Chapter 10 - THE BIRTHDAY CAKE
That evening, I bought Nolan a cake.
No cameras.
No lawyers.
No detectives.
No arguments.
Just me, my father, Nolan, and a small chocolate cake from a neighborhood bakery.
It cost twenty-six dollars.
I stared at the receipt for a long time.
Twenty-six dollars.
Three weeks of sewing.
One bruise.
A marriage collapsing.
A company unraveling.
Millions of dollars hidden.
All because one small boy had asked for something that cost less than dinner at the restaurant Alistair visited every Friday.
“Mom?”
I looked up.
Nolan stood beside the kitchen counter.
“Can we put seven candles?”
My eyes filled.
“Yes.”
“All seven?”
“All seven.”
He smiled.
We placed them around the cake.
Not perfectly.
One leaned sideways.
Another sank too deep into the frosting.
Nolan didn't care.
My father turned off the kitchen light.
The flames glowed across my son's face.
For one terrible second, the bruise was still visible beneath them.
Then Nolan closed his eyes.
Made a wish.
And blew.
All seven flames disappeared.
My father clapped.
I clapped.
Nolan laughed.
No one told him he was spoiled.
No one told him life owed him nothing.
No one told him asking for joy was weakness.
We ate cake.
Nolan asked for seconds.
I said yes.
My father took thirds.
Then pretended it was only because the slice was small.
For thirty minutes, the world felt normal.
After Nolan went to bed, Thomas and I sat outside.
The Arizona night was cool.
He held coffee.
I held nothing.
“What did you wish for when you were seven?” I asked.
My father smiled.
“A bicycle.”
“Did you get one?”
“No.”
I laughed.
“Grandpa couldn't afford it.”
“Were you angry?”
“For about three days.”
He looked toward the window.
“Then he built me one out of parts.”
“That sounds like Grandpa.”
“He painted it red.”
“You hate red.”
“I hated it then too.”
We both smiled.
Then my father became quiet.
“Nicole.”
“Yes?”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
There it was.
The question I had been avoiding.
I looked at my hands.
“Because I was embarrassed.”
“Of what?”
“Everything.”
He waited.
“When I married Alistair, you warned me.”
“I said he was ambitious.”
“You said he liked control.”
“I did.”
“I defended him.”
“You loved him.”
“I chose him.”
My father nodded.
“Yes.”
“And every year it got a little worse.”
I stared into the darkness.
“But never bad enough all at once.”
He didn't interrupt.
“He didn't hit me and put me in the hospital.”
“He didn't lock me in a basement.”
“He didn't do the kinds of things you see in dramatic stories.”
I looked at him.
“He just made the world smaller.”
My father said nothing.
“One bank password.”
“One canceled trip.”
“One argument about my clothes.”
“One friend I stopped calling.”
“One time he took my keys.”
“One time he said I couldn't understand taxes.”
“One time he said mothers who worked were selfish.”
“Then suddenly fifteen years passed.”
My voice cracked.
“And I couldn't remember the last decision I made without wondering whether he'd be angry.”
My father wiped his eyes.
“I wish I'd come sooner.”
“I wouldn't have left.”
He looked at me.
“Maybe not.”
“I would've defended him.”
“I know.”
That was the truth.
Sometimes rescue doesn't work until the person trapped can see the door.
We sat quietly.
Then I asked, “Why didn't you take the company back earlier?”
He sighed.
“Because I was afraid you would choose him over me.”
I stared.
“I might have.”
“I know.”
He looked ashamed.
“So I kept renewing loans.”
“Letting him default?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because the company employed two hundred people.”
That surprised me.
“I could punish Alistair.”
He sipped his coffee.
“But shutting down the company punished everyone.”
He was right.
Secretaries.
Carpenters.
Drivers.
Project managers.
People with mortgages.
Kids.
Medical bills.
“The board is keeping operations running?”
“Yes.”
“Without him?”
“So far.”
“Who becomes CEO?”
“Temporary president is Derek Vaughn.”
I knew Derek.
Alistair had once called him “too soft.”
Apparently soft men could run companies too.
My phone buzzed.
Rachel.
I answered.
“Hi.”
“Sorry it's late.”
“It's okay.”
“We received more discovery from the accountants.”
I closed my eyes.
“Of course.”
“There are additional transfers.”
“To Sharon?”
“Some.”
“To Summer?”
“Yes.”
“Anything surprising?”
She paused.
“Yes.”
My stomach tightened.
“Alistair created a college fund.”
“For Mason?”
“No.”
That surprised me.
“For Nolan?”
“No.”
I frowned.
“Then who?”
“A child named Everett Vale.”
Vale.
Summer.
My heart stopped.
“How old?”
“Eighteen months.”
I said nothing.
Rachel continued carefully.
“Summer Vale is listed as the mother.”
“And father?”
“No father listed on the birth certificate.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
There was always another secret.
“How much money?”
“Approximately four hundred thousand dollars.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Another child.”
“We don't know that.”
“Come on.”
“Nicole.”
“He bought her a condo.”
“Yes.”
“He had a two-year affair.”
“Yes.”
“The child is eighteen months old.”
“Yes.”
“What are the odds?”
“Strong enough that we need evidence.”
I looked toward my father.
He was watching me.
“Does Summer know?”
“I don't know.”
“Can we ask?”
“Not directly without coordinating.”
I sighed.
“Fine.”
Rachel continued.
“There's another reason this matters.”
