Chapter 6: The Woman They Planned to Blame
For several seconds, nobody at the café spoke.
The coffee machine hissed behind the counter. A spoon clinked against a ceramic cup. Outside, a delivery driver unloaded boxes from a van.
Ordinary sounds.
An ordinary Sunday.
And in front of me sat a document that could turn six years of betrayal into a criminal accusation.
Beatrix took a photograph of both sides of the paper.
"Camille, does Roland have the original?""
"I don't know.""
"Where did you get this copy?""
"He left it in his office. I photographed it.""
"Did you see him sign it?""
"No.""
"Did you see him send it to anyone?""
Camille shook her head.
Beatrix's expression hardened.
"Then we need to establish its origin before making any accusations.""
I barely heard her.
I was staring at my signature.
The curve of the E.
The long final stroke.
Even the small mark I sometimes made beneath the surname.
Someone had copied it with disturbing precision.
I remembered signing documents at the hospital.
I remembered Roland's promise that everything would be handled.
I remembered the way he had kissed my forehead before leaving.
He had been planning this.
Perhaps not that exact document at that exact moment.
But the machinery had been in motion for years.
I looked at Camille.
"Why are you giving me this?""
She folded her hands.
"Because I'm scared.""
"That's not enough.""
"I know.""
"Are you trying to protect me, or are you trying to protect yourself?""
She lowered her eyes.
"Both.""
At least she wasn't pretending anymore.
Beatrix placed the document inside a clear folder.
"Camille, I need you to understand something. If you possess original corporate records, we cannot simply take them and assume everything is resolved. We need a documented transfer, preservation of metadata where applicable, and proper verification.""
"I understand.""
"And you must not warn Roland that you've spoken to us.""
Camille nodded.
"He checks my phone.""
I looked at her.
"Then how did you email me?""
"I used an old tablet he doesn't know about.""
"Why didn't you leave him sooner?""
She looked at me with tired eyes.
"Because I thought I could make him love me enough to stop controlling me.""
The words were familiar.
Too familiar.
For years, I had believed that if I became patient enough, supportive enough, successful enough, Roland would eventually treat me with the respect I deserved.
Camille had simply walked into the same trap through a different door.
But that didn't make what she had done to me any less unforgivable.
Beatrix closed her bag.
"We're going to make arrangements for the documents. Until then, you both need to stay away from Roland.""
Camille stood.
"There's one more thing.""
Beatrix paused.
"What?""
"The baby.""
I looked at her.
"What about the baby?""
Camille pressed a hand against her stomach.
"Roland has already arranged the birth registration paperwork. He wants Alistair removed from everything.""
"How?""
"He plans to claim that the pregnancy resulted from a donor arrangement. He says the clinic records can be amended.""
Beatrix's eyebrows rose.
"Medical records cannot simply be amended to suit a private agreement.""
"I know. But he has someone at the clinic.""
"Who?""
Camille took out her phone.
She scrolled through a series of messages and showed us one.
The sender was listed as Dr. Peter Hales.
The revised parentage documentation will be ready before delivery. Make sure Alistair does not contact the clinic directly.
I studied the message.
"Who is Dr. Hales?""
"The consultant who handled the procedure.""
Beatrix took a photograph of the screen.
"Has he sent any other messages?""
Camille nodded.
"Several.""
She began scrolling.
Then her face changed.
"Wait.""
"What?"" I asked.
She turned the phone toward us.
A message had arrived just moments earlier.
From Roland.
Where are you? We need to talk.
A second followed.
Don't make this worse than it already is.
Then a third.
I know you're with Evelyn.
Camille went pale.
Beatrix immediately lowered her voice.
"Don't respond.""
Another message appeared.
Come home. Bring the documents.
Camille's hand trembled.
"He knows.""
I stood.
"Then we're leaving.""
But Beatrix caught my arm.
"Not together. If Roland is watching, we don't want him to see all three of us leaving at once.""
She took out her phone and called a colleague.
While she spoke, I looked at Camille.
"Did you bring the originals?""
She shook her head.
"No. They're in the bank.""
"Then don't go home.""
