Chapter Five: The Missing Assistant
Bethany Crane was found shortly after sunrise.
She was alive.
Daniel’s team spotted her car in a parking garage near Penn Station. Police found her hiding in the back seat beneath a winter coat.
She had packed a suitcase after sending the files.
Before she could leave her apartment, she saw a man waiting near the stairwell.
She recognized him as Matthew’s private driver.
Bethany escaped through the building’s service entrance.
The driver claimed he had only gone there to deliver a severance agreement.
Police found fifty thousand dollars in cash inside his car.
The agreement required Bethany to surrender all devices and sign a statement declaring that she had fabricated claims about Matthew and Lauren.
Bethany refused.
By eight in the morning, she was seated in a secure interview room with Detective Brooks.
She brought one final piece of evidence.
A small digital recorder.
Lauren had once asked Bethany to have it repaired after spilling wine across the controls. Bethany copied the files before returning it.
One recording captured Lauren and Matthew arguing in the Hamptons house.
Lauren’s voice came first.
“You said Clare would sign everything.”
“She did.”
“Then why is Richard Sterling still connected to the debt?”
“Because the old man built safeguards into the loan structure.”
“You told me he abandoned her.”
“He did emotionally.”
“That’s not the same as financially.”
“She’ll never call him.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I broke that connection years ago.”
“How?”
“I made sure every letter disappeared. I changed her building permissions. I told her he called her a disgrace.”
My eyes closed as the recording played.
My father sat beside me.
Neither of us spoke.
Matthew had turned our pride into a weapon.
He intercepted every attempt at reconciliation, then convinced each of us that the other had chosen silence.
Lauren’s voice continued.
“What happens if Clare finds out about the patents?”
“She won’t.”
“And the trust?”
“She doesn’t know it still exists.”
“You’re very sure of yourself.”
“She believes whatever I repeat long enough.”
The recording ended.
My father stood and walked toward the window.
His shoulders were rigid.
“Dad.”
He didn’t turn.
“I believed him too.”
“He manipulated you.”
“I let him.”
“So did I.”
“That is not the same.”
“It is exactly the same.”
He faced me.
Anger and grief battled across his expression.
“I built my career identifying dishonest men. I sat across from dictators, fraudsters, corrupt executives, and thieves. Yet one arrogant boy walked into my daughter’s life, and I allowed manners to keep me outside the door.”
“You respected my choice.”
“I respected it too much.”
I extended my hand.
After a moment, he took it.
“We lost seven years,” I whispered.
“Yes.”
“We don’t have to lose another day.”
My father bowed his head.
For the first time in my life, I saw Richard Sterling cry.
Only once.
Only for a second.
Then he sat beside me and held my hand as though he intended never to release it again.
At noon, Detective Brooks informed us that Matthew faced charges related to assault, unlawful restraint, witness tampering, forgery, and financial misconduct.
Lauren had not yet been arrested.
“She participated in the fraud,” I said.
“We’re building that case.”
“She paid Bethany.”
“Corporate records show Lauren authorized the severance payment.”
“What about the man outside Bethany’s apartment?”
“He says Matthew instructed him.”
“Lauren will claim she knew nothing.”
“She already is.”
That afternoon, Lauren held a press conference outside her attorney’s office.
I watched it from the hospital television.
She wore a cream coat and no visible jewelry.
Her makeup was minimal.
Every detail had been designed to make her appear vulnerable.
“I am horrified by the allegations involving Matthew Hayes,” she told reporters. “Like many women in positions of professional dependence, I was manipulated by a powerful executive.”
She denied knowing he had assaulted me.
She described herself as another victim.
She claimed Matthew controlled the Hamptons house, fertility payments, and expense accounts.
When asked about the affair, she lowered her eyes.
“I regret my personal choices.”
The performance was nearly perfect.
Then a reporter shouted, “Did you help forge Clare Hayes’s signature?”
Lauren stopped walking.
Only for half a second.
But it was enough.
Fear flashed across her face.
That evening, another anonymous email reached my father.
It contained a photograph of Lauren standing beside a notary desk.
The date matched the forged document.
May you like
The sender wrote:
Ask Lauren why the notary left the country.