“What?”
“The LLC holding that education fund was created using money originating from the offshore account in your name.”
My jaw tightened.
“So he used my identity to fund his possible child with his mistress.”
“It appears that way.”
I laughed.
Then stopped.
Because none of it was funny.
“What happens to the money?”
“We trace it.”
“And if it's mine?”
“That gets complicated.”
“Everything is complicated.”
Rachel laughed softly.
“Yes.”
She paused.
“Nicole?”
“Yes?”
“Don't let the money distract you from the bigger objective.”
“Nolan.”
“You and Nolan.”
I looked toward his bedroom.
“I won't.”
The next morning, Summer called Rachel and requested a meeting.
We met at Rachel's office.
Summer looked different.
No cream suit.
No diamonds.
Jeans.
Sweater.
Hair pulled into a ponytail.
She looked tired.
“I owe you an apology.”
I sat across from her.
“Yes.”
She looked surprised by the answer.
I continued.
“You do.”
She nodded.
“I knew he was married.”
That hurt more than hearing she thought we were separated.
“I thought it was ending.”
“You still knew.”
“Yes.”
Silence.
I did not absolve her.
She didn't ask me to.
Then she placed a photograph on the table.
A little boy.
Brown hair.
Green eyes.
About eighteen months old.
“This is Everett.”
I stared at the photograph.
“He's Alistair's?”
Summer began crying.
“I think so.”
“You think?”
“He refused a paternity test.”
Of course.
“He said it would complicate business.”
I almost laughed.
“Business.”
“He opened the trust.”
“The education account?”
She nodded.
“I thought it was his money.”
“Apparently that's everyone's favorite sentence.”
Summer lowered her head.
“You're right.”
I looked at the child again.
Everett had Nolan's chin.
Or maybe I imagined it.
“What do you want?”
“To cooperate.”
“With what?”
“Everything.”
She removed a phone.
“He gave me this.”
A second phone.
Not her regular one.
“He said we should use it for private messages.”
Rachel took it carefully.
“Is it locked?”
Summer gave her the passcode.
“Everything is still there.”
Alistair's secrets.
Again.
Summer looked at me.
“There are messages about the insurance.”
My stomach tightened.
“What kind of messages?”
She hesitated.
“He told me you were sick.”
“I wasn't.”
“I know that now.”
“What did he say?”
“That you had fainting spells.”
Same lie.
“That doctors were worried.”
“Did he say I might die?”
Summer closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
My hands went cold.
“When?”
“Months ago.”
“What exactly did he say?”
She looked ashamed.
“He said that if something happened to you, he'd finally be free to start over.”
Rachel's expression hardened.
I asked, “Did he ever say he would make something happen?”
“No.”
“Ever?”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“But…”
There was always a but.
“What?”
Summer unlocked the phone.
She opened a message thread.
ALISTAIR:
Sometimes nature just needs a little help.
I stared.
The message beneath it was from Summer.
What does that mean?
Alistair had replied:
Nothing. Bad joke.
My heart pounded.
“When?”
“Seven weeks ago.”
Almost exactly when the sedatives were ordered.
Rachel photographed the screen.
Then Summer scrolled.
Another message.
ALISTAIR:
Carrow says the paperwork is covered.
SUMMER:
What paperwork?
ALISTAIR:
Estate stuff. Don't worry.
Another.
ALISTAIR:
Six months from now, everything changes.
SUMMER:
How?
ALISTAIR:
You, me, Everett. No baggage.
Baggage.
Was that me?
Or Nolan?
I looked at Summer.
“Did you ask what he meant?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“That the divorce would be finalized by then.”
But no divorce had ever been filed.
Not by him.
Not until I planned to file.
Rachel's phone rang.
She stepped outside.
When she returned, her expression was different.
“Nicole.”
“What?”
“Detective Alvarez wants you at the station.”
“Why?”
“They have the full lab results.”
I immediately thought of the vitamins.
“The sedative?”
Rachel nodded.
“What did they find?”
“The capsules contained zolpidem.”
I didn't know the name.
“A sleep medication.”
My mouth went dry.
“How much?”
“Variable dosage.”
“Meaning?”
“Some capsules were normal supplements.”
She looked at me.
“Others contained enough medication to heavily sedate someone who wasn't expecting it.”
Summer covered her mouth.
I felt sick.
Rachel continued.
“And they found Alistair's fingerprints on the bottle.”
My father, who had been silent, stood.
“That's enough.”
Rachel raised one hand.
“It proves handling, not intent.”
Thomas looked furious.
“How much more do you need?”
“For criminal charges?”
She looked at him.
“Enough that they survive court.”
I understood.
I hated it.
But I understood.
Then Rachel said, “There is one more thing.”
I looked at her.
“The police searched his hotel room this morning.”
“Why?”
“A warrant based on the insurance evidence.”
“And?”
“They found a packed suitcase.”
My stomach dropped.
“Was he leaving?”
“Possibly.”
“What was inside?”
“Cash.”
“How much?”
“About ninety thousand.”
“Anything else?”
Rachel looked toward the photograph of Everett.
“Three passports.”
I stopped.
“Three?”
“His.”
Pause.
“Summer's.”
Summer went white.
“I never gave him my passport.”
“And Everett's.”
The room went completely silent.
Then Rachel added one final detail.
“The flight itinerary was for tomorrow morning.”
“To where?”
May you like
She looked at me.
“Belize.”
