Rowan laughed, but the sound came out thin and nervous.
“Leo is three days old. How could he possibly have an account?”
“That,” Dad said, “is an excellent question.”
My stomach tightened.
Not from labor this time.
From fear.
“Dad.”
He looked at me.
“How do you know about this?”
Dad reached inside his coat.
He removed a folded document and placed it beside the folder I had prepared.
“I had my legal team run a standard asset review this morning.”
Rowan immediately stepped forward.
“You investigated me?”
Dad didn’t move.
“I investigated the man who abandoned my daughter while she was in labor.”
“You had no right.”
“My daughter called you from a hospital and told you your son was being born.”
Dad’s voice remained calm.
“You told her to handle it herself because your mother was cutting a birthday cake.”
Rowan’s face reddened.
“That was between me and my wife.”
“It stopped being between you and your wife when she called me because she had nobody else.”
“Dad,” I interrupted.
Both men looked at me.
“The account.”
Dad nodded.
He opened the document.
“A custodial investment account was created approximately seven weeks ago.”
I frowned.
“Seven weeks ago?”
“Yes.”
“But Leo wasn’t born.”
“You don’t need a child to be born to begin preparing certain financial structures,” Dad said. “But that isn’t the unusual part.”
I looked at Rowan.
He wouldn’t meet my eyes.
“What is?”
“The account was funded with forty-eight thousand dollars.”
My mouth went dry.
I thought I had misheard him.
“Forty-eight thousand?”
Dad nodded.
I looked down at the sleeping baby in my arms.
Forty-eight thousand dollars.
We didn’t have forty-eight thousand dollars available.
At least, I didn’t think we did.
Then the accountant inside me took over.
The exhaustion disappeared.
The hurt disappeared.
Even the anger disappeared.
Numbers began arranging themselves in my mind.
The withdrawals I had already found.
The transfers.
The jewelry purchase.
The private club payments.
The account belonging to Selina.
The company.
Rowan Mercer Holdings.
None of it added up to forty-eight thousand dollars.
“Where did the money come from?”
Dad glanced toward Rowan.
“Ask your husband.”
I did.
“Rowan?”
He rubbed both hands over his face.
“I can explain.”
Those four words.
Every forensic accountant eventually learns to hate them.
I can explain.
People say them when the explanation should have come before the evidence.
“Then explain.”
Rowan looked toward the window.
Then at my father.
Then at me.
“It was supposed to be a surprise.”
I almost couldn’t believe it.
“A surprise?”
“For Leo.”
“You stole money to surprise our son?”
“I didn’t steal anything.”
“You transferred money from our joint savings without telling me.”
“It was my money too.”
“The account was for our baby.”
“And I was using it for our baby.”
Dad said nothing.
He simply watched.
Rowan seemed to gain confidence from my silence.
“I wanted Leo to have something substantial when he grew up.”
I stared at him.
“You opened an investment account for him?”
“Yes.”
“Seven weeks before he was born?”
“Yes.”
“And deposited forty-eight thousand dollars?”
“Yes.”
I looked at Dad.
Something was wrong.
His expression told me everything.
“That’s not all of it, is it?”
“No.”
Rowan’s head snapped toward him.
“Stay out of this.”
Dad ignored him.
“The forty-eight thousand dollars was withdrawn two days later.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
“Every cent.”
I turned slowly toward my husband.
Rowan went pale again.
“Where did it go?”
He didn’t answer.
“ROWAN.”
Leo stirred against my chest.
I immediately lowered my voice.
“Where did our son’s money go?”
“It wasn’t technically his money yet.”
That sentence told me more about my marriage than nine years of living with Rowan ever had.
I walked to the bassinet beside the sofa and carefully placed Leo inside.
He stretched one tiny hand, sighed, and went back to sleep.
Then I turned around.
“Tell me where the forty-eight thousand dollars went.”
Rowan stared at the floor.
“Mom needed help.”
Of course.
