Chapter 3 - THE WOMAN I WAS SUPPOSED TO MARRY
Brielle Cartwright arrived at the apartment at eleven forty-seven.
She did not call first.
She never needed to.
The doorman had known her for years.
She stepped out of the elevator wearing cream trousers, a charcoal coat, and the composed expression of a woman trained since childhood never to appear surprised.
Then Max ran past her wearing one sock.
Brielle stopped.
Mason followed.
Then Micah.
Then Milo.
She looked at me.
“Oh.”
There was a long silence.
I almost laughed at the inadequacy of that single word.
“Brielle.”
“So the rumors are understated.”
“What rumors?”
“Your mother told everyone you suffered an emotional breakdown.”
Mara appeared behind me.
Brielle’s eyes moved toward her.
Recognition came immediately.
“Mara Quinn.”
Mara stiffened.
“You know me?”
“I know your name.”
I stepped between them instinctively.
Brielle noticed.
“So it’s true.”
“I don’t know what’s true yet.”
Brielle looked at the boys again.
“Adrian, they have your face.”
“Yes.”
“That seems inconvenient for several people.”
Mara frowned.
“What does that mean?”
Brielle removed her coat.
“It means yesterday morning, Eleanor Whitaker was celebrating a merger.”
She looked at me.
“Today she is trying to prevent anyone from finding out you may have four sons.”
“What merger?”
“The one our engagement was supposed to finalize socially.”
I had known our families wanted a closer business relationship.
I had not understood there was already a formal structure built around the marriage.
Brielle opened her bag and placed a document on the kitchen island.
“Cartwright Capital was prepared to purchase sixteen percent of Whitaker Holdings.”
I stared at her.
“That was never presented to the board.”
“Because the announcement was supposed to come after our engagement.”
I read the first page.
There were signatures from attorneys representing both families.
Not ours.
Their lawyers.
My jaw tightened.
“Why does our marriage matter?”
Brielle’s expression became almost apologetic.
“Because my father wanted succession guarantees.”
“What guarantees?”
“That controlling voting interests would remain consolidated through our future children.”
The room went silent.
Mara took one slow step backward.
I looked at the boys.
Then at the document.
“If these four are mine…”
“Then the agreement becomes very complicated.”
“How complicated?”
Brielle opened to an appendix.
“Your grandfather’s trust.”
I knew the Whitaker trust contained succession clauses.
I had never seen this provision.
Biological descendants acknowledged before Adrian Whitaker’s thirty-fifth birthday shall be included as members of the primary beneficiary branch.
I read it again.
My thirty-fifth birthday was eleven months away.
Brielle continued.
“If paternity is established and you acknowledge them, the trust structure changes.”
“In what way?”
“Your mother’s temporary voting authority ends earlier than expected.”
Mara stared at me.
“Your mother controls your company?”
“Part of it.”
Brielle shook her head.
“More than part.”
She tapped another paragraph.
“Eleanor currently votes the shares held for Adrian’s future descendants.”
“That makes no sense.”
“It did when the trust was written.”
“Explain.”
“Your grandfather created a reserve block.”
My pulse quickened.
“How large?”
“Twelve percent.”
Twelve percent of Whitaker Holdings was worth hundreds of millions of dollars.
More importantly, twelve percent could decide control of the company.
“If Adrian has no acknowledged children before thirty-five,” Brielle said, “those shares move permanently into Eleanor’s branch of the family trust.”
Mara’s face drained of color.
“And if he does?”
“They remain in Adrian’s branch for his children.”
I stared at the document.
Everything suddenly rearranged itself.
My mother had not merely wanted Mara gone because she thought Mara was unsuitable.
She had a financial motive.
A massive one.
Milo wandered toward us.
“Are grown-ups fighting?”
“No,” Mara said quickly.
Brielle crouched slightly.
“Not yet.”
I gave her a look.
She stood again.
“Sorry.”
Milo studied her.
“Were you going to marry him?”
Brielle blinked.
“Yes.”
“Do you love him?”
The question would have humiliated most adults.
Brielle merely looked at me.
Then she smiled sadly.
“No.”
Milo nodded.
“Okay.”
He walked away.
Brielle watched him go.
“I like that one.”
“They’re identical.”
“Not remotely.”
She was right.
I was already beginning to see differences.
Brielle collected her coat.
“What are you going to do?”
“Find out who forged those messages.”
“And then?”
I looked at Mara.
“Find out exactly what my mother did.”
Brielle moved toward the elevator.
Before the doors closed, she looked back.
“Adrian.”
“Yes?”
“Your mother called my father this morning.”
“What did she say?”
“That Mara Quinn is attempting to extort you.”
Mara flinched.
Brielle’s expression became colder.
“She also said the children are not yours.”
I glanced toward the untouched DNA testing kit receipt on the counter.
“The results will settle that.”
Brielle shook her head.
“No.”
“What do you mean?”
“They’ll settle the biology.”
May you like
The elevator doors began closing.
“They won’t settle what Eleanor is willing to do about it.”
