Chapter 8 - Eric Finally Told Me the Truth
Walter Greene was gone.
His house was empty.
His car was missing.
His phone went straight to voicemail.
Detective Reed sent officers to his address within minutes of Jenna’s warning, but they found no sign of forced entry.
Just one disturbing detail.
His back door was unlocked.
Walter’s wife had died years earlier.
His daughter lived in Seattle.
No one could tell us whether he had left voluntarily.
Reed refused to call it an abduction.
I refused to call it normal.
By Tuesday morning, my family had become local news.
The wedding assault video was everywhere.
Reporters parked outside Dad’s business.
Someone posted a photograph of the Range Rover being seized.
My company received more than sixty calls.
Half from journalists.
Half from prospective clients who had apparently decided surviving public family chaos made me trustworthy under pressure.
Luis found that hilarious.
“This is the strangest marketing campaign we’ve ever had.”
“I’m thrilled.”
At 10:30, Eric walked into my office.
Alone.
He looked terrible.
“Where’s Madison?”
“At my apartment.”
“Your apartment?”
“We didn’t go to our honeymoon.”
“I heard.”
He sat down.
I didn’t offer coffee.
“What do you want?”
“To tell you the truth.”
“That would be new this week.”
He accepted the hit.
“I deserve that.”
I folded my arms.
He placed a folder on my desk.
“Madison knew your father was having money problems.”
“How much did she know?”
“More than she told me.”
There it was.
Eric explained that two months before the wedding, Madison had overheard Dad arguing with a lender.
Dad needed cash.
A lot of it.
Madison panicked because several wedding balances were due.
“So she asked him where the money was coming from?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“He told her he had access to family credit.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Family credit.”
Eric looked ashamed.
“She asked whose.”
My eyes narrowed.
“What did he say?”
“He said yours.”
There was a long silence.
“So Madison knew.”
“She knew he intended to use your credit.”
“Without asking me.”
Eric rubbed his forehead.
“I asked her if you had agreed. She said your parents had always managed family finances that way.”
Of course she did.
Because Madison had grown up watching the family redistribute my resources.
My time.
My money.
My patience.
Why wouldn’t my identity feel communal too?
“Did she know loans were being opened?”
“I don’t think she understood the extent.”
“That is not an answer.”
“No. I don’t think she knew about forged signatures.”
“But she knew Dad was using my credit.”
“Yes.”
That admission hurt more than I expected.
I had wanted Madison to be selfish.
Spoiled.
Impulsive.
I hadn’t wanted her to be complicit.
Eric pushed the folder toward me.
Inside were printed text messages.
Madison and Dad.
One month before the wedding.
Madison: Are you sure Claire won’t freak out?
Dad: She’ll complain. She always does. Then she’ll calm down.
Madison: What if she says no in front of everyone?
Dad: She won’t want to embarrass you.
I stared at the words.
They had planned the public announcement precisely because they believed social pressure would force me to surrender.
Another message.
Madison: And the car will really be mine?
Dad: We’re taking care of the paperwork.
I looked at Eric.
“She knew.”
He nodded slowly.
“Yes.”
“Why are you showing me this?”
“Because she lied to me.”
“That usually doesn’t make husbands betray their wives four days after the wedding.”
He flinched.
“I’m not betraying her.”
“You brought me evidence.”
“I’m trying to understand what I married into.”
That sentence softened something in me.
Not toward Madison.
Toward him.
“What happened after the police seized the Range Rover?”
“She blamed me.”
“For what?”
“For not convincing you to drop everything.”
I almost smiled.
“Welcome to the family.”
He didn’t.
“She said if I loved her, I would help pressure you.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because this is insane.”
Finally.
A normal human reaction.
Eric leaned forward.
“Claire, she’s terrified.”
“She should be.”
“Police want to interview her again.”
“She should tell the truth.”
“She thinks your father will cut her off.”
I stared at him.
“She’s twenty-six.”
“He pays the mortgage on her condo.”
Of course.
“Her phone?”
“Yes.”
“Insurance?”
“Yes.”
“Credit cards?”
“Some.”
The picture became painfully clear.
Madison wasn’t simply favored.
She was financially dependent.
Dad’s generosity was a leash.
My independence had made me harder to control.
So he stole from me instead.
“Is Madison willing to testify?”
“No.”
“Then what are we discussing?”
Eric’s eyes hardened.
“Because I think your father is threatening her.”
That changed everything.
“How?”
“Last night she got a message.”
“From him?”
“She deleted it.”
“What did it say?”
“I saw part of it before she did.”
He repeated it.
Remember who paid for your life. If Claire wins, you lose everything.
I leaned back.
“Did he say anything else?”
“She received another message this morning.”
“What?”
Eric hesitated.
“About Walter.”
My heart pounded.
“What about Walter?”
“He wrote: ‘One old man already learned what happens when he chooses Claire.’”
I stood.
“Did you save it?”
“Screenshot.”
“Send it to Detective Reed.”
“I already did.”
For the first time, I respected Eric.
Then his phone rang.
Madison.
He stared at the screen.
Answered.
“Madison?”
Her voice was loud enough for me to hear.
“Eric, where are you?”
“At Claire’s office.”
Silence.
Then screaming.
“You went to her?”
“Madison—”
“You promised!”
“I promised nothing.”
“She is destroying us!”
“No,” Eric said. “Your father is.”
Silence.
Then Madison said something quietly.
I couldn’t hear.
Eric’s face changed.
“What?”
Another pause.
“Where did you get that?”
He looked at me.
“What is it?” I whispered.
He put the phone on speaker.
Madison was crying.
“I found something in Dad’s desk before the wedding.”
“What?”
“A copy of Claire’s birth certificate.”
I frowned.
That wasn’t surprising.
Then Madison continued.
“And another birth certificate.”
Eric asked, “Whose?”
Madison’s voice shook.
“Mine.”
Silence.
“What’s strange about that?” I asked.
She whispered, “The father’s name is different.”
I felt the air leave the room.
“What name?”
Madison began sobbing.
May you like
“Daniel Cole.”
My dead uncle.