Selina.
It was always Selina.
“What kind of help?”
“She had debts.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know.”
“You transferred forty-eight thousand dollars without knowing how much she owed?”
“She was embarrassed.”
I laughed once.
There was nothing humorous in it.
“Interesting.”
“What?”
“She was embarrassed to tell you how much debt she had, but not embarrassed to take money intended for her grandson.”
“Don’t talk about my mother like that.”
Dad shifted slightly.
Rowan noticed.
“Don’t threaten me either.”
Dad raised an eyebrow.
“I haven’t threatened you.”
“You’re standing there trying to intimidate me.”
“No,” Dad said. “If I were trying to intimidate you, you wouldn’t have to wonder.”
“Dad.”
He looked at me.
“Please.”
He nodded and stepped back.
This was my marriage.
My investigation.
My decision.
I returned to the table and opened my laptop.
Rowan stared at me.
“What are you doing?”
“Working.”
“Phoebe, you just gave birth.”
“And somehow I’m still capable of reading a bank statement.”
I opened the financial records I had downloaded before going to the hospital.
My fingers moved across the keyboard.
Account.
Date.
Amount.
Recipient.
I filtered transfers.
There it was.
$48,000.
But it wasn’t going directly to Selina.
It had moved from our savings into another account.
Then another.
Then another.
Three separate transfers.
A classic layering pattern.
My pulse quickened.
“Rowan.”
“What?”
“Why did you split the money?”
He said nothing.
“Eighteen thousand.”
I turned the laptop toward him.
“Fifteen thousand.”
I scrolled.
“Another fifteen thousand.”
His face changed.
Just slightly.
Most people wouldn’t have noticed.
I did.
“What were you trying to hide?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why layer the transfers?”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“You absolutely know what it means.”
“I moved money around.”
“Through three institutions.”
Silence.
“Within forty-eight hours.”
Silence.
“Before consolidating it again.”
His jaw tightened.
I looked at Dad.
“Do you have the destination account?”
He hesitated.
That hesitation was enough.
“Dad.”
“Yes.”
“Whose name?”
“Phoebe—”
“Whose name?”
Dad looked at Rowan.
“Selina Mercer.”
I closed my eyes.
For years, I had tolerated that woman.
The comments about my clothes.
The criticism of my cooking.
The jokes about my “little accounting job.”
The way she entered our home without knocking.
The way Rowan compared everything I did to the way his mother would have done it.
And while I was carrying her grandson, she had been taking money from us.
But something still bothered me.
“Why use Leo’s name at all?”
Dad nodded slowly.
“That’s the question I asked.”
Rowan backed toward the hallway.
“I need a shower.”
“No.”
He stopped.
“We’re finishing this conversation.”
“I’m exhausted, Phoebe.”
I stared at him.
“You’re exhausted?”
He immediately realized his mistake.
“I didn’t mean—”
“I spent fourteen hours giving birth while my father held my hand because my husband was eating birthday cake.”
“I said I was sorry.”
“No, you didn’t.”
Rowan opened his mouth.
Then closed it.
Because I was right.
Not once.
Not in three days.
He hadn’t called to apologize.
He hadn’t asked how labor went.
He hadn’t asked whether I was frightened.
He hadn’t even asked whether I needed anything.
His messages had been about Selina.
The dinner.
The watch.
The traffic.
His plans.
Not me.
Not Leo.
“You’re right,” he whispered.
I waited.
“I’m sorry.”
It should have mattered.
Three days earlier, those words might have broken me.
Now they sounded like something written on a receipt.
Too late to return the purchase.
“Why did you use Leo’s name?”
He looked at the bassinet.
“I told you. I wanted to create something for him.”
“You created it and emptied it forty-eight hours later.”
“Plans changed.”
“No.”
I stepped closer.
“You’re lying.”
His eyes hardened.
“Careful.”
That word made Dad straighten.
But I lifted one hand toward him.
