Chapter 7 - THE HONEYMOON THAT NEVER HAPPENED
Jackson listened to the recording alone.
He asked everyone to leave the hospital conference room except me.
I stood near the door while Natalie’s voice filled the space.
Make it painless. I did love him a little.
Jackson stopped the audio.
Then he played the sentence again.
And again.
On the fourth repetition, I reached over and closed the laptop.
“That is enough.”
“No,” he said.
“It will not sound different.”
“I need to understand.”
“You will not understand a person who can discuss your death like a travel inconvenience.”
He stood so suddenly that the chair struck the wall.
“I slept beside her.”
“I know.”
“I told her I wanted children.”
“I know.”
“She chose the island.”
He moved toward the window.
“The plane was supposed to leave at eight this morning.”
Federal agents had detained the pilot before dawn.
Inside the aircraft, investigators found evidence that a fuel-system warning had been intentionally disabled. A secondary tracking device was attached beneath the fuselage.
The intended accident might have occurred over open water.
No witnesses.
No bodies easily recovered.
The one hundred twenty million dollars would have entered the marital trust before departure. Under the documents Natalie prepared, she would become primary beneficiary if Jackson died.
The remaining family estate would be pursued through my alleged incapacity.
Within days, she could have controlled everything Frank and I spent forty years building.
Jackson pressed both palms against the window.
“I almost defended her long enough to let her kill me.”
“You stopped when the truth became undeniable.”
“Because you made it undeniable.”
I had no comforting response.
Agent Cross entered after Jackson gave permission.
“We believe Natalie has left the state.”
“Where?”
“She used a private vehicle registered to a company in Patricia’s network. Traffic cameras lost it near the western highway.”
“And Thomas?”
“Missing. His passport was used at a private terminal, but the aircraft never filed an international plan.”
“Mercer?”
“His attorneys claim they have not spoken to him in months.”
Agent Cross sat opposite Jackson.
“We need your cooperation.”
“You have it.”
“Natalie may contact you. She may apologize, threaten self-harm, claim pregnancy or offer information in exchange for protection.”
Jackson looked at him.
“Why pregnancy?”
“It creates emotional leverage and legal delay. In similar schemes, members of the Vale network have used false pregnancies.”
I thought of Natalie’s constant refusal to drink during wedding preparations.
She had told everyone she was following a bridal wellness plan.
The possibility had clearly occurred to Jackson.
“She might actually be pregnant.”
“Then medical evidence will establish that,” Agent Cross replied. “Do not meet her privately.”
Jackson’s phone rang before the agent finished speaking.
Natalie.
Her name appeared beside the wedding photograph Jackson had assigned months earlier.
He stared at it.
“Answer,” Agent Cross said. “Do not accuse her. Keep her talking.”
The call was placed on speaker and recorded.
“Jackson?”
Natalie sounded frightened.
He closed his eyes.
“Where are you?”
“I am safe.”
“Did you know about the plane?”
Silence.
“Jackson, your mother is poisoning you against me.”
“I heard the recording.”
Another silence.
When Natalie spoke again, her voice changed.
Less fragile.
More controlled.
“You do not know the context.”
“What context makes planning my death acceptable?”
“I was trying to protect us from my mother.”
“You said you loved me a little.”
“I said what they needed to hear.”
“Why?”
“Because once we had the money, we could disappear.”
“You told them to make my death painless.”
“No. I was discussing Thomas.”
The lie arrived without hesitation.
Jackson looked toward Agent Cross.
“Where are you?”
“I cannot tell you.”
“Are you with your mother?”
“No.”
“Adrian?”
“No.”
“Mercer?”
She breathed into the phone.
Then she began crying.
“I’m pregnant.”
Jackson went completely still.
Agent Cross had predicted it, yet the words struck exactly as intended.
“How far along?”
“Seven weeks.”
“Show me a medical report.”
“You think I would lie about our baby?”
“I think you shaved my mother’s head and planned to murder me.”
“I did not shave her.”
“Brooke saw the clippers.”
“Brooke helped your mother.”
“Stop.”
His voice broke.
“Just stop lying for one minute.”
Natalie became quiet.
Then she said, “Meet me.”
“No.”
“I will prove everything. I have documents showing Thomas killed your father. I know where Mercer is. I will give you all of it.”
