Chapter 8 - The Price of the Kincaid Name
Blythe's revelation didn't make us friends.
It didn't erase the affair.
It didn't restore my nursery or the years I had spent believing my husband loved me faithfully.
But it changed the shape of the investigation.
Dorian had not merely betrayed his wife.
He had used two women who wanted different things.
I wanted the marriage I thought we had.
Blythe wanted answers about her mother.
Dorian wanted control.
And he had been willing to exploit all three.
---
Naomi contacted investigators about Willow Creek.
The facility was licensed.
It operated quietly in rural Wisconsin.
Patient privacy laws limited what could be disclosed without appropriate authorization.
But the photograph and historical records provided leads for a lawful inquiry.
Within days, investigators confirmed that a resident matching Marianne's identity had been living there under another name.
Blythe received the news while sitting across from me in Naomi's conference room.
She covered her face and sobbed.
For a moment, I watched her.
Part of me wanted to feel satisfied.
She had taken so much from me.
But grief does not become less human because the person experiencing it has hurt you.
I passed her a box of tissues.
She looked up.
"Why are you being kind to me?"
I considered the question.
"Because your mother didn't deserve what happened to her."
Blythe cried harder.
Then whispered, "Neither did you."
I looked away.
We were not friends.
Perhaps we never would be.
But we had both been treated as pieces in a game designed by powerful men.
I was beginning to understand how many women had lived that way before us.
---
Dorian's empire rested on three pillars.
Transportation.
Private security.
And real estate.
The public saw luxury hotels, commercial developments, and charitable foundations.
But the deeper investigators looked, the more complicated the ownership structures became.
Several of the earliest properties had been acquired through trusts associated with vulnerable individuals.
Some transfers were legitimate.
Others raised serious questions.
My mother's company had preserved records that contradicted the official explanations.
And the Kincaid family had spent decades trying to obtain those archives.
I sat with Naomi reviewing a financial report.
"How much of Dorian's business depends on these properties?"
She looked grim.
"Potentially a significant portion."
"Then he married me to get them."
"We have evidence suggesting financial motives influenced the relationship. But we can't know that every personal feeling was false."
I stared at the table.
"Seventeen years."
Naomi said nothing.
I continued.
"He cried when our baby died."
My voice broke.
"He held me in the hospital. He carried me to bed. He sat beside the crib for hours."
I covered my mouth.
"Was any of that real?"
Naomi's expression softened.
"Audra, people can feel genuine grief and still do terrible things."
I wiped my cheeks.
"That seems unfair."
"It is."
I looked out the window.
I wanted Dorian to be entirely monstrous.
It would have made leaving easier.
But the truth was more painful.
The man who betrayed me was also the man who knew my favorite song.
The man who gave away my necklace had once held it against my heart while I wept.
The man who stole my inheritance might genuinely have mourned our child.
Love didn't excuse his choices.
And his cruelty didn't erase every memory.
I had to learn to live with both truths.
---
That evening, Clara came over with takeout food.
We sat on Helen's living-room floor surrounded by photographs.
She had brought albums from her childhood.
School plays.
Graduation.
Her wedding.
Oliver as a baby.
I showed her pictures of my own life.
College.
Our mother's garden.
My wedding.
The nursery before the miscarriage.
Clara stopped on that photograph.
"You painted those clouds?"
I nodded.
"Every one."
She touched the image.
"They're beautiful."
My eyes filled.
"I wanted our baby to wake up looking at the sky."
Clara took my hand.
"I'm sorry, Audra."
I leaned against her shoulder.
For eleven years, Dorian had kept us apart.
Now my sister was sitting beside me, helping me carry grief I had thought belonged to me alone.
---
Three days later, Dorian's attorney contacted Naomi with a proposal.
Dorian would agree to a substantial financial settlement if I stopped pursuing the historical property claims and agreed not to participate in further public disclosures.
I stared at the offer.
It was enough money to live comfortably for the rest of my life.
Dorian knew that.
He had always known how to make money look like a solution.
"What happens if I accept?" I asked.
Naomi explained the terms.
I listened.
Then shook my head.
"No."
She nodded.
"I expected that."
I looked at her.
"Why?"
"Because you didn't start this to become wealthy."
I thought of Marianne.
Of Clara.
Of my mother's letter.
Of the women whose estates had vanished into the Kincaid network.
"No," I whispered.
"I started because I wanted my life back."
---
That night, Dorian called Helen's office number.
I happened to be sitting nearby.
Helen looked at the screen.
"Do you want me to answer?"
I considered it.
Then nodded.
She placed the call on speaker with Naomi's approval.
Dorian's voice filled the room.
"Audra, I know you're listening."
I said nothing.
"You're destroying everything we built."
I looked at the sapphire necklace lying on the table.
The stone caught the lamplight.
Dorian continued.
"I made mistakes."
I almost laughed.
"Mistakes?"
He exhaled.
"Audra, I loved you."
My eyes filled despite myself.
"Then why did you give away the things that mattered most to me?"
Silence.
Then he said quietly, "Because I thought you'd never leave."
The truth landed harder than another lie.
I closed my eyes.
For seventeen years, Dorian had believed my loyalty was guaranteed.
He thought I would endure anything to preserve our marriage.
The affair.
The lies.
The financial betrayal.
The stolen memories.
I opened my eyes.
May you like
"That was your biggest mistake."
Then I ended the call.