I didn’t need rescuing.
Not anymore.
“Careful about what?”
Rowan stared at me.
For the first time since walking through the door, the embarrassed husband disappeared.
Something colder replaced him.
“You think because your father is rich, you suddenly control everything?”
“No.”
“You’ve lied to me for years about who you are.”
“I kept my father’s wealth private.”
“You deceived me.”
“I wanted you to love me without knowing his bank balance.”
“You made me look like an idiot.”
“No, Rowan.”
I stepped closer.
“You managed that yourself.”
His face twisted.
“Do you have any idea what people are going to say?”
There it was.
Not:
How could I repair this?
Not:
How could I earn your forgiveness?
Not:
Is our son healthy?
People.
Appearances.
Status.
“What people?”
“My friends.”
I stared at him.
“Your friends don’t know who my father is.”
“They will.”
“And that’s what you’re worried about?”
“You don’t understand.”
“Then explain it.”
Rowan suddenly looked toward Dad.
“You knew.”
Dad’s expression remained unreadable.
“Knew what?”
“Who I was.”
“Phoebe told me about you when you became serious.”
“And you let her marry me?”
My father almost smiled.
“She doesn’t require my permission.”
“You could have told me.”
“Told you what?”
“That she was your daughter!”
Dad tilted his head.
“Why would that have mattered?”
Rowan said nothing.
And the silence answered for him.
Dad looked at me.
I saw sadness in his eyes.
Not surprise.
He had suspected something about Rowan for years.
Maybe that was why we had grown apart.
Dad never told me not to marry him.
He simply asked one question the night before my wedding.
Would Rowan still choose you if there were nothing to gain?
At the time, I had been furious.
Now I understood.
“Phoebe.”
Rowan’s voice softened.
He stepped toward me.
“We both made mistakes.”
I almost admired the audacity.
“What was mine?”
“Hiding your family.”
“And yours?”
He hesitated.
“Making some bad financial decisions.”
I laughed.
“Bad financial decisions?”
“Yes.”
“You created a company with your mother owning fifty-one percent.”
“That was for tax reasons.”
“You took money from our son’s savings.”
“I was going to replace it.”
“With what?”
“My business.”
“What business?”
“Mercer Holdings.”
“What does Mercer Holdings do?”
He didn’t answer.
I waited.
“Consulting.”
“What kind?”
“Business consulting.”
“Who are your clients?”
“It’s new.”
“Who are your clients?”
His eyes flicked toward my father.
There.
Again.
That tiny movement.
I followed it.
Dad saw it too.
Suddenly, the room felt colder.
“Why did you look at my father?”
“I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did.”
“No, I didn’t.”
I walked back to the laptop.
I searched the corporate registration number.
Mercer Holdings had been created six months earlier.
I clicked through the available filings.
Registered agent.
Address.
Ownership.
I stopped.
The address looked familiar.
I knew it.
I had seen it somewhere.
“Dad.”
He came beside me.
“Do you recognize this address?”
He leaned down.
His expression changed immediately.
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“One of my subsidiaries used that building years ago.”
Rowan suddenly moved.
He reached for the laptop.
Dad caught his wrist before he touched it.
“Don’t.”
Rowan jerked his arm free.
“This is insane.”
But I was already searching.
Company databases.
Vendor registrations.
Invoices.
Then I found something.
A procurement listing.
Sterling Infrastructure Group.
My father’s company.
I clicked.
Dad leaned closer.
There were hundreds of vendors.
I searched Mercer.
One result.
Mercer Strategic Consulting LLC.
Approved vendor.
My heartbeat began pounding in my ears.
“How?”
Dad whispered.
Rowan moved toward the front door.
“Where are you going?”
“I need air.”
“Sit down.”
“You don’t get to order me around.”
“No,” I said. “But the police might.”
He froze.
I didn’t actually know yet whether a crime had occurred.
But Rowan didn’t know what I knew.
His reaction told me enough.