“Send it to the police.”
“I only trust you.”
“You were going to kill me.”
“I was trying to get away from them.”
“Then tell me where you are.”
“Come alone.”
Agent Cross shook his head.
Jackson understood.
“I won’t.”
Natalie exhaled.
“Then whatever happens to Ethan next is your fault.”
Everyone looked toward the hospital hallway.
Ethan was protected by two officers.
“You don’t have Ethan,” Jackson said.
“I don’t need him.”
“What does that mean?”
“Ask your mother about the medication Frank took after his first heart attack.”
She ended the call.
Jackson turned toward me.
“What medication?”
“Several.”
“Did Dad use nitroglycerin?”
“Yes.”
“Where did he keep it?”
“In a silver case.”
The case had never been found after his death.
Agent Cross contacted the evidence team.
Frank’s original medical records showed that he carried fast-acting nitroglycerin tablets. If he had taken them when symptoms began, they might have bought critical time.
The recording captured Frank asking what Natalie had done.
Perhaps she had replaced the medication.
Perhaps the silver case contained physical evidence.
“Where would it be?” Agent Cross asked.
“Mercer or Thomas may have taken it.”
I remembered Frank gripping my wrist.
His fingers had pressed something into my palm.
After the paramedics arrived, I found a tiny silver hinge beneath my wedding ring.
At the time, I assumed it came from his watch.
I placed it in a box containing the clothes I wore that night.
The box remained at the lake house.
By afternoon, investigators searched the property.
They found the hinge in the pocket of my old cardigan.
It matched Frank’s missing medication case.
A metal detector located the rest of the case beneath the porch, where it had fallen between two boards.
Inside were three tablets.
Laboratory analysis showed they were not nitroglycerin.
They contained a concentrated beta blocker capable of sharply lowering heart rate and blood pressure.
Frank had been poisoned with medication disguised as treatment.
The fingerprints on the inner lid had partially survived.
One belonged to Frank.
The other required database comparison.
While we waited, the court held an emergency hearing on Natalie’s incapacity petition.
She appeared by video from an undisclosed location, claiming she feared retaliation from my company.
Her attorney argued that my public wedding speech, sudden cancellation of a $120 million transfer and allegations involving a four-year-old death demonstrated paranoia and impulsivity.
Rebecca presented my medical evaluation.
She presented evidence that Dr. Rusk had never examined me.
She presented the drug found in my blood and proof that Natalie’s petition had been prepared before the wedding assault.
Then the judge asked Jackson whether he supported the application bearing his signature.
He stood.
“I do not.”
“Did you sign the document?”
“I signed a page my wife represented as an application for future senior care.”
“Did you express concern about your mother’s judgment?”
“Yes.”
My chest tightened.
Jackson continued.
“I expressed anger after disagreements. My wife converted those private complaints into a legal plan. I have worked beside my mother for twelve years. She is not confused, impaired or incapable.”
Natalie interrupted through the video.
“He is afraid of losing his inheritance.”
The judge warned her attorney.
Jackson looked directly at the screen.
“My wife planned to kill me after the inheritance arrived.”
Natalie’s image froze for half a second.
Then she laughed.
It was a small sound, but the courtroom microphones caught it.
The judge dismissed the emergency petition.
She referred the forged medical evidence to prosecutors and issued an order preventing Natalie or her representatives from accessing any Holloway account, property or corporate system.
For the first time since the wedding, I allowed myself to breathe.
Then Detective Brooks received the fingerprint result from Frank’s medication case.
It did not belong to Natalie, Mercer, Patricia, Adrian or Thomas.
It belonged to Brooke Bennett.
Natalie’s maid of honor.
The frightened young woman who claimed she had only known about the clippers had handled the pills that killed my husband.
Police went to Brooke’s apartment.
She was gone.
On the kitchen table, they found a handwritten letter addressed to Jackson.
I am sorry. Natalie promised nobody would die. She said the tablets would only frighten Frank into cooperating. I did not know what they really were until it was too late.
She made me help at the wedding because she said exposing her would send me to prison.
I know where your father’s original medical case came from.
My mother gave it to Natalie.
My mother was Frank Holloway’s nurse.
The name beneath the signature was not Brooke Bennett.
May you like
It was Brooke Mercer.
Grant Mercer’s daughter.
