Chapter 2 - THE CALL I WASN'T SUPPOSED TO MAKE
My brother answered on the fourth ring.
“Hannah?”
His voice was rough with surprise.
“Ben.”
A pause.
Then he asked, “What's wrong?”
I tried to speak.
Nothing came out.
“Hannah, where are you?”
“Manhattan.”
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Are the babies okay?”
“Yes.”
He exhaled.
“Then tell me what happened.”
I looked at the clinic door.
“Grant just married Celia Rowe.”
Silence.
Then Ben said, very quietly, “Where did you see that?”
“On television.”
Another silence.
“Hannah, listen carefully. Don't go home yet.”
My stomach tightened.
“Why?”
“Because I've been trying to tell you something about Grant for months.”
Ben was a forensic accountant in Boston. He had never liked Grant, but I had assumed it was the usual tension between an overprotective brother and a wealthy husband.
Eleven months earlier, Ben accused Vale Health of manipulating supplier invoices. Grant called him jealous. My mother-in-law, Margaret Vale, called him opportunistic.
I defended my husband.
Ben and I stopped speaking.
Now his voice sounded frightened.
“Is Grant in Malibu?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Then you have a few hours.”
“For what?”
“To get somewhere safe.”
Dr. Halpern didn't release me until she was satisfied my blood pressure had stabilized and the babies showed no immediate signs of distress.
She gave me instructions, reviewed warning symptoms, and asked me to call if anything changed.
I thanked her.
Then I stepped into the corridor and opened my phone.
There were already twenty-three notifications.
One from my college roommate, Sophie.
Please tell me that isn't Grant.
Three from reporters.
A message from Margaret:
Do not respond to the media. The family will manage this.
Not Are you okay?
Not What happened?
The family will manage this.
I scrolled.
Then found a message from Elise, Grant's assistant.
Mrs. Vale, please contact me privately before making any decisions.
I stared at the words.
Elise knew.
She had called me yesterday to confirm Grant would attend my appointment.
She knew he would be in Malibu.
My hands began trembling.
I took a taxi to a small hotel near Grand Central.
Ben called again.
“I'm driving down.”
“You don't have to.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Ben—”
“Hannah, I'm your brother.”
I closed my eyes.
He continued.
“I should have called you more often.”
“I should have listened.”
“We can discuss that later.”
At six-thirty, Grant finally called.
I watched his name illuminate the screen.
I didn't answer.
He called again.
Then texted:
Hannah, please don't believe what you're seeing. There's an explanation.
I stared.
An explanation.
For the dress.
The flowers.
The vows.
The cameras.
I typed:
Are you married to her?
Three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Finally:
It's complicated.
I felt something inside me go completely still.
Ben arrived at eight-fifteen.
He entered my hotel room carrying a duffel bag and a paper sack of food.
He took one look at me and set everything down.
Then he hugged me.
I cried against his coat.
For the first time that day, I didn't try to be graceful.
When I could finally speak, Ben sat opposite me.
“There's something you need to know,” he said.
I wiped my eyes.
“What?”
“Grant's company is in trouble.”
I stared.
“Vale Health?”
Ben nodded.
“Much worse than the public knows.”
May you like
He opened his laptop.
“And your name is connected to the accounts they're investigating.”