His hand slowly left the doorknob.
Dad stared at him.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
I opened the vendor payment history.
My mouth went dry.
There had been eleven payments.
Eleven.
Total value:
$684,000.
I stared at the screen.
Then at Rowan.
“Your company received six hundred eighty-four thousand dollars from Sterling Infrastructure?”
Dad’s face had gone frighteningly still.
“That isn’t possible.”
I looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because I’ve never approved Mercer Holdings as a vendor.”
“Maybe someone else did.”
“Not for payments that size.”
Rowan began sweating.
I scrolled through the invoices.
Consulting services.
Risk assessments.
Operational analysis.
Strategic planning.
Vague descriptions.
Round numbers.
Minimal documentation.
My professional instincts screamed.
“These invoices are garbage.”
Dad read them.
“Yes.”
“No supporting reports.”
“No.”
“No project codes.”
“No.”
“And whoever approved them bypassed your standard review process.”
Dad’s jaw tightened.
“Yes.”
I looked at Rowan.
He was no longer angry.
He was scared.
Really scared.
“What did you do?”
“Phoebe, listen to me.”
“What did you do?”
“I didn’t steal anything.”
I hadn’t used the word steal.
He had.
Dad pulled out his phone.
Rowan stepped toward him.
“Who are you calling?”
“My general counsel.”
“No.”
Dad looked at him.
Rowan’s voice cracked.
“Wait.”
Dad lowered the phone slightly.
That single word had changed everything.
“Why?” I asked.
Rowan looked at me.
Then at Leo.
Then back at me.
“Because you don’t understand what you’re looking at.”
“Then help me understand.”
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
“No.”
“Rowan, if six hundred eighty-four thousand dollars was fraudulently transferred from my father’s company to yours, this isn’t a marital argument anymore.”
His eyes filled with panic.
“It’s not mine.”
“What?”
“The money.”
Dad stepped forward.
“Whose is it?”
Rowan pressed both hands against his head.
“I can’t do this.”
I walked closer.
“Whose money is it?”
He looked at me.
And for one brief second, I saw something I had never seen in my husband before.
Fear.
Not fear of losing me.
Not fear of losing Leo.
Fear of someone else.
“Rowan.”
He whispered something.
“What?”
“I said it wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”
My father and I exchanged a glance.
“What wasn’t?”
Before Rowan could answer, his phone began ringing.
He looked at the screen.
And went completely still.
I could see the caller name from where I stood.
MOM.
Selina.
Rowan declined the call.
Two seconds later, it rang again.
MOM.
Decline.
Again.
MOM.
“Answer it,” I said.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want to.”
“Answer it.”
“I said no.”
The phone stopped.
Then mine rang.
I looked down.
SELINA MERCER.
I almost ignored it.
Then my instincts told me not to.
I answered.
“Hello, Selina.”
For once, she didn’t begin with an insult.
She didn’t ask about Leo.
She didn’t ask whether I was recovering.
She didn’t even ask why Rowan wasn’t answering.
She screamed.
“What have you done?”
I moved the phone away from my ear.
“Excuse me?”
“Where is Rowan?”
I looked directly at him.
“Standing in front of me.”
“Put him on.”
“No.”
“You put my son on this phone right now.”
“My son is sleeping.”
“Don’t play games with me, Phoebe.”
Interesting choice of words.
“I’m not playing anything.”
“You have no idea what you’re interfering with.”
The room became silent.
Dad could hear her.
So could Rowan.
His face was almost gray.
“What exactly am I interfering with, Selina?”
Silence.
Then her voice changed.
Lower.
Controlled.
“Family business.”
I looked at the laptop.
“Would that be Mercer Holdings?”
Rowan closed his eyes.
Selina stopped breathing for a second.
It was tiny.
But I heard it.
“How do you know that name?”
“I’m an accountant.”
“You’re a bookkeeper.”
“No, Selina.”
I looked at my father.
