Chapter 3 - MY HUSBAND'S NAME
I stared at the social worker.
“No.”
Ms. Patterson remained gentle.
“The report lists Grant Holloway.”
“That’s impossible.”
“It may be.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means identities can be used incorrectly. We verify these things.”
My lungs started working again.
“What does the report say?”
She hesitated.
“It claims you had become emotionally unpredictable during pregnancy, that you had made statements about not wanting the baby, and that you were misusing prescription medication.”
I almost laughed.
Then I nearly cried.
“I don’t even take prescription medication.”
“I understand.”
“No, you don’t. Grant would never write that.”
She looked at me carefully.
“Where is your husband?”
“He went home to get our hospital bag.”
“When did you last speak with him?”
“Maybe an hour ago.”
My phone was still missing from the tray.
Then I remembered Brielle had picked it up.
Security had removed her.
With my phone.
“Please call security. My sister took my phone.”
Everything accelerated after that.
A guard recovered it from Brielle in the hallway.
She claimed it was an accident.
I unlocked the screen.
Eleven missed calls.
All from Grant.
Then a text:
NATALIE, DO NOT LET YOUR MOTHER NEAR CLARA. I FOUND SOMETHING.
Another:
CALL ME IMMEDIATELY.
My heart started pounding.
I called.
Grant answered before the first ring finished.
“Are they there?”
“Yes.”
“Is Clara okay?”
“Yes. Where are you?”
“Parking garage.”
His breathing was hard.
“Grant, social work says you filed a report against me.”
Silence.
Then:
“What?”
I explained.
He swore under his breath.
“Natalie, listen to me. I never filed anything.”
“I know.”
“You need to tell security not to let your mother leave.”
“Why?”
“I found the birthday spreadsheet.”
“What birthday spreadsheet?”
“The real one.”
I looked toward the hallway.
Diane and Brielle were still speaking with security.
Grant continued.
“The party was never eighty thousand dollars.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“The venue estimate is eighteen thousand. Catering is twelve. Everything together is less than forty.”
My stomach turned.
“Then why did Brielle say eighty?”
“Because the rest wasn’t for the party.”
The elevator doors opened somewhere outside my room.
Grant’s voice dropped.
“I found a transfer schedule, Natalie.”
“How much?”
“Forty-two thousand dollars.”
“To whom?”
He paused.
“To a man named Elliot Vance.”
I knew that name.
May you like
And suddenly the birthday party made no sense at all.
Because Elliot Vance was my mother’s lawyer.
