The investigator's report arrived that afternoon.
Sterling brought a printed copy himself.
He placed it on my desk.
“You should read this here.”
I opened the folder.
The first pages contained photographs.
My office.
My truck.
The warehouse.
Our house.
Sophie leaving school.
Claire entering a restaurant.
My stomach tightened.
“This is stalking.”
“Some of it may qualify as unlawful surveillance,” Sterling said. “We're reviewing the details.”
I turned another page.
There was a photograph of me meeting a client.
Another of Claire shopping.
Another of Martin entering my headquarters.
The dates stretched across six months.
“Why would they need this?”
Sterling pointed to a paragraph.
“They were trying to establish whether you had hidden assets.”
I kept reading.
The report described my business relationships.
It estimated the value of my properties.
It speculated about accounts.
Some information was correct.
Some was wildly wrong.
Then I reached the final section.
The investigator had written that there was no evidence I intended to conceal marital assets.
I stared at the sentence.
“So they knew.”
“They knew before the divorce.”
“Then why did Claire file?”
Sterling didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
Fear had already answered that question.
I closed the folder.
“Who paid for this?”
“We traced the first payment to a Collins family holding account.”
“Linda?”
“Yes.”
I sat back.
The family had spent months preparing for a battle that I hadn't even known existed.
That evening, I drove to Linda's house.
I didn't tell Claire.
I didn't tell Martin.
I wanted one conversation without anyone rehearsing their answers.
Linda opened the door.
Her expression changed when she saw me.
“You shouldn't be here.”
“I think I should.”
She stepped outside and closed the door behind her.
Snow crunched under my boots.
“You hired the investigator.”
She said nothing.
“Six months ago.”
“I wanted to protect my daughter.”
“From me?”
“From losing everything.”
I held up the report.
“You watched my daughter.”
Linda's face tightened.
“That wasn't supposed to happen.”
“You paid someone to photograph her.”
“I never authorized that.”
“You hired the investigator.”
“Yes.”
“Then you are responsible for who you hired.”
She looked away.
“I thought you were lying to Claire.”
“About what?”
“Your money.”
I laughed once.
Not because it was funny.
Because the accusation had become absurd.
“You were so convinced I was hiding money that you never considered the possibility I was simply private.”
Linda's eyes filled.
“You don't understand what it was like for me.”
“No.”
“My husband lost everything once.”
“I know.”
“He promised me we'd be safe.”
“And you weren't.”
She nodded.
“After that, I decided no one would ever surprise my family again.”
“You didn't protect them.”
She looked at me.
“You taught them to suspect everyone.”
Her face crumpled.
For a moment, she looked less like the woman who had judged me and more like someone who had spent decades afraid of losing control.
But understanding didn't erase consequences.
“You need a lawyer,” I said.
“Why?”
“Because the investigation wasn't limited to me.”
Her expression changed.
“What else?”
“Client information.”
She went pale.
“I didn't ask for that.”
“Martin did.”
She shook her head.
“No.”
“He accessed confidential files.”
“I didn't know.”
“I believe you.”
She stared at me.
“You do?”
“Yes.”
That surprised her.
“I believe you didn't know everything.”
She whispered, “I was trying to help Claire.”
“You hurt her.”
She lowered her head.
“I know.”
I left.
When I returned home, Claire was waiting.
“Where were you?”
“With your mother.”
She closed her eyes.
“What did she say?”
“The truth.”
Claire sat down.
“I want to tell you something.”
I sat opposite her.
“When we met, I didn't care about money.”
“I know.”
“I loved that you didn't show off.”
“I know.”
“I thought you were different.”
“I was.”
She looked at me.
“You still are.”
I didn't respond.
“I became afraid,” she said.
“Of what?”
“That one day you'd realize you could do better.”
I frowned.
“You thought I would leave?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because everyone I knew with money eventually left.”
She looked toward the window.
