Chapter 9: The Last Lie
The moment Roland left the boardroom, Beatrix was on the phone.
"Get me the filing number. I need the court submission, the date, and every attached exhibit. Now.""
I stood beside her.
"What did he mean by financially responsible?""
She covered the microphone.
"I don't know yet.""
"Can he make that claim?""
"Anyone can file a document making a claim. That doesn't mean the document is genuine or enforceable.""
Across the room, Camille was crying quietly.
Alistair stood near the window, his hands buried in his pockets.
Vivian had gone pale.
Thomas was speaking with one of the board members.
I walked toward Camille.
She looked up when I approached.
"Please don't," she whispered.
"Don't what?""
"Don't look at me like that.""
"Like what?""
"Like I'm the worst person you've ever known.""
I stared at her.
"Do you know what you did?""
She nodded.
"Yes.""
"You helped him use my name to accuse me of stealing money. You tried to take my firm. You helped him build a false medical story around an unborn child.""
Tears rolled down her cheeks.
"I was scared.""
"So was I. For six years.""
"I know.""
"No, Camille. You knew I was hurting. You watched me hurt.""
She lowered her head.
"I can't change that.""
"No. You can't.""
Alistair approached.
"Camille, you need to tell them where the original form is.""
She looked at him.
"I don't have it.""
"Then where is it?""
"Roland said he had already filed it.""
Alistair shook his head.
"He told me the same thing.""
I turned toward him.
"Why would he tell you that?""
"Because he wanted me to sign the final trust agreement.""
"And you refused?""
"Yes.""
Camille looked at him.
"You never told me.""
Alistair gave a bitter laugh.
"Because every time I tried to talk to you, Roland was standing behind you.""
She pressed a hand against her stomach.
"He said you didn't want the baby.""
Alistair's expression softened.
"That's not true.""
I stepped back.
Their private tragedy was unfolding in front of me, but I had no desire to become their mediator.
Beatrix returned.
"The filing was submitted yesterday afternoon.""
"By whom?"" I asked.
"Roland's attorney.""
"What's attached?""
She looked at her phone.
"A purported consent agreement, a financial guarantee, and a declaration bearing your signature.""
My hands tightened.
"Can we stop it?""
"We can challenge it. We'll need the original document and an independent handwriting examination.""
"Where is it?""
Beatrix looked at me.
"That's the problem. The court submission contains a scanned copy. The original hasn't been produced.""
I looked across the room.
Camille was watching me.
"Did you see the original?""
She nodded.
"When?""
"Last Thursday.""
"Where?""
"In Roland's study.""
"What did it look like?""
She closed her eyes.
"It was a white document with a blue seal. There were three signatures.""
"Whose?""
"Yours. Roland's. And mine.""
I felt my stomach tighten.
"Did I sign it?""
"No.""
"How do you know?""
"Because I watched Roland put the signatures there.""
Beatrix stepped closer.
"What do you mean?""
Camille took a shaky breath.
"He had an old document with Evelyn's signature. He scanned it and inserted the image into the new agreement. Then he signed his own name. He asked me to witness it.""
"Did you?""
Camille nodded.
"Yes.""
I stared at her.
"So you watched him forge my signature.""
"Yes.""
"And then helped him submit it.""
She covered her face.
"Yes.""
I felt a strange calm settle over me.
There was no point asking why.
She had already answered.
I turned away.
Beatrix asked, "Did you make a copy?""
Camille hesitated.
Then she reached into her handbag and removed a small folded piece of paper.
"I took this.""
It was a photograph.
The original donor consent agreement lay on Roland's desk. Beside it was a blue folder and a silver pen.
I enlarged the image.
The signature section was visible.
My name appeared at the bottom.
But something else was visible near the top.
A date.
October 27.
The same date as the accountability report.
And beside my name was an identifying code.
I recognized it immediately.
It was the reference number of my old hospital authorization.
The very document Roland had used to extract my signature.
Beatrix studied the photograph.
"Where is this original file now?""
Camille shook her head.
"I don't know.""
"Think.""
"He put it inside the safe behind the bookcase. Then he told me he was going to file it.""
Alistair looked toward Beatrix.
"I know the safe.""
"Can you access it?""
He nodded.
"I used to have a key.""
"Do you still have it?""
Alistair looked at me.
"Yes.""
I exhaled.
"Then we need to retrieve it.""
Beatrix immediately shook her head.
"Not without proper authority.""
Alistair reached into his jacket and removed a small silver key.
"This opens the study cabinet. The safe has a separate combination.""
