Chapter 5 - The Price of My Death
By Monday morning, my life had separated into two versions.
There was the life the public could see.
Adrianna Solomon, president of Solomon Construction, arrived at work in a charcoal suit and walked through the lobby carrying coffee.
She smiled at employees.
She asked the receptionist about her daughter’s soccer tournament.
She took the elevator to the seventh floor.
Normal.
Then there was the truth.
Two plainclothes officers sat in an unmarked vehicle outside.
My son was staying in a confidential location.
My husband was under investigation for poisoning me.
My company’s longtime attorney had apparently forged my signature.
And somewhere inside the building, I had no idea who was still loyal to me.
My executive assistant, Rachel Monroe, stood when I entered.
“You’re here.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
Her face told me plenty.
“David sent an email last night.”
“To whom?”
“Senior leadership.”
My stomach tightened.
“What did it say?”
She handed me a printed copy.
I read the first line.
Due to Adrianna Solomon’s ongoing health concerns, I will be assuming expanded executive responsibilities effective immediately.
I looked up.
“Who received this?”
“Everyone vice president and above.”
“Did he come in?”
“Seven this morning.”
“Where is he now?”
“Your office.”
I stared at her.
“My office?”
Rachel nodded.
“He told security you authorized it.”
I walked past her.
David was sitting behind my desk.
My father’s desk.
He wore a navy suit and was reading one of my files.
He looked up with a calm smile.
“Good morning.”
“Get out of my chair.”
He leaned back.
“I thought you might need a few days off.”
“Get out.”
“I’m worried about you.”
I walked to the desk.
“You attempted to have me declared incompetent.”
His expression barely moved.
“You’re upset.”
“You forged my signature.”
“Lower your voice.”
I actually laughed.
David rose.
“Employees are watching.”
“Good.”
His eyes hardened.
“That’s always been your problem.”
“What?”
“You think being emotional makes you strong.”
“No. Knowing exactly what you are makes me strong.”
He stepped closer.
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
He studied my face.
Then whispered:
“Where’s Owen?”
I felt every muscle in my body tense.
“Safe.”
“He’s my son.”
“He’s evidence in a child abuse investigation.”
A flicker of panic crossed his face.
There.
Gone.
But I saw it.
“So Whitney filled his head with stories.”
I leaned forward.
“Our son has bruises shaped like your fingers.”
David’s jaw tightened.
“He gets bruises. He’s a child.”
“He had sedatives in his blood.”
For the first time, his control slipped.
Only slightly.
But enough.
“You had him tested?”
I smiled coldly.
“Interesting question.”
He realized what he had revealed.
The office door opened.
Elaine Porter entered with two attorneys behind her.
David looked irritated.
“This is a private conversation.”
Elaine placed a document on the desk.
“Not anymore.”
He looked down.
“What is this?”
“A temporary restraining order concerning disputed corporate authority. Until the court reviews the alleged transfer, you have no expanded control over Solomon Construction.”
His face changed.
Elaine continued.
“You are also prohibited from representing yourself as acting chairman, controlling shareholder, or authorized agent for Mrs. Solomon.”
David stared at me.
“You went to court?”
“At eight this morning.”
He looked almost impressed.
“You’ve been busy.”
“So have you.”
Security arrived two minutes later.
David walked out without resistance.
But at the doorway, he turned.
“This company was dying when I married you.”
I stared at him.
“Revenue doubled after my father died.”
“Because I helped you.”
“You planned my funeral while collecting a paycheck from me.”
His lips curled.
“You really think this is about a paycheck?”
Then he left.
I should have felt victorious.
Instead, his words followed me.
What was it about?
At ten, Elaine and I met with our forensic accountant.
By noon, we had the answer.
David was broke.
Not normal broke.
Not overspent-a-credit-card broke.
He had nearly nine million dollars in undisclosed debt.
Private investment losses.
Loans.
A luxury property purchased through a shell corporation.
Cash advances.
And multiple payments to Dr. Leonard Vale.
Elaine pushed a spreadsheet toward me.
“This is why he needed your company.”
I stared at the numbers.
“He never told me about any of this.”
“That was the point.”
“What about Maggie?”
The accountant turned his laptop.
“She’s tied to two of the shell companies.”
Of course she was.
Mother and son.
Partners.
Elaine tapped another line.
“This is the part that concerns me most.”
A $500,000 payment.
Three months earlier.
Recipient: Franklin Strategic Legal Services.
Marcus Franklin.
My father’s attorney.
My attorney.
The man who notarized my forged signature.
“What did they buy for half a million dollars?”
Elaine’s voice was quiet.
“Probably him.”
I leaned back.
My phone rang.
Detective Cole.
I answered immediately.
“We located Dr. Vale.”
“Where?”
“Airport.”
My pulse jumped.
“He was trying to leave?”
“Flight to Costa Rica.”
“Did you arrest him?”
“He’s in custody on an unrelated warrant while prosecutors review the larger case.”
I stood.
“Will he talk?”
“He already is.”
My breath caught.
“What did he say?”
Cole paused.
“He claims David contacted him almost a year ago.”
“A year?”
“Yes.”
“That’s impossible. David only gave me the capsules two days ago.”
“The capsules were not the beginning.”
Cold spread through my body.
“What was?”
“According to Vale, David has been putting smaller doses of medication into your food and drinks for months.”
I gripped the desk.
Memories rushed back.
Headaches.
Afternoons when I became so exhausted I slept for hours.
Meetings I struggled to remember.
David insisting I was working too hard.
Maggie bringing me tea.
The physician’s statement describing cognitive decline.
They hadn’t fabricated every symptom.
They had created them.
“How long?”
“Vale says approximately eight months.”
I closed my eyes.
Eight months of making me sick.
Eight months of building evidence that I was unstable.
Eight months of preparing to steal my life.
Cole continued.
“And Adrianna?”
“Yes?”
“Vale says there was supposed to be a final stage.”
My mouth went dry.
“What final stage?”
“After control of the company transferred, David planned to increase the dose.”
I could barely speak.
“To kill me.”
“Yes.”
I looked through the glass walls of my office at hundreds of employees moving through the building my father built.
“What happens to Vale now?”
“That depends on how much he can prove.”
“Why is he talking?”
“Because he’s scared.”
“Of prison?”
Cole paused.
“No.”
That surprised me.
“Then of what?”
“David.”
I almost laughed.
“David hired him.”
“Apparently David also threatened him.”
“What did Vale say?”
Cole’s voice lowered.
“He said your husband told him that if anything went wrong, he had a way to remove every loose end.”
A chill moved across my shoulders.
“Meaning Vale?”
“Vale.”
“Whitney?”
“Possibly.”
“Owen?”
Cole didn’t answer.
She didn’t need to.
Then Rachel appeared at my office door, pale.
I lowered the phone.
“What?”
She held out a courier envelope.
“This was just delivered.”
There was no return address.
Inside was a photograph.
Owen.
Standing outside Whitney’s sister’s house that morning.
Taken from across the street.
May you like
On the back, someone had written three words.
GIVE HIM BACK.
