Chapter 2 - THE THIRD MAN ON THE FLIGHT
I had convinced myself Richard’s presence meant safety.
That was the cruelest part.
He had shaken my hand on the helipad that morning, smiled at my stomach, and said, “Your father would have been so happy.”
Then he had claimed he needed to return to Monterey before we departed.
I watched him walk toward the terminal.
Or I thought I did.
Now I remembered something different.
A black SUV.
A phone pressed to his ear.
Evan looking through the helicopter window.
The two men exchanging a glance.
“Mara, Richard wasn’t on the helicopter when Evan pushed me.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“I pulled the flight plan.”
My brain struggled through the cold.
“He was scheduled.”
“Yes.”
“But removed himself forty minutes before departure.”
“Exactly.”
The fisherman covered me with another blanket.
His wife—or maybe his sister—kept pressing warm towels against my neck.
I could barely feel them.
“Where’s Richard now?” I asked.
“We don’t know.”
“Call him.”
“I did.”
“And?”
“His phone is off.”
That was worse than an answer.
The fishing boat met a Coast Guard vessel seventeen minutes later.
By then, my blood pressure was dropping.
A medic tried to ask me questions.
Name.
Age.
Weeks pregnant.
Allergies.
I answered until my vision blurred.
Then Mara’s voice came through the phone again.
“Lauren, listen to me carefully.”
“I’m listening.”
“Do not go home.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Do not call your mother.”
That snapped me awake.
“What?”
“Do not call anyone in the family.”
“Why?”
“Because Evan has already notified them.”
My mouth went dry.
“He told my mother I’m dead?”
“He told her you’re missing and presumed drowned.”
I stared at the waves.
The Coast Guard medic touched my shoulder.
“Ma’am, we need to move.”
I ignored him.
“What did my mother say?”
“She collapsed.”
Pain hit me harder than the fall.
I almost told Mara to call her immediately.
Then she added:
“Your brother is with Evan.”
I froze.
“Caleb?”
“Yes.”
My younger brother had hated Evan since the wedding.
They could barely spend ten minutes in the same room.
“Why would Caleb be with him?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where?”
“At your house.”
I looked at the medic.
“How far to a hospital?”
“Twenty minutes.”
I put the phone back to my ear.
“Mara, I need you to do something.”
“What?”
“Tell everyone I died.”
Silence.
Even the medic stared at me.
Mara’s voice sharpened.
“No.”
“If Evan thinks I survived, he starts destroying evidence.”
“He may already be doing that.”
“If he thinks I’m dead, he gets comfortable.”
“Lauren—”
“He pushed a pregnant woman out of a helicopter.”
My voice broke.
“My husband murdered me in his head before he ever touched my back. I need to know what he does when he thinks he won.”
Mara went silent.
Finally, she said, “The Coast Guard will have records.”
“Seal my identity as long as possible.”
“That won’t last.”
“It doesn’t need to.”
“How long?”
“Until tomorrow morning.”
“That’s dangerous.”
“So is going home.”
She exhaled.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
At the hospital, doctors rushed me into imaging.
The baby still had a heartbeat.
When the technician turned the monitor toward me, I cried so hard the nurse had to hold my hand.
One hundred fifty-two beats per minute.
Alive.
My baby was alive.
I whispered, “Your father tried to kill us.”
Saying it aloud made it real.
Hours later, just before midnight, Mara entered my hospital room wearing jeans, sneakers, and no makeup.
She locked the door behind her.
“How bad?” I asked.
“Evan has already petitioned for emergency control of several company voting rights.”
I stared at her.
“I’ve been missing less than ten hours.”
“He moved fast.”
“Too fast.”
“Yes.”
She placed a folder on my bed.
“He also produced a document granting him temporary authority over your trust if you become incapacitated.”
“I never signed that.”
“I know.”
“Forgery?”
“Probably.”
I opened the folder.
There was my signature.
Perfect.
Except for one detail.
The date.
Six months earlier.
I had been in Boston that entire week.
Evan had been in California.
“Good,” I whispered.
Mara frowned.
“Good?”
“He made a mistake.”
She nodded slowly.
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“Lauren, the document was notarized.”
I stared at her.
“By whom?”
Mara turned the page.
My heartbeat changed.
Richard Vale.
My father’s closest adviser had notarized a forged document designed to give my husband control of my fortune.
I looked at Mara.
“How long has Richard been working with him?”
“We’re going to find out.”
Then her phone buzzed.
She checked the screen.
All the color left her face.
“What?”
She turned the phone toward me.
It was a photograph.
Taken less than five minutes earlier.
Evan stood on the steps of my house wearing black, surrounded by reporters.
His eyes were red.
His hand covered his mouth.
The grieving husband.
But that wasn’t what made me stop breathing.
May you like
Behind him, visible through the open front door, stood my brother Caleb.
And Caleb was holding the original leather binder containing my father’s private trust documents.
