Chapter 2 - THE DEAD TWIN WHO WALKED INTO MY MARRIAGE
Preston had an identical twin.
Alive.
I read the name three times.
Parker Barrett.
My husband had told me Parker drowned at seventeen.
There had been photographs of them together as boys, but never anything after high school.
Whenever I asked about him, Preston became quiet.
I had mistaken silence for grief.
Now I wondered whether anything in my marriage had been real.
“Where is Parker?” I asked.
“We’re trying to establish that.”
“You have a photograph.”
“Five years old.”
“Why was he outside the building?”
“That’s one of the questions I hoped you could answer.”
“I didn’t know he existed.”
Gideon studied me.
“I believe you.”
The words should not have mattered.
They did.
I had spent years living with a man who treated every emotion I expressed as evidence that I was too sensitive, too damaged, too dependent.
Gideon simply believed me.
I hated how unfamiliar that felt.
He slid another document over.
An employment file.
Parker had once worked in Barrett Development’s accounting department under a different name.
Three weeks before the fire, he vanished.
Gideon said, “The theory is that Parker helped Preston move money.”
“Theory?”
“We have proof he accessed the accounts. We don’t know whether he participated willingly.”
I looked at the gala invitation still inside my handbag.
“Why create that ridiculous dress code?”
Gideon leaned back.
“I don’t think humiliating you is the real purpose.”
“Cassidy called me a disfigured monster.”
“I know.”
My face burned.
“How?”
“Her office was already under internal compliance review. Calls from corporate devices are archived.”
That was both comforting and horrifying.
Gideon continued.
“The Founders’ Gala includes a shareholder vote.”
I frowned.
“I thought it was just a fundraiser.”
“It’s also where the merger committee intends to approve Preston’s equity conversion.”
“And I matter because?”
“Because you own something.”
“I don’t own anything in Ashford.”
“Not Ashford.”
He opened another folder.
When Preston founded Barrett Development, we had been married for six months.
I had worked two jobs while he built it.
I gave him my savings.
I guaranteed the lease on the first office.
I signed documents I barely remembered because I trusted my husband.
One of those documents gave me twenty percent of the company.
When Barrett later became part of a subsidiary that Ashford Capital acquired, my ownership interest should have converted into restricted shares.
It never did.
Preston had declared that I surrendered them.
My signature appeared on the waiver.
Forged again.
“How much are they worth?”
Gideon answered quietly.
“At the current merger valuation? Roughly forty-two million dollars.”
I laughed.
It sounded ugly.
“For three years Preston complained about the cost of my scar treatments.”
Gideon’s expression went cold.
“He knew.”
I stared at him.
“He knew I owned forty-two million dollars?”
“He knew you owned the rights that could become forty-two million.”
“And he told me I was living off him.”
“Yes.”
Something inside me finally broke.
Not my heart.
That had been breaking for years.
My loyalty.
I closed the file.
“What do I need to do?”
Gideon’s eyes met mine.
“First, retain your own attorney. Not mine. Not anyone Preston knows.”
“Then?”
“Do not tell him you know anything.”
I smiled without humor.
“You want me to go home and pretend I didn’t hear my husband discussing his pregnant mistress?”
“For a little while.”
“How little?”
“Until the gala.”
I looked at the invitation.
Backless gowns only.
A public humiliation designed specifically for me.
Then Gideon said:
“There’s something else about your scars.”
My fingers stopped.
“What?”
He placed a medical report on the table.
My surgical history.
My skin grafts.
Photos taken in the burn unit.
I stood so fast the chair scraped backward.
“How did you get those?”
“I didn’t request them.”
“Then who did?”
Gideon looked furious.
“They were attached to the gala planning file.”
My stomach dropped.
Cassidy had obtained confidential photographs of my burned body.
But that was not the worst part.
One image had a handwritten note across the top.
May you like
MAKE SURE THE PHOTOGRAPHERS GET HER FROM BEHIND.
And the handwriting belonged to Preston.
