Chapter 6 - THE ULTRASOUND
The air in the office vanished.
I stared at the silver charm bracelet dangling from Claire’s manicured fingers. It caught the dim office light, mocking me. My sister’s bracelet. The only thing I had left of her, other than the fierce, burning promise I’d made to protect her son, Toby.
“You wouldn’t,” I whispered, my voice trembling despite my desperate attempt to keep it steady.
“I absolutely would,” Claire replied, her voice smooth as glass. “One phone call, Megan. Toby gets transferred to a group home out of state by Monday morning. A permanent placement. You’ll never find him.”
Grant stepped in front of me, his broad shoulders shielding me from Claire’s view.
“Don’t you dare threaten her,” Grant snarled. “This is between us, Claire. Leave her family out of it.”
Thomas Whitmore stepped forward, his grip tightening on Leo’s shoulder. Leo whimpered, his small hands clutching the edge of Thomas’s suit jacket in terror.
“It’s between all of us now, Grant,” Thomas said, his voice booming with the arrogant authority of a man who had never been told no. “You broke into this office. You assaulted my daughter’s character. And you are holding up a merger that will save thousands of jobs.”
“Save your own skin, you mean,” Grant shot back. He held up the red folder. “I saw the bank statements, Thomas. You’re bankrupt. You need my company’s liquid assets to cover your fraudulent loans.”
Thomas’s eyes narrowed, but he didn't deny it. “Business is survival, Grant. You’d do well to remember that. Now, put the folder down, sign the papers downstairs, and we can all go back to the party as a happy family.”
“Daddy, I want to go home,” Leo cried, reaching out toward Grant.
Grant took a step forward, but Thomas pulled Leo back sharply.
“Ah,” Thomas warned. “Not yet.”
Grant stopped, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles were stark white. He looked at Claire, holding up the medical document we had just found.
“Why, Claire?” Grant asked, his voice cracking with a devastation that cut right through me. “You lied about my father. You hid my mail. And this? You told me you were pregnant. We picked out names. But this clinic report says the IVF failed. You’re not pregnant. Was any of it real?”
Claire’s mask slipped. For a second—just a fraction of a second—I saw a flash of genuine pain in her eyes. The polished villain cracked, revealing a desperate, trapped woman.
“I wanted it to be real!” Claire shouted, her voice breaking. She gripped her champagne glass so hard I thought it would shatter. “I tried, Grant! I went through three rounds of injections. It didn't work! But I knew if I told you it failed, you’d pull away again. And my father—”
She shot a terrified, resentful look at Thomas.
“My father said if I didn't lock you down, we would lose the estate. I did it for us. So we could be a family!”
“A family built on blackmail,” Grant said in disgust.
He looked back at me. His eyes were full of apology. He knew he couldn't let Claire destroy my chances of getting Toby back.
“Megan,” Grant said softly. “You need to leave. Go. She won't hurt Toby if you walk away now.”
I looked at Grant. Then I looked at Leo, who was crying quietly, his small face pale with fear.
I thought about my nephew, Toby. I thought about the system. I thought about how easy it would be to walk out the door, take my bracelet back, and disappear into my quiet, broke life.
Then I thought about Arthur Mercer in his brown coat, forced to abandon his son twenty years ago because of Thomas Whitmore’s threats.
The Whitmores survived by making good people walk away.
“No,” I said.
I stepped out from behind Grant.
“I’m not leaving,” I said, looking right at Claire. “You can make your phone call. You can try to take my nephew. But I’m not playing your game anymore. Because I know something you don’t.”
Claire frowned. “You know nothing, you little rat.”
“I know that Grant has the brass key,” I lied smoothly, pulling the bluff of a lifetime.
Grant shot me a startled look, but I kicked his ankle gently, praying he would play along.
Thomas Whitmore’s head snapped up. “What key?”
“The key to the safety deposit box,” I said, my voice dripping with false confidence. “The one Arthur Mercer gave us last night at the cabin. The one that holds the original ledger from twenty years ago. The proof of your fraud, Mr. Whitmore.”
Thomas’s face went chalk white. “That ledger was destroyed.”
“Arthur kept a copy,” Grant caught on instantly, pulling the heavy brass key from his tuxedo pocket and holding it up. “And if I don't walk out of this hotel with my son right now, Megan is going to email the location of that box to every reporter standing outside this building.”
Claire looked at her father in panic. “Dad? What is he talking about?”
Thomas released his grip on Leo. He looked like a man who had just seen a ghost.
“Give him the boy,” Thomas whispered hoarsely to Claire.
“What? No!” Claire protested.
“Do it, Claire!” Thomas barked, losing his composure completely. “If that ledger sees the light of day, I go to federal prison. Give him the boy!”
Claire hesitated, her hands shaking. But Grant didn't wait. He lunged forward, snatching Leo out of Thomas’s reach and pulling him tightly into his arms. Leo buried his face in Grant’s neck, sobbing into his tuxedo.
I walked right up to Claire. My heart was pounding so hard I thought I would pass out, but I held my hand out.
“My bracelet,” I demanded.
Claire stared at me with pure, unadulterated hatred. She dropped the silver charm bracelet into my palm.
“You’re going to regret this,” she hissed.
“I doubt it,” I said, fastening it around my wrist.
Grant held Leo tightly. “The wedding is off, Claire. If you or your father ever come near my son again, I will open that box. Do you understand me?”
Thomas nodded stiffly, his eyes locked on the brass key.
We backed out of the office. Once we hit the hallway, Grant didn't wait for the elevator. We took the stairs, running down three flights as fast as we could while Grant carried his son.
We burst through the lobby doors and into the chaotic, flashing lights of the paparazzi outside Bellamy House.
“We did it,” Grant breathed, kissing the top of Leo’s head as we reached the car. “Thank God. Thank you, Megan.”
But as I opened the passenger door, my burner phone buzzed.
I answered it.
“Megan,” Arthur’s voice came through the speaker, but he sounded out of breath. Frantic. “Where are you? Did you get him?”
“We got Leo, Arthur. We’re at the car. We’re safe.”
“You’re not safe,” Arthur gasped. “I went to the bank to check on the box ahead of Monday. Megan… the box is empty.”
My blood turned to ice.
“What do you mean it’s empty?”
“Thomas didn't destroy the ledger,” Arthur said, panic rising in his voice. “Claire took it. She’s had it all along. She’s using it to blackmail her own father.”
I turned and looked back at the grand entrance of Bellamy House.
May you like
Standing at the top of the stairs, looking down at us through the crowd, was Claire. She was holding a small, black leather-bound book in her hand.
She smiled, held up the ledger, and dropped it into a burning outdoor patio heater.