"Do you know it?"" I asked.
He nodded.
"Roland used our father's birthday.""
I almost laughed.
Even after everything, Roland was predictable.
Beatrix took the key.
"We'll arrange access through the appropriate legal process. Nobody is entering that house alone.""
I looked at the boardroom.
"Can the company prevent him from moving the records?""
Arthur approached us.
"The board has already issued a preservation instruction. Mr. Mercer cannot destroy or remove relevant company documents without consequences.""
"Will he obey it?""
Arthur gave a tired sigh.
"Mr. Mercer has never been particularly good at following instructions.""
I looked at Beatrix.
"Then we need another way to secure the evidence.""
She nodded.
"We'll work on it.""
The meeting broke up.
Camille asked to speak with me before leaving.
I almost refused.
Then I remembered something.
"One question.""
She looked at me.
"Ask.""
"Why did you write that message on the invitation?""
Her eyes filled again.
"Which message?""
"Sorry you couldn't give him a son.""
She stared down at her hands.
For a long time, she said nothing.
Then she whispered, "Because I wanted you to hurt.""
"Why?""
"Because I was jealous of you.""
I stared at her.
"You had my husband.""
"I know.""
"You had the house.""
"I know.""
"You had the life I thought I wanted.""
She nodded.
"But you also had something I couldn't take.""
"What?""
"You knew how to stand on your own. Even when Roland treated you badly, you still had your career, your friends, and your business. I thought that if I could make you feel like a failure, I'd finally feel better about what I had done.""
I was silent.
She wiped her cheek.
"I thought having his baby would make me untouchable.""
"Did it?""
She shook her head.
"No.""
I looked at her.
"Then learn from it.""
She reached for my hand.
I stepped back.
"Don't.""
She let her arm fall.
"I don't expect you to forgive me.""
"Good.""
I walked away.
Outside the building, the wind was colder than before.
Beatrix and I returned to her office.
We spent the afternoon reviewing the court filing and preparing an urgent challenge.
By six o'clock, she had contacted an independent document examiner.
At seven, Thomas sent a message.
I have the email containing the original signature scan. I can prove where Roland obtained it.
I forwarded the message.
Beatrix called him immediately.
He agreed to meet us the following morning.
At 8:00 p.m., my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
"Evelyn.""
It was Roland.
"What do you want?""
"I want you to stop.""
"Stop what?""
"Destroying the family.""
I leaned against the kitchen counter.
"You've destroyed enough of it yourself.""
He laughed quietly.
"You're still pretending this is about justice.""
"What is it about, then?""
"Money. Control. Revenge. You've always wanted to be more powerful than me.""
I closed my eyes.
"Roland, I built my career before I met you.""
"And I made you successful.""
I almost laughed.
"You used my contracts, my network, and my professional relationships. You didn't make me anything.""
"Without Mercer Holdings, your firm would be nothing.""
"Then why are you trying so hard to steal it?""
Silence.
Then he said, "Because you don't understand what it means to have a family legacy.""
I glanced at the printed documents on my desk.
"You used your brother's child to control his shares.""
"Alistair is weak.""
"You used my medical records to create a false agreement.""
"You signed the original authorization.""
"Not the donor agreement.""
He exhaled.
"You're making a mistake.""
"Then explain why you filed it.""
"I filed what was necessary.""
"That's not an answer.""
His voice became colder.
"There's something you still don't know.""
I waited.
"The baby shower.""
I frowned.
"What about it?""
"Camille wasn't the only person who wanted you there.""
I felt my stomach tighten.
"Explain.""
"That invitation was part of a larger arrangement. We needed you to appear in front of witnesses, accept the pregnancy, and confirm that you were happy for us.""
I remembered his message.
I hope you'll be mature enough not to make the day uncomfortable.
The photograph.
The card.
The black box.
The silver key.
"You wanted to use my presence as proof that I knew about the baby.""
"Exactly.""
"And the message Camille wrote?""
"Her idea.""
I was silent.
He continued.
"She thought it would provoke you. If you lost your temper, she could claim you were threatening her. If you stayed calm, we would still have photographs proving you accepted the situation.""
I felt sick.
"You planned the entire event.""
"We planned for every possibility.""
"And the gift?""
He laughed.
"That was your mistake.""
I looked at the empty space where the black box had been.
"What do you mean?""
"You gave us the key.""
I froze.
"That key was supposed to open Cabinet 314. But you were never supposed to discover the second folder.""
I stared at the wall.
"What second folder?""