"I have nowhere else.""
Beatrix ended the call.
"My colleague is arranging a secure meeting location. We can get you somewhere safe while we deal with the records.""
Camille looked at me.
"Will you help me?""
I stared at her.
For a moment, I thought about the fertility clinic.
The nights she had held my hand.
The messages she had sent while sitting beside my husband.
I remembered the invitation.
Sorry you couldn't give him a son.
I could have walked away.
I could have left her to face Roland alone.
Instead, I said, "I'll help you make sure the truth is preserved. That isn't the same as forgiving you.""
She nodded.
"I understand.""
We left separately.
Beatrix took Camille.
I drove home.
Halfway through the journey, my phone rang.
The caller ID showed Roland.
I almost ignored it.
Then I answered.
"Hello?""
"What the hell are you doing?""
His voice was sharp.
I kept my eyes on the road.
"Driving.""
"Don't play games with me.""
"I'm not.""
"Camille called me crying.""
"That's unfortunate.""
"She said you've been threatening her.""
I laughed quietly.
"That's interesting.""
"You showed up at my house, accused my family of lying, and gave my fiancée some ridiculous gift.""
"You invited me to attend. Your fiancée chose to open the gift.""
"You're trying to ruin my life.""
I turned onto my street.
"Roland, you had a pretty good head start on that yourself.""
He was silent for a moment.
Then his voice changed.
It became quieter.
Almost gentle.
"Evelyn, listen to me. We can solve this without involving lawyers.""
I pulled into my parking space.
"That's what you said when you wanted me to sign the divorce agreement.""
"I was trying to be fair.""
"You hid your medical diagnosis, used my signature, and transferred company money to a woman you were sleeping with.""
"You're exaggerating.""
"Then why are you so worried?""
He exhaled sharply.
"Because you've been given incomplete information.""
"Then complete it.""
"Camille is unstable. Alistair is unreliable. You know how he is.""
"Is that why you asked him to father your child?""
A long silence followed.
Finally, he said, "You need to stop talking to him.""
"Why?""
"Because he's lying.""
"About the paternity test?""
His voice dropped.
"Don't mention that again.""
I smiled.
"Why not?""
"Because you have no idea what it could do to the company.""
There it was.
Not the baby.
Not Camille.
Not even his reputation as a husband.
The company.
I opened my car door.
"Then perhaps you should have thought about that before using it as your personal bank account.""
He became furious.
"You have no right to access those records.""
"Actually, I do.""
"Your firm was removed from the contract division.""
"Not from the archived files.""
I heard him inhale.
Then he said something that made me stop moving.
"You're going to regret this.""
I ended the call.
When I entered my apartment, Beatrix had already sent me a message.
Camille is safe. We have located an independent records officer who can accompany us to the bank. I need you to review the original service agreement tonight.
I went straight to my desk.
The original Mercer Holdings agreement was stored in a locked digital archive.
I opened it and searched for the section Beatrix had mentioned.
There it was.
A clause concerning unauthorized use of the contractor's credentials, fraudulent corporate authorizations, and interference with archived transaction records.
I read it carefully.
The agreement did not give me unlimited control over Mercer Holdings.
But it did give my firm specific rights that Roland had overlooked.
If company records had been manipulated using my professional credentials, my firm could demand an independent audit and suspend access to certain contract-administration services until the matter was resolved.
And if the misrepresentation had affected the divorce settlement, I could seek legal relief.
I printed the relevant pages.
Then I found a second clause.
One that I had added during the original negotiations.
It required Mercer Holdings to maintain a separate escrow account for disputed transactions involving external contractors.
I remembered arguing with Roland about it.
He had said it was unnecessary.
I had insisted.
He had finally accepted because he wanted the contract.
The account still existed.
I called Beatrix.
"Did you see section eighteen?""
"Yes.""
"There's an escrow account.""
"I know.""
"Can we freeze the disputed payments?""
"Not unilaterally. But we can seek an emergency order if the evidence supports it.""
"How much money is still in there?""
"Approximately seven hundred thousand dollars.""
I sat down.
"Seven hundred thousand?""
"That's the current reported balance.""
