Chapter 2: The Money Behind My Pregnancy
I didn't sleep.
At 5:30 a.m., I slipped out of bed and went downstairs.
The house was quiet except for the refrigerator humming in the kitchen.
I made coffee I couldn't drink and sat at the dining table, staring at the ultrasound picture.
My daughter's tiny profile looked peaceful.
She had no idea that the people preparing to welcome her into the world might be planning something behind my back.
At 6:12, my phone rang.
Claire.
I stared at her name until the call stopped.
Then a text arrived.
*Claire: Good morning, beautiful! How are you and the little princess?*
I almost threw my phone across the kitchen.
She had been hiding in my closet yesterday.
Now she was asking about my daughter as if she hadn't spent the afternoon in my husband's arms.
I typed three different responses.
Deleted all of them.
Finally, I wrote:
*Emily: We're fine. Just tired.*
Her reply came immediately.
*Claire: I was thinking we should have lunch today. Just us girls. I miss you.*
I placed the phone facedown.
A few minutes later, Damon came downstairs.
He was dressed for work.
“Morning, sweetheart.””
“Morning.””
He kissed my forehead and opened the refrigerator.
“Did you sleep okay?””
“Not really.””
He glanced at me.
“Still feeling dizzy?””
“A little.””
He poured orange juice into a glass.
“You should take it easy. No more stressing yourself out.””
I watched him.
“Damon, what company is paying Claire?””
His hand stopped.
“What?””
“The transfer in your notebook.””
He set the glass down.
“Emily, we discussed this.””
“No. You told me it was confidential. That's not the same thing.””
He sighed as though I were an unreasonable child.
“Claire helped with a business project. She received a consulting fee.””
“Twenty-five thousand dollars?””
“She's good at what she does.””
“What does she do?””
He stared at me.
Then his phone rang.
He looked at the screen and immediately silenced it.
“I'm late.””
He grabbed his keys.
“Please don't turn every little thing into an argument.””
Before leaving, he kissed my cheek.
I watched him walk out.
Then I noticed something.
He had forgotten his laptop bag.
I picked it up to put it beside the door.
A small white envelope had slipped out of the side pocket.
My name was written across it.
*EMILY — SEPTEMBER ARRANGEMENTS.*
I opened it.
Inside was a printed document from a private family services company.
At the top were the words:
*MATERNITY SUPPORT AND POSTPARTUM CARE AGREEMENT.*
My heart began pounding.
The document listed my expected delivery date, hospital, physician, and insurance information.
But the final page contained a section titled:
*TEMPORARY INFANT CARE AUTHORIZATION.*
Under the proposed guardian's name was Claire Whitmore.
I read it twice.
Then three times.
Why would my best friend be listed as someone authorized to care for my newborn?
I turned the page.
There was another name.
Owen Whitmore.
Claire's fiancé.
And beside their names was a handwritten note.
*Primary placement to begin within 72 hours of delivery.*
Placement?
I felt sick.
I photographed every page and returned the envelope exactly where I found it.
Then I called the number printed at the bottom.
A woman answered.
“Good morning, Whitmore Family Services.””
“Hello. My name is Emily Carter. I'm calling about a document involving a maternity arrangement.””
“Certainly, Mrs. Carter. Can you provide your reference number?””
I read it aloud.
There was a pause.
Then the woman's voice became more formal.
“I'm sorry, Mrs. Carter. I can only discuss the details with the authorized client.””
“I'm the mother named in the agreement.””
Another pause.
“Please hold.””
I heard keyboard clicks.
Then a man answered.
“Mrs. Carter, this is Daniel from client relations. How may I help you?””
“Why is Claire Whitmore listed as the temporary guardian of my baby?””
Silence.
“Mrs. Carter, I believe there may be some confusion.””
“Then clear it up.””
“I'd prefer to arrange an in-person meeting.””
“Why?””
“Because the agreement contains sensitive family information.””
I gripped the edge of the counter.
“Who signed it?””
He hesitated.
“Your husband, Mr. Carter, initiated the arrangement.””
The room seemed to tilt.
“Did I sign anything?””
“I can't verify that over the phone.””
“Was I supposed to?””
“Mrs. Carter, please come to our office.””
I ended the call.
For several minutes, I couldn't move.
Then I called my older sister, Natalie.
She answered on the fourth ring.
“Emily? Everything okay?””
“No.””
Her voice immediately changed.
“What happened?””
“I need you to meet me. Somewhere private.””
“Are you hurt?””
“No. But I think Damon is planning something involving the baby.””
She was silent.
Then she asked a question that made my blood run cold.
“Did you find out about the money?””
I stared at the wall.
“What money?””
Natalie exhaled shakily.
“Emily, I need you to listen carefully. I didn't want to tell you until I had proof.””
“Proof of what?””
“Claire came to see Mom three weeks ago.””
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“Why?””
“She asked about Dad's estate.””
I frowned.
“Our father died six years ago. What does Claire have to do with his estate?””
“That's what I asked her.””
Natalie lowered her voice.
“She said Damon had told her about the inheritance you received when you married him.””
I froze.
My inheritance.
The money our father had left me was placed in a protected trust before I married Damon. I had never touched it because the agreement required certain conditions before it could be distributed.
“What did Claire want?””
“She wanted to know whether the money would transfer to your daughter if something happened to you.””
I couldn't speak.
Natalie continued.
“Emily, I told her to leave. But she said something strange before she walked out.””
“What?””
“She said, 'Owen deserves to know what his family has been paying for.''”
My stomach dropped.
“His family?””
“That's why I'm calling you now. I found something.””
“What?””
“Dad's attorney sent me a copy of an old document yesterday. Apparently, there's a clause in your trust that nobody ever explained properly.””
“What clause?””
“I'm sending you a photograph.””
My phone buzzed.
A document appeared.
I read the heading.
*BENEFICIARY PROTECTION AND SUCCESSION AGREEMENT.*
Below it was a paragraph about the inheritance.
If I died before the birth of my first biological child, the estate would be placed under the control of a designated family trustee.
But the next paragraph was worse.
The trustee had already been named.
*Owen Whitmore.*
I read the name again.
Claire's fiancé.
My husband's business partner.
And the man whose family had apparently been paying my husband.
I called Natalie back.
“Why would Dad choose Owen?””
“I don't know. But there's something else.””
“What?””
“The document was amended two months before Dad died.””
“By whom?””
Natalie hesitated.
Then she said, “Your mother.””
I sat down.
Our mother had died three years after our father.
And I had never known she had changed anything in the trust.
“Why would Mom put Owen in charge?””
“I think she was trying to protect you from someone.””
“From whom?””
Natalie didn't answer immediately.
May you like
Then she whispered:
“Emily, I think she knew Damon before you did.””