Roland lowered his voice.
"The one Camille took before she left.""
My fingers went cold.
"What was in it?""
"The original agreement between you and the clinic.""
I swallowed.
"There was no agreement between me and the clinic.""
"That's what you believe.""
He gave a short laugh.
"Have you ever wondered why your signature was on the original hospital authorization in the first place?""
"Because you scanned it.""
"No, Evelyn. Because you signed something else years ago.""
I couldn't breathe.
He continued.
"You signed a general medical data release when we first started fertility treatment. It allowed the clinic to exchange information with designated family representatives.""
I remembered the paperwork.
The thick stack of forms.
The waiting room.
The repeated consultations.
I had signed dozens of pages over the years.
"That doesn't authorize a donor agreement.""
"No. But it gave us access to your records.""
He paused.
"And there's a document in that file that will make you question everything.""
I felt my hand tighten around the phone.
"What document?""
He said nothing.
"Roland?""
Then he replied:
"The original consent form has two signatures, Evelyn. Mine and yours.""
My heart began pounding.
"That's impossible.""
"Is it?""
I looked toward Beatrix's contact card on the desk.
"You're lying.""
"Ask your old fertility doctor.""
"He retired.""
"Then ask his daughter.""
I went completely still.
His voice softened.
"Because Dr. Whitaker didn't just treat us, Evelyn. He kept a separate record of everything.""
I disconnected the call.
For several seconds, I couldn't move.
Then I opened the photograph from Camille again.
The white document.
The blue seal.
The three signatures.
I enlarged the image until the signature section filled the screen.
There was something I hadn't noticed before.
A handwritten reference beneath my name.
*Patient authorization: 06-14-2019.*
I checked my old calendar.
June 14, 2019.
That was the date of my second major fertility procedure.
I remembered that day.
I remembered arriving at the clinic alone because Roland had said he was traveling.
I remembered signing a stack of forms.
And I remembered the doctor asking me one unusual question.
"Mrs. Mercer, are you absolutely certain you understand what you're consenting to?""
At the time, I had thought he was asking about the next fertility treatment.
Now I wasn't sure.
I called Beatrix.
She answered immediately.
"Evelyn?""
"Roland says there's an original medical consent form with both our signatures.""
"Is that what he filed?""
"He claims there's another record from the clinic. Something I signed in 2019.""
Beatrix was quiet.
"Did you sign any donor-related consent forms?""
"Not knowingly.""
"Then we need the original clinic file.""
"I know.""
I looked at the photograph again.
There was a small reference code near the bottom.
I read it aloud.
Beatrix typed something.
Then she stopped.
"Evelyn?""
"What?""
"I recognize that code.""
"From where?""
"From the medical records we received last month.""
She opened the file.
I heard her turning pages.
Then she went silent.
"Beatrix?""
She finally spoke.
"The original file contains an additional page.""
"What does it say?""
Her voice became very careful.
"It appears to be a consent form for the use of donor genetic material.""
I felt the blood drain from my face.
"Whose signature is on it?""
There was a pause.
Then Beatrix said:
"Yours.""
I couldn't speak.
She continued.
"But the most important thing is the date. It was signed three weeks before your first fertility treatment.""
I leaned against the counter.
"That can't be right.""
"Evelyn, I haven't verified the signature yet.""
I closed my eyes.
"Then who is the donor?""
Beatrix looked at the document.
When she answered, her voice was almost a whisper.
"It lists Alistair Mercer.""
My knees nearly gave way.
For a moment, I could hear nothing but the rain beginning again outside my window.
Alistair.
Camille's baby's biological father.
The same man whose name appeared on a consent form supposedly signed before my fertility treatments began.
I gripped the counter.
"That's impossible.""
Beatrix didn't answer.
I looked again at the date.
June 14, 2019.
Before my first treatment.
Before Roland's affair became public.
Before Camille's pregnancy.
Before I knew my marriage was a lie.
Then my phone lit up.
A message from an unfamiliar number.
It contained a photograph.
An old clinic document.
At the bottom was a handwritten note from Dr. Whitaker.
The patient must be informed before any further procedure.
And beneath it was another sentence.
Mr. Mercer has requested that this information remain confidential.
I stared at the screen.
Then a final message arrived.
Evelyn, you were never the only patient in that fertility program.
I looked at Beatrix.
She was staring at the same photograph.
May you like
And for the first time since the invitation arrived, I understood that the baby shower might not have been the biggest secret Roland had ever hidden from me.
It might only have been the beginning.