“That’s another thing you never bothered learning about me.”
She said nothing.
“I specialize in forensic accounting.”
A long silence followed.
When Selina finally spoke again, the arrogance was gone.
“Phoebe.”
“Yes?”
“Listen very carefully.”
I waited.
“Close your laptop.”
I almost smiled.
“No.”
“Close it.”
“Why?”
“Because there are things you don’t understand.”
“Then explain them.”
“I can’t over the phone.”
“Come here.”
Rowan’s head snapped toward me.
“No.”
I ignored him.
“You wanted to see your grandson, didn’t you?”
“Phoebe, don’t.”
“Come meet him.”
Selina remained silent.
“And bring every document related to Mercer Holdings.”
Rowan grabbed the phone from my hand.
“Mom, don’t come here.”
I reached for it, but he stepped away.
“Rowan.”
He turned his back to me.
“Mom, listen to me. Don’t leave the house.”
Dad was already dialing someone.
Rowan saw him.
“Mr. Sterling, please.”
Dad stopped.
“Give me one reason.”
Rowan looked at him.
“Because if you call your lawyers right now, you’re going to make this worse.”
Dad’s voice became quiet.
“For whom?”
Rowan didn’t answer.
Dad asked again.
“For whom?”
Rowan slowly lowered the phone.
Then he said something I never expected.
“For Phoebe.”
I stared at him.
“What does that mean?”
Rowan’s eyes met mine.
“You think I created Mercer Holdings to steal from your father.”
“Didn’t you?”
“No.”
“Then why did his company pay yours nearly seven hundred thousand dollars?”
“Because someone wanted it to look like I did.”
Dad’s eyes narrowed.
“Who?”
Rowan shook his head.
“I can’t tell you.”
“You’re going to.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Then make me understand.”
Rowan looked toward the bassinet.
Leo was still sleeping.
His tiny chest rose and fell beneath the blanket.
Rowan stared at him for several seconds.
Then his shoulders collapsed.
“I found something eight months ago.”
My anger paused.
“What?”
“At work.”
Rowan worked in corporate compliance for a logistics company.
Or at least that was what I believed.
“I was reviewing vendor records,” he continued.
“I found payments that didn’t make sense.”
Dad moved closer.
“What kind of payments?”
“Shell companies.”
My pulse quickened.
“How many?”
“Dozens.”
“How much money?”
Rowan swallowed.
“More than twenty million.”
The room went silent.
Dad’s face changed.
“From whose company?”
Rowan looked directly at him.
“Yours.”
My father didn’t move.
“That isn’t possible.”
“It is.”
“Who authorized them?”
“I don’t know.”
“You expect me to believe you discovered twenty million dollars disappearing from Sterling companies and decided not to tell anyone?”
“I tried.”
“Who?”
Rowan hesitated.
Then said a name.
“Victor Hale.”
My father went completely still.
I had never heard the name.
But Dad clearly had.
“Who is Victor Hale?” I asked.
Dad didn’t answer.
“Dad?”
He looked at me.
“My chief financial officer.”
I stared at Rowan.
“Your company was receiving payments authorized by my father’s CFO?”
Rowan nodded.
“Why?”
“Because Victor knew I had found the original transactions.”
“And?”
“He gave me a choice.”
“What choice?”
“Take the money and keep quiet.”
Dad’s voice hardened.
“You took it.”
“At first, no.”
Rowan looked ashamed.
“I refused.”
“Then why is Mercer Holdings receiving payments?”
“Because he created the company structure.”
I frowned.
“You said you created it.”
“I signed the papers.”
“That’s creating it.”
“I didn’t design any of this.”
“What about your mother?”
His expression changed.
I knew the answer before he spoke.
“She knew.”
The words hit me harder than I expected.
“How much?”
“More than I did.”
Of course she did.
Selina hadn’t simply taken money from us.
She had been part of whatever this was.
“Why give her fifty-one percent?”
