Chapter 2 - The Web of Deceit
For the next three days, my hospital room became a heavily guarded command center. Under the guise of protecting me from "media intrusion" and ensuring my peaceful recovery, Arthur had hired a private, armed security detail to stand guard outside my door.
Derek had tried to visit twice. Both times, he was politely but firmly turned away by two imposing men in dark suits who informed him that, per medical orders, the patient was not allowed any visitors other than her immediate blood family.
"I am her husband!" Derek had shouted, his voice echoing down the sterile hallway on his second attempt. "I have a right to see my wife and my child!"
Inside the room, I clutched my blanket, trembling as I heard his voice. But Arthur simply stood up, walked to the door, opened it just a crack, and looked Derek dead in the eye.
"If you make another scene in this hospital, Derek, I will have the chief of police—who happens to be a very close friend of mine—personally escort you to a holding cell for disturbing the peace," Arthur said, his voice a low, lethal purr. "Go home. Let my daughter rest."
Derek had backed down, cursing under his breath, his eyes darting nervously around the corridor before he hurried away. He was losing control of the narrative, and for a control freak like Derek, that was a fate worse than death.
Inside the room, Marcus was deep in his digital investigation. The tables and chairs were covered with printed bank statements, corporate registries, and encrypted messaging logs.
"We’ve mapped out the entire structure," Marcus said, gesturing for me and Arthur to look at his laptop screen. "Derek’s financial ruin started about three years ago. It began with high-stakes poker in private suites in Buckhead, then escalated to offshore digital casinos based in Costa Rica and Macau."
"How did he hide fifteen million dollars of debt from me?" I asked, my voice trembling. "We share an accountant. We file joint taxes!"
"He didn't use your shared accounts," Marcus explained. "He forged your signature to open several shell corporations—primarily registered under 'Matthews & Associates Development,' playing off your family's prestigious name to gain credibility with lenders. He used these shells to secure massive, high-interest loans from private lenders connected to Victoria Hayes's organization."
"And Victoria?"
"Victoria Hayes is the 'clean face' of a brutal underground lending cartel," Arthur intervened, his eyes narrowing. "They cater to wealthy executives, professional athletes, and politicians who can't go to traditional banks to fund their vices. They let you get in deep, and then they squeeze you. If you can't pay, they don't just break your legs, Rebecca. They take everything you own, and then they make you disappear."
Marcus pulled up a document that made my stomach turn. It was a digital copy of a life insurance policy from Great Southern Assurance.
"This was issued six weeks ago," Marcus said. "It’s a ten-million-dollar policy on your life, Rebecca. The signature on the bottom is yours, but our handwriting experts have already confirmed it’s a highly sophisticated forgery. It contains a double-indemnity clause. If you die in an accident—like, say, falling down the stairs of your own home—the payout doubles to twenty million dollars."
"Twenty million," I whispered, a cold sweat breaking out across my forehead. "That’s enough to pay off his debt to Victoria and leave him with five million to start a new life."
"Exactly," Arthur said, his jaw clenching so hard I thought his teeth might shatter. "He didn't just want to get rid of you, Rebecca. He needed you to die. And he needed it to look like an accident caused by your 'unstable, emotional state.' The text messages he exchanged with Victoria were carefully crafted. He wanted anyone investigating to think he was having a messy affair, creating a smoke screen of marital distress, making you look depressed, paranoid, and clumsy."
"He was setting me up to be a suicide or a tragic accident," I said, the horrific realization settling deep into my bones. "He tried to kill our baby. He tried to kill me."
"And he failed," Arthur said, placing a firm, reassuring hand on my shoulder. "Which means he is now in a state of absolute, sheer panic. He knows you survived. He knows you remember. And he knows that every second you stay alive in this hospital, his window of opportunity to claim that insurance money is slamming shut."
"What do we do, Dad?" I asked, looking into my father's fierce, protective eyes. "If we go to the police right now, will they believe us? Derek is a well-known corporate executive. He has high-priced lawyers."
May you like
Arthur smiled, a cold, predatory expression that I had seen him wear in old newspaper clippings of his courtroom victories.
"If we just hand this over to the local police, Derek's lawyers will tie it up in court for years. He’ll post bail, he’ll flee the country, or worse, he’ll try to finish what he started. No, Rebecca. We aren't just going to arrest him. We are going to dismantle him. We are going to let him walk straight into a trap of his own making."
