Chapter 6 - MY HUSBAND'S VERSION OF LOVE
Grant was denied bail.
The assault charge alone probably wouldn't have guaranteed that.
Everything else did.
Evidence tampering.
Potential fraud.
The documents at the cabin.
The suspicious financial activity.
The possible plan involving me.
His attorneys told the press the government was turning "a private marital dispute into a sensational conspiracy."
I watched the statement from my father's library.
Grant's attorney stood beneath the courthouse steps and described him as a devoted husband.
I laughed so hard I cried.
Then the crying wouldn't stop.
My father turned off the television.
"I didn't tell you to do that."
"I know."
"I want to hear what they say."
"Why?"
"Because for six years I lived inside Grant's version of reality."
Dad sat beside me.
"I need to learn what reality sounds like without him controlling it."
The next morning, Grant called.
Not me.
My father.
Dad looked at the screen.
County detention facility.
"You don't have to answer," I said.
"I won't."
I looked at the phone.
"Put it on speaker."
Dad stared at me.
"Claire."
"Please."
He accepted.
"This is Arthur."
Grant's voice came through thin and metallic.
"Arthur, thank God."
Dad almost smiled.
"Interesting choice of words."
"I need to talk to Claire."
"No."
"She's my wife."
"Not for long."
"Arthur, you don't understand."
"Then enlighten me."
Silence.
"I never meant to hurt her."
My hands tightened.
Dad looked at me.
I nodded.
Let him talk.
Grant continued.
"Things got out of control."
"You struck a pregnant woman six times."
"I didn't know she was pregnant."
Lie.
"We know about the insurance policy."
Silence.
Then Grant recovered.
"That proves nothing."
"It proves you knew she had seen an obstetrician."
"She could've been there for anything."
"Keep talking."
Grant exhaled.
"Vanessa manipulated everything."
There it was.
"She planted those documents."
"Which documents?"
Grant stopped.
Dad leaned back.
"I didn't specify any."
Silence.
I almost admired my father.
Almost.
Grant's voice lowered.
"Arthur, she's dangerous."
"Vanessa?"
"Yes."
"The woman you moved into your wife's house."
"It wasn't like that."
"What was it like?"
"She came to me two years ago with information."
Dad's eyes sharpened.
"What information?"
"About my father."
I stopped breathing.
Grant continued.
"She said you destroyed him."
Dad looked toward Hale, who was listening from across the room.
"How?"
"She said her father discovered Richard was stealing from you. She believed you found out and had both men eliminated."
"Richard died from pancreatic cancer."
"That's what everyone says."
Dad's expression almost became pitying.
"You married my daughter believing I murdered your father?"
"No."
"You just said—"
"I married Claire because I loved her."
I felt something twist inside me.
Once, those words would have destroyed me.
Now they sounded empty.
Grant continued.
"But later Vanessa showed me documents."
"What documents?"
"Bank records. Shipping records. My father's journals."
"Where are they?"
"I don't know."
"Convenient."
"You think I'm lying."
"I know you're lying."
Grant's voice hardened.
"You always hated me."
Dad glanced at me.
"Actually, Claire is the reason you're still able to make phone calls."
"Dad."
He muted the line.
"What?"
"What does that mean?"
"It means I have allowed law enforcement to handle this."
"Allowed?"
He sighed.
"Poor word choice."
"Very poor."
"I'm angry."
"So am I."
He unmuted.
Grant was still talking.
"...need Claire to understand that Vanessa planned this."
I leaned toward the phone.
"Then tell me."
Silence.
"Claire?"
My stomach clenched at the sound of my name in his voice.
"Tell me, Grant."
"Baby, I—"
"Don't call me that."
Another silence.
"Vanessa came into my life because of Arthur."
"You slept with her because of my father?"
"No."
"You put my grandmother's pearls on her because of my father?"
"No."
"You broke my ribs because of my father?"
"I lost control."
"That's not an answer."
His breathing grew heavier.
"Claire, those maps weren't mine."
"Your handwriting was on them."
"I wrote notes because Vanessa kept talking about worst-case scenarios."
"What does that mean?"
"She was obsessed."
"With killing me?"
"No!"
His shout echoed through the speaker.
Dad stiffened.
Grant lowered his voice again.
"With protecting us."
"From what?"
"Your father."
I looked at Dad.
He looked tired.
Not offended.
Just tired.
Grant continued.
"She said if Arthur discovered what my father had done, he'd destroy all of us."
"So you planned to kill me first?"
"No."
"Then explain the lake."
Silence.
"Grant."
"I can't."
"Because you're innocent?"
"No."
That surprised everyone.
His voice broke.
"Because if I tell you what the lake was really about, Vanessa will destroy me."
I stared at the phone.
"You're already in jail."
"That doesn't mean I'm safe."
Dad leaned forward.
"From Vanessa?"
Grant laughed.
It sounded almost hysterical.
"You think Vanessa is some mistress who wanted expensive jewelry?"
"Then what is she?"
Grant whispered:
"Ask her who paid for your wedding."
The line went dead.
Nobody spoke.
I looked at Dad.
"What does that mean?"
He frowned.
"I paid for your wedding."
"All of it?"
"Almost."
"Almost?"
He hesitated.
"Grant's family insisted on paying for the reception venue."
My wedding reception had been held at the Grand Hawthorne Hotel.
Two hundred guests.
Champagne.
Flowers.
An orchestra.
Grant told me his late father's estate had covered it.
Hale pulled out his phone.
Within an hour, investigators found the payment record.
The hotel had received $186,000 from a company called Northline Consulting.
The registered director?
Samuel Cole.
Vanessa's missing father.
But Samuel had disappeared nearly nine years before my wedding.
The company should have been inactive.
It wasn't.
Someone had kept using it.
Someone had paid for my wedding from an account belonging to a missing man.
Agent Torres arrived before sunset.
She carried another file.
"We traced Northline."
"And?"
"It received deposits for years after Samuel vanished."
"From whom?"
"Several sources."
She looked toward Dad.
"One was Mercer Development."
Grant.
Or his father.
"Another?"
Torres hesitated.
Then placed a photograph on the table.
It was a woman entering a bank.
Older.
Silver hair.
Large sunglasses.
My lungs stopped working.
"No."
Dad stared.
The woman was unmistakable.
My grandmother.
Margaret Bennett.
The woman who raised me.
The woman whose pearls Vanessa had worn.
The woman who created my trust.
The woman who died six years ago.
"What is Grandma doing there?"
Torres's voice softened.
"The photograph was taken nine years ago."
"What bank?"
"Northline's."
Dad looked stunned.
"I didn't know she had any connection to Samuel."
Neither did I.
Torres placed another record beside it.
My grandmother had transferred five million dollars into Northline Consulting.
Three weeks later, she changed the terms of my trust.
"Why?" I whispered.
"We don't know."
Then Torres showed me the last document.
A letter recovered from a safe-deposit box.
Written in my grandmother's handwriting.
Addressed to me.
Claire, if anything ever happens and Arthur tells you he knows the whole truth, don't believe him. There is one thing even your father never discovered.
I looked at Dad.
For the first time in my life, Arthur Vance seemed completely lost.
I opened the letter.
May you like
And the first line made my blood turn cold.
Grant Mercer was never supposed to meet you.