“Victor insisted.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
I stared at him.
“Stop saying you don’t know.”
“I DON’T!”
Leo began crying.
Everyone froze.
I immediately lifted him from the bassinet.
“It’s okay.”
I rocked him gently.
“Mommy’s here.”
The words almost broke me.
Mommy’s here.
Because Daddy hadn’t been.
Rowan watched us.
For the first time, shame appeared on his face.
Real shame.
He stepped toward Leo.
“Can I hold him?”
“No.”
The word came out before I had to think.
He stopped.
His face fell.
But I felt no guilt.
“You haven’t even asked if he’s healthy.”
Rowan looked at me.
“You’ve been home nearly an hour.”
His eyes dropped.
“You haven’t asked what he weighed.”
Silence.
“You haven’t asked whether there were complications.”
Silence.
“You haven’t asked why I’m still wearing hospital socks.”
“Phoebe—”
“You haven’t even said his name.”
His eyes filled with tears.
“Leo.”
Too late.
Everything was too late.
I turned away.
Dad’s phone suddenly vibrated.
He checked the screen.
His expression sharpened.
“What?”
I asked.
He didn’t answer.
“Dad?”
He looked at Rowan.
“My security director just replied.”
Rowan stiffened.
“To what?”
“I asked him to check Victor Hale’s location.”
“Why?”
“Because Victor was supposed to be in London.”
Dad turned the screen toward us.
“He isn’t.”
I looked at the message.
Victor Hale’s company badge had been used that morning.
At Sterling headquarters.
9:42 a.m.
Rowan stared at it.
“No.”
Dad frowned.
“What?”
“He knows.”
“Knows what?”
“That you found out.”
Rowan grabbed his coat.
“Where are you going?”
“We need to leave.”
I almost laughed.
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Phoebe, this isn’t about us anymore.”
“It hasn’t been about us for a long time.”
“Listen to me!”
He stepped closer.
“Victor knows about you.”
My blood chilled.
“What do you mean?”
Rowan looked at Dad.
“He knows Phoebe is your daughter.”
Dad’s expression darkened.
“How?”
“I told him.”
“You WHAT?”
“I had to.”
“Why?”
“Because he threatened Leo.”
The room seemed to tilt.
I tightened my arms around my baby.
“Leo wasn’t born.”
“He knew you were pregnant.”
“How?”
Rowan looked miserable.
“I don’t know.”
I stepped toward him.
“You left me alone in labor knowing someone had threatened our child?”
His eyes filled with panic.
“The birthday dinner wasn’t a birthday dinner.”
Silence.
I stared at him.
“What?”
“Mom’s birthday was the cover.”
“For what?”
“A meeting.”
My father stepped forward.
“With Victor?”
Rowan nodded.
“Why?”
“He said everything would be finished that night.”
“What would be finished?”
“I don’t know.”
I wanted to scream.
Instead, I stared at the man I had married and realized I might never have known him at all.
“You chose that meeting over your son’s birth.”
“I thought I was protecting you.”
“You told me to stop being dramatic.”
“I needed you angry at me.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“If you thought I was just being selfish, you wouldn’t follow me.”
“Rowan, I was IN LABOR.”
“I know.”
His voice broke.
“I know.”
For the first time since he entered the house, tears ran down his face.
“I thought I could fix everything before Leo was born.”
“But he came early.”
“Yes.”
“And instead of telling me the truth, you abandoned me.”
“I was terrified.”
“So was I.”
That silenced him.
Dad moved toward the window.
The black car outside still waited at the curb.
His driver sat behind the wheel.
Then Dad’s posture changed.
“What is it?” I asked.
He didn’t answer.
He pulled the curtain aside slightly.
“Phoebe.”
Something in his voice frightened me.
“What?”
“Take Leo upstairs.”
“Why?”
“Now.”
Rowan rushed toward the window.
He looked outside.
His face drained white for the third time that day.
“Oh God.”
“What?”
