Chapter Three: Lauren’s Version
Matthew was arrested at 2:14 a.m.
Police found him in Lauren’s kitchen wearing a clean shirt and drinking coffee.
He claimed I had attacked him.
He said the antique cane had fallen during our argument.
He said my injuries came from broken glass.
Then officers showed him photographs of the cane.
The polished wood carried repeated traces from contact with torn fabric and skin.
He changed his story.
The assault had been an accident.
Then self-defense.
Then a private marital matter distorted by my influential father.
By three in the morning, Matthew had offered four versions.
Lauren offered a fifth.
She told investigators she had spent the evening alone.
Building cameras showed Matthew entering her townhouse at 11:39.
She claimed they were only colleagues.
Officers found men’s clothing in her bedroom.
She claimed he kept spare suits there for business events.
They found framed photographs of the two of them in a locked drawer.
She said they had briefly dated during a separation from me.
Matthew and I had never separated.
At four fifteen, Detective Brooks returned to my hospital room.
“Lauren says you threatened her.”
“I told her not to enter my home.”
“She claims you threatened to destroy her career.”
“I didn’t.”
“She also says you knew about the affair for months and were using it to force Matthew to transfer company shares to you.”
“That’s not true.”
“Do you have the message you sent her?”
“My phone.”
Daniel handed it to the detective.
She read the conversation.
There was only one message from me.
Lauren had replied:
You should discuss your marital insecurity with your husband instead of harassing senior members of his company.
Detective Brooks raised one eyebrow.
“Not exactly a death threat.”
“She wanted him to punish me,” I said.
“Can you prove that?”
“No.”
At that moment, my phone chimed.
A new email appeared from an unknown address.
The subject line contained two words.
I’m Sorry.
Detective Brooks told me not to open it until her digital-forensics unit arrived.
Twenty minutes later, we viewed the contents together.
The message came from Lauren’s former assistant, a woman named Bethany Crane.
I resigned from NexusCore four months ago. Lauren instructed me to hide expenses, alter travel records, and schedule private meetings with Matthew. I believed it was an affair, but I later found files showing something larger. I kept copies because I was afraid they would blame me.
Below the message were encrypted attachments.
Receipts.
Contracts.
Travel logs.
Photographs.
One file contained payment records for the Hamptons property.
The house had been purchased through a shell company funded with NexusCore money.
Another contained invoices from a private fertility clinic.
I stared at the clinic’s name.
“Why would the company pay for that?”
My father didn’t answer.
Detective Brooks opened the next document.
A legal agreement appeared.
Matthew Hayes and Lauren Thorne were identified as intended parents in an embryo-storage contract dated eighteen months earlier.
My stomach turned.
“They were trying to have a baby.”
The room blurred.
My father reached for my hand, but I pulled it away.
Not because I blamed him.
Because I couldn’t bear being touched.
Matthew and I had discussed children for years.
Every time I raised the subject, he told me the company wasn’t ready.
He told me I wasn’t ready.
He once suggested that my “emotional instability” might make motherhood irresponsible.
All while secretly planning a child with Lauren.
Detective Brooks closed the document.
“We can stop.”
“No.”
“Clare.”
“Keep going.”
The next attachment was worse.
A draft prenuptial agreement.
Not ours.
Matthew and Lauren’s.
It divided assets after his planned divorce from me.
The draft classified NexusCore as Matthew’s separate property.
It also contained a timeline.
Step one: establish evidence of my alleged instability.
Step two: persuade the board to remove me from all informal advisory access.
Step three: obtain my signature on an intellectual-property clarification agreement.
Step four: file for divorce.
Step five: announce Matthew’s relationship with Lauren six months later.
Beside step three, someone had written:
Clare still believes these are routine governance documents.
My signature appeared on the agreement.
Dated three weeks earlier.
“I signed that,” I whispered.
My father read the title.
“What did he tell you it was?”
“A standard compliance update.”
The attachment showed that I had assigned all past, present, and future intellectual property related to NexusCore to a holding company controlled personally by Matthew.
Detective Brooks leaned back.
“That may be fraud.”
My father’s voice went cold.
“It is fraud.”
“How do you know?”
“Because the document is notarized.”
“So?”
“Clare was with me on the date listed.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
He reached into his coat and removed an envelope.
“I haven’t given this to you yet.”
Inside was a photograph.
A charity event from three weeks earlier.
I was in the background.
My father stood across the ballroom speaking with investors.
I remembered the night.
It was the first time we had been in the same room in years.
Neither of us had approached the other.
“You took this?”
“My assistant did.”
The timestamp placed me in Connecticut at the exact hour the document claimed I had appeared before a Manhattan notary.
Detective Brooks looked at Daniel.
“Find that notary.”
Daniel was already typing.
A second message arrived from Bethany.
There’s more. Lauren kept recordings. She recorded everyone.
“Why?” I asked.
My father understood immediately.
“Insurance.”
Against Matthew.
Against the board.
Against anyone who might turn on her.
Detective Brooks called Bethany.
The call went to voicemail.
She tried again.
Nothing.
“Where does she live?” I asked.
The detective stood.
“We’ll locate her.”
“Is she in danger?”
“We don’t know.”
My father looked at Daniel.
“Send someone.”
Detective Brooks turned sharply.
“Your people do not interfere.”
“They won’t. They will observe and call you.”
The detective considered arguing.
Then her phone rang.
She listened without speaking.
Her expression changed.
“What happened?” I asked.
She ended the call.
“Bethany Crane’s apartment door is open.”
My father straightened.
“Is she inside?”
“No.”
“Any sign of violence?”
“Not yet.”
I looked at the encrypted files on the screen.
“Matthew knows she copied them.”
Detective Brooks’s silence confirmed my fear.
“He isn’t just trying to protect an affair,” I said.
May you like
“No,” my father replied.
“He’s trying to bury a conspiracy.”
