Chapter 5 - THE WOMAN WHO PRACTICED MY SMILE
Her name was Lydia Shaw.
She was thirty-one, originally from Oklahoma, and had worked as a nightclub hostess before disappearing two years earlier.
Grant met her through Vanessa.
At first, Lydia was hired to attend private events while pretending to be me from a distance. She wore wigs, copied my clothing, and entered buildings using temporary credentials.
The Whitmores used her to create records showing “Claire Vance” authorizing suspicious transactions.
Later, Grant began training her for something larger.
Investigators found videos inside the freight car.
Lydia practiced my voice.
My walk.
My signature.
Even the way I touched my hair when nervous.
A cosmetic surgeon connected to Whitmore Holdings altered her nose, jawline, and eyelids.
The resemblance was disturbing but not perfect.
From across a room or behind large sunglasses, it could fool a camera.
It could not fool my father.
Unless I was already believed to be mentally unstable.
The plan became clear.
Grant would stage my breakdown.
After a period of hospitalization or isolation, Lydia would appear publicly on controlled occasions.
She would sign documents transferring Vance shares into companies managed by Grant.
If anyone noticed differences, Grant would blame medication, trauma, or pregnancy complications.
Eventually, Lydia would “die” in an accident.
My real body might never be found.
“What about the twins?” Dad asked.
Mara Chen uncovered another clinic payment.
A fertility specialist had been instructed to prepare forged miscarriage records.
The Whitmores intended to erase the pregnancy legally, even if my babies survived.
“Where is Lydia now?” I asked.
No one knew.
The rail-yard files included a recent photograph of her inside my home.
She was standing in my bedroom wearing one of my dresses.
The photograph had been taken three days before Grant assaulted me.
Someone had entered the house while I attended a foundation meeting.
Someone had disabled the security system.
The access code belonged to my mother.
Mom denied allowing Lydia inside.
But her cooperation agreement had already begun to collapse under new evidence.
“You used my code,” she told Harrison during a monitored confrontation.
Harrison smiled through the detention-room glass.
“You gave it to me.”
“For emergency access.”
“This was an emergency.”
“My daughter could have been murdered.”
“She was always going to become inconvenient.”
Mother recoiled.
“You promised she would only lose control of the shares.”
Harrison leaned closer.
“Elizabeth, you knew what happened to inconvenient beneficiaries.”
The sentence opened another investigation.
Over twenty years, three women connected to Whitmore wealth died under suspicious circumstances.
Grant’s aunt fell from a hotel balcony.
His first fiancée drowned during a private yacht trip.
Harrison’s former business partner died in a vehicle fire days before transferring company stock.
All three cases involved significant financial gains.
My mother had known enough to fear them.
Yet she still offered me to Grant.
When I confronted her, she did not deny it.
“Harrison said Grant only needed access,” she whispered.
“You let me build a life with him.”
“I believed you could control him.”
“He hit me six times.”
“I didn’t know.”
“You knew he was dangerous.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“Yes.”
“Why me?”
Her answer was almost inaudible.
“Because Harrison threatened your younger brother.”
I stared at her.
“I don’t have a younger brother.”
Dad stepped into the room.
His face turned pale.
Mother closed her eyes.
“His name is Thomas.”
Twenty-nine years earlier, before my parents married, Mother gave birth to a son. Her wealthy family forced her to surrender the baby through a private adoption.
Years later, Harrison discovered the sealed record.
He located Thomas and built evidence suggesting he had committed financial crimes through a Whitmore subsidiary.
Mother believed Harrison could send him to prison or have him killed.
“You sacrificed the daughter you raised to protect the son you never knew,” I said.
“I thought I could protect both.”
“You protected neither.”
Dad looked devastated.
“You never told me.”
“I was ashamed.”
“Of having a child?”
“Of giving him away.”
The secret explained her fear.
It did not excuse her choices.
Federal agents located Thomas under the name Thomas Reed.
He was not an innocent stranger.
He served as chief cybersecurity officer for Whitmore Holdings.
He designed the systems used to conceal the stolen shipments.
My biological half brother had worked for Harrison for eleven years.
When agents arrived at his home, it was empty.
A message had been left on his computer.
CLAIRE IS NOT THE ONLY VANCE HEIR.
Thomas knew who he was.
He knew Mother had protected him.
And according to the ledger, he had personally transferred money to Grant three hours before the assault.
My phone rang from an unknown number.
A woman spoke.
“Claire, my name is Lydia.”
I signaled for Mara to trace the call.
“I don’t have much time,” Lydia continued.
“Where are you?”
“With Grant.”
My pulse accelerated.
“Are you being held?”
“He thinks I still want your life.”
“Do you?”
A long silence.
“I did.”
“Why call me?”
“Because Grant’s plan changed when he learned about the twins.”
“What plan?”
“He doesn’t want to replace you anymore.”
I heard a door opening in the background.
Lydia lowered her voice.
“He wants to remove the babies and keep them alive.”
My body turned cold.
“Why?”
“Because Vance shares pass to your biological children.”
Footsteps approached.
May you like
Before the line disconnected, Lydia whispered one final sentence.
“Grant is taking us to your mother’s private clinic.”