Neither man answered.
I walked toward them with Leo in my arms.
Dad immediately blocked me.
“Don’t.”
“Dad, tell me what’s happening.”
He looked toward the street.
“A car has been parked across from your house for the last several minutes.”
“So?”
“No plates.”
My heart began pounding.
Rowan whispered, “It’s him.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do.”
“How?”
“Because I’ve seen that car before.”
“Where?”
“Outside my office.”
Dad reached for his phone.
Then the doorbell rang.
Nobody moved.
One ring.
Then another.
Rowan whispered, “Don’t answer it.”
Dad motioned for me to move toward the hallway.
I held Leo against my chest.
The doorbell rang a third time.
Then my phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
A text message.
I opened it.
There was a photograph.
For a second, I couldn’t understand what I was seeing.
Then my knees nearly gave out.
It was a picture of me.
Taken through our living room window.
Minutes earlier.
I was standing beside the bassinet.
Holding Leo.
Underneath the photograph was one sentence.
TELL GIDEON TO STOP LOOKING.
Dad saw it over my shoulder.
His face transformed.
Not fear.
Fury.
Rowan whispered, “I told you.”
Another message arrived.
This one contained no photograph.
Just an address.
I recognized it immediately.
St. Matthew’s Hospital.
The hospital where Leo had been born.
Then another line appeared.
WE KNOW WHICH ROOM YOUR WIFE WAS IN.
Rowan grabbed the phone.
“Victor.”
Dad was already calling security.
But before anyone could move, the front door handle slowly turned.
Once.
Twice.
Someone was trying it.
Leo began crying.
I backed toward the stairs.
Rowan stepped in front of us.
And then a voice came through the other side of the door.
A woman’s voice.
“Rowan?”
He froze.
I recognized it too.
Selina.
“Open the door.”
Rowan stared at me.
Dad stared at him.
“Mom?” Rowan called.
“Yes. Let me in.”
He moved toward the door.
“Wait,” Dad said.
Rowan stopped.
Dad looked through the peephole.
His face became unreadable.
“What?”
I whispered.
Dad didn’t answer.
“Dad, is it Selina?”
“Yes.”
Rowan reached for the lock.
Dad caught his arm.
“But she’s not alone.”
Every muscle in Rowan’s body tightened.
“Who is with her?”
Dad looked directly at him.
“A man.”
Rowan’s lips parted.
“Victor?”
Dad looked again.
Then slowly shook his head.
“No.”
Rowan seemed confused.
“Then who?”
The man outside stepped into Dad’s line of sight.
My father’s face suddenly lost all color.
That terrified me more than anything that had happened that day.
Because Gideon Sterling was not a man who frightened easily.
“Dad?”
He turned toward me.
And when he spoke, his voice was barely audible.
“Phoebe, take Leo upstairs and lock the bedroom door.”
“Who is he?”
“Go.”
“WHO IS HE?”
The knocking stopped.
For several seconds, the house was completely silent.
Then the man’s voice came through the door.
“Gideon.”
My father closed his eyes.
The stranger laughed softly.
“It’s been a long time.”
I stared at Dad.
“You know him?”
Dad didn’t answer.
The man knocked once.
Slowly.
Almost politely.
Then he said something that made my father grip the edge of the table.
“You should have told your daughter the truth before she married my son.”
I stopped breathing.
Rowan stared at the door.
“What did he say?”
I looked at my husband.
Then at Dad.
“My son?”
Rowan whispered.
The stranger outside laughed again.
Dad turned toward Rowan with an expression I couldn’t understand.
Shock.
Recognition.
And something that looked dangerously close to guilt.
“Dad,” I whispered.
“Who is that man?”
Before he could answer, Selina spoke from outside.
And this time, her words destroyed everything I thought I knew about my marriage.
“Phoebe, open the door.”
She paused.
“It’s time you learned why Rowan was really chosen to marry you.”
TO BE CONTINUED…