"Then we need to act before Roland moves it.""
"We're preparing the necessary applications.""
I looked at the forged document again.
"Beatrix, I want a forensic examination of the signature.""
"Already requested.""
"And I want the digital logs from every transaction approved under my credentials.""
"That's part of the audit.""
I hesitated.
"There's something I haven't told you.""
"What?""
"Roland called me.""
"What did he say?""
"He admitted that he was worried about the company.""
Beatrix was quiet.
"Did he say anything about the forged document?""
"No. But he told me to stop talking about the paternity test because of what it could do to Mercer Holdings.""
"That's useful. Do you have the recording?""
I glanced at my phone.
"Yes.""
"Send it to me.""
I forwarded the recording.
Then I opened the digital archive again.
A new notification appeared.
*Access revoked.*
I frowned.
The message listed the account that had initiated the change.
Administrator: Roland Mercer.
Time: 4:42 p.m.
I checked the clock on my computer.
4:44 p.m.
He had removed my remaining access less than two minutes earlier.
I immediately called Beatrix.
"He's changing the permissions.""
"Don't attempt to access anything further. We'll preserve the records you already downloaded.""
I stared at the screen.
Then another notification appeared.
A file had been uploaded to my former company's secure archive.
It was titled:
*FINAL ACCOUNTABILITY REPORT — EVELYN MERCER.*
My pulse quickened.
"Beatrix.""
"What?""
"There's a new document.""
"Don't open it.""
But I could already see the preview.
The first page contained my full name, my professional credentials, and a statement declaring that I had authorized the disputed transfers to Morrow Clinical Services.
Below it was a summary claiming I had personally diverted company funds for unauthorized fertility-related expenses.
My hands went cold.
"He's done it," I whispered.
"Done what?""
"He's officially blaming me.""
Beatrix's voice sharpened.
"Listen carefully. We have the original files you downloaded. We have the emails from Roland.
We have the authorization trail. He may have submitted a false report, but that doesn't make it true.""
I looked at the screen.
There was an electronic signature at the bottom.
Mine.
Again.
I zoomed in.
This time, however, something was different.
The signature appeared beside a certification date.
October 27.
Three days earlier.
I had been in Beatrix's office that afternoon.
I had been signing no corporate documents whatsoever.
I copied the document's reference number and sent it to Beatrix.
Then I noticed the last page.
There was a list of supporting witnesses.
Roland Mercer.
Alistair Mercer.
Finance Director Thomas Vane.
And one more name.
Camille Laurent.
I read it twice.
Camille had supposedly signed a declaration supporting Roland's accusation against me.
I immediately called Beatrix.
"Camille is on the witness list.""
"What?""
"Her name is there.""
Beatrix was silent.
Then she said, "That's impossible. She's with my colleague.""
I opened the file's digital metadata.
The document had been created at 4:31 p.m.
The certification was dated three days earlier.
I scrolled farther down.
A final attachment had been included.
It was a scanned statement.
Camille's signature appeared at the bottom.
The statement claimed she had personally witnessed me discussing the medical expenses with Roland and approving the transfers.
But the signature looked wrong.
More importantly, the date on the statement was October 29.
I checked the time.
4:51 p.m.
My phone rang.
Beatrix.
"Don't move," she said.
"What's happened?""
"Camille has disappeared.""
I stood so quickly that my chair fell backward.
"What?""
"She left the secure location about ten minutes ago. My colleague turned away for a moment, and she was gone.""
"Did she take anything?""
"Her phone. Her handbag. Nothing else.""
I looked at the forged statement.
Then at the witness list.
"She's gone back to Roland.""
Beatrix's voice became quiet.
"Maybe.""
I stared at the screen.
A new message appeared from an unknown number.
It contained only one sentence.
I'm sorry, Evelyn. He has something I can't let you see.
I called the number immediately.
It went straight to voicemail.
Then another message arrived.
Don't trust the copy in the archive. The original signature is somewhere else.
My blood ran cold.
Because that meant there was another document.
May you like
Another signature.
And perhaps the one person who knew where to find it had just returned to the man who was trying to destroy me.