“My father left when his business collapsed. He blamed himself. My mother blamed everyone else. They spent years fighting.”
I listened.
“I promised myself I would never be helpless.”
“So you tried to control everything.”
“Yes.”
“And me.”
She nodded.
I felt something soften inside me.
Not enough to repair the marriage.
But enough to see the person beneath the betrayal.
“I should have told you more,” I said.
She looked up.
“About your business?”
“Yes.”
“Would it have changed anything?”
“I don't know.”
She gave a small, sad smile.
“Maybe I would have been more afraid.”
I almost smiled.
“Probably.”
For a moment, the room felt almost normal.
Then my phone rang.
Sterling.
“The investigator is cooperating.”
“With whom?”
“With us.”
“What did he say?”
“He says Martin gave him instructions.”
“About what?”
“Your relationship with Claire.”
I sat straighter.
“What kind of instructions?”
“He was asked to find evidence that you were planning to divorce Claire.”
I looked at her.
She shook her head.
“I wasn't.”
“I know.”
Sterling continued.
“He was also asked to identify anyone close to you who could testify against you.”
“Why?”
“We don't know.”
Then he sent me another document.
I opened it.
A list of names.
My accountant.
My business partners.
Two employees.
Our neighbor.
And Sophie.
I felt something inside me go cold.
“They were investigating my daughter.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Sterling was silent.
“I want that answer.”
“We're working on it.”
I ended the call.
Claire had seen my face.
“What is it?”
I handed her the page.
She read it.
Her hands began shaking.
“They investigated Sophie?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
She stood.
“My father wouldn't.”
I looked at her.
“You keep saying that.”
She sat back down.
“I don't know him anymore.”
That was perhaps the saddest thing she had said.
The next day, the investigator met us.
He was a thin man named Howard Bell.
He brought his records.
“I want to be clear,” he said. “I conducted surveillance according to what I was hired to do.”
“Who hired you?”
“Linda Collins.”
“Who gave you the instructions?”
“Initially Linda.”
“And later?”
He hesitated.
“Martin.”
“What did he want?”
Howard looked at Claire.
“He believed you were preparing to leave your wife.”
“I wasn't.”
“I know that now.”
“What made him believe it?”
“Your financial structure.”
“That doesn't make sense.”
“He believed you were moving assets.”
I shook my head.
“I wasn't.”
Howard nodded.
“I found no evidence of that.”
“Then why continue?”
Howard looked uncomfortable.
“Because I was paid.”
That answer was honest enough.
Then he said something else.
“There's one thing I didn't tell the Collins family.”
“What?”
“I kept a copy of every instruction.”
My attention sharpened.
“Why?”
“Because some requests crossed a line.”
He opened his briefcase.
There were emails.
Messages.
Notes.
One message from Martin stopped me.
Find out whether the girl knows about the company.
I read it twice.
Then I looked at Claire.
She was crying.
“What did he think Sophie knew?”
“I don't know.”
I asked Howard, “Was there anything else?”
He nodded.
“He wanted to know whether Sophie had access to company records.”
I frowned.
“She doesn't.”
“I know.”
“Then why ask?”
Howard reached into the folder.
“Because someone told him she might.”
I looked at Claire.
She shook her head.
“I never told him that.”
Neither had I.
Someone else had planted the idea.
Someone who knew enough about my company to make Martin believe it.
Howard handed me another page.
The name at the bottom was unfamiliar.
Ethan Vale.
I stared at it.
“Who is Ethan Vale?”
Howard answered.
“He was the person who first contacted me.”
My stomach tightened.
“Who does he work for?”
Howard looked at me.
“He said he worked for your company.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 7: The Name on the Investigator’s Notes Belonged to an Employee I Trusted, and His Connection to the Collins Family Was Far Deeper Than Expected
My Daughter’s Cry Cut Through the Storm, and by the Time I Reached the House, the Family Inside Had Already Made Its Choice
Part 6 of 12
