Chapter 7: The Woman in the Second Car
We didn't go home.
Denise drove us to a private office owned by a colleague, somewhere Marcus couldn't easily trace.
The rain had started by the time we arrived.
Naomi sat beside me in the back seat, wrapped in a coat.
Neither of us spoke.
My mind kept returning to one sentence.
*Your mother was the real target.*
I had spent three years believing the crash was connected to Marcus.
His business.
His affair.
His foundation.
Now I wondered whether all of it had been built around something I had done without even knowing it.
Inside the office, Denise locked the door.
“Show me the video.””
I opened the file.
The screen showed a dark parking lot.
A timestamp appeared in the corner.
11:42 p.m.
A black sedan entered.
Marcus's car.
Then another vehicle.
Mine.
The camera angle was distant, probably from a security camera.
My car stopped.
Marcus's car stopped behind it.
Then a third vehicle appeared.
A dark SUV.
It accelerated.
My car was struck from the side.
Naomi gasped.
I covered her eyes.
“Don't watch.””
“But that's us.””
“I know.””
The video continued.
The SUV stopped.
A man stepped out.
He approached my driver's side.
Another person ran from Marcus's car.
Brielle.
She pulled open my door.
Then the video froze.
Denise paused it.
“Look.””
She zoomed in.
The man standing beside my car was holding something.
“What is that?””
“A phone.””
“No.””
Denise enlarged the image.
A gun.
My stomach dropped.
Naomi whispered, “Mom.””
Denise immediately closed the file.
“That's enough.””
“No.””
I stood.
“I need to see.””
“You don't.””
“I spent three years thinking I had forgotten an accident.””
Denise looked at me.
“You didn't forget.””
“What?””
“You were injured.””
She opened another document.
“Your medical records.””
I stared at the page.
*Concussion. Memory impairment.*
My hands went numb.
“I never knew.””
“Marcus never told you.””
“Why?””
“Because he didn't want you asking questions.””
I turned toward him.
He wasn't there.
He had left before dawn.
But I could almost hear his voice.
I was protecting you.
I hated those words.
They made every lie sound like love.
Naomi reached for my hand.
“Mom?””
I looked at her.
“Do you remember anything else?””
She hesitated.
“Maybe.””
“What?””
“The woman.””
“Brielle?””
“No.””
My heart tightened.
“Who?””
“A woman at the hospital.””
Denise sat forward.
“What woman?””
“I don't know.””
Naomi closed her eyes.
“She had red hair.””
I stared at her.
“Are you sure?””
“She said not to tell Dad she was there.””
Denise and I exchanged a glance.
“Do you remember her name?””
Naomi shook her head.
“She had a badge.””
“What did it say?””
“Something like…”
She frowned.
“Walker.””
My stomach dropped.
“Walker?””
Denise went still.
“What?””
Naomi looked at her.
“Your name.””
The room became silent.
Denise slowly sat back.
“That's impossible.””
“Why?””
“I wasn't at that hospital.””
“Then someone was using your name.””
I opened the hospital records.
There it was.
A visitor log.
Three years ago.
A woman had signed in.
*Denise Walker.*
But the signature didn't match Denise's handwriting.
Denise stared at it.
“I've never seen this.””
“Could someone have used your identity?””
“Possibly.””
“Who would know your name?””
“Marcus.””
I felt sick.
Denise shook her head.
“That's not enough.””
“What else?””
She pointed to the timestamp.
“The visitor arrived twelve minutes before your daughter was discharged.””
I looked at Naomi.
“You were discharged?””
She nodded.
“I remember Dad carrying me.””
Denise flipped through the records.
“Who signed you out?””
I read the name.
*Marcus Hale.*
Then beneath it:
*Emergency contact: Claire Hale.*
My signature appeared at the bottom.
But I hadn't been conscious.
“I didn't sign this.””
Denise stared at the document.
“No.””
I felt cold.
“Someone forged my signature.””
“Looks like it.””
“Why?””
Before Denise could answer, her phone rang.
She checked the screen.
“It's the board.””
She answered.
“Hello?””
A man's voice came through.
Denise's expression hardened.
“Slow down.””
She listened.
Then looked at me.
“They found Brielle.””
My heart jumped.
“Where?””
“An abandoned office downtown.””
“Is she alive?””
“Yes.””
“Then let's go.””
“No.””
“Denise—”
“They found her because she called the police.””
“Why?””
“She says someone tried to kill her.””
My stomach twisted.
“Who?””
Denise listened.
Then her eyes widened.
“Daniel Hale.””
My brother's name again.
I stood.
“That's impossible.””
The board representative continued speaking.
Denise's face became more serious.
“What?””
She listened.
Then hung up.
“Claire.””
“What?””
“There was a second person at the office.””
“Who?””
“Daniel wasn't alone.””
“Who was with him?””
Denise hesitated.
“A woman.””
“What woman?””
“Red hair.””
I stopped breathing.
“The hospital visitor?””
“Apparently.””
Naomi whispered, “Mom…”
I looked down.
Her phone was vibrating.
A new message.
*Don't trust Denise.*
My blood went cold.
Then another message arrived.
*She knows why Daniel was there.*
I looked at Denise.
She was watching me.
“What did it say?””
I didn't answer.
“Claire.””
I turned the phone around.
She read the messages.
For the first time since I had met her, Denise looked frightened.
“That's impossible.””
“Why?””
“Because whoever sent that message…”
She stopped.
“Who?””
Denise looked at Naomi.
Then at me.
“They know something that only one person should know.””
“What?””
“That I was at the hospital.””
I stared at her.
“You weren't.””
“No.””
“Then why would someone say you were?””
Denise slowly shook her head.
“I don't know.””
My phone rang.
An unfamiliar male voice spoke before I could say hello.
“Claire Hale?””
“Yes.””
“Your brother is alive.””
I gripped the phone.
“Who are you?””
“You need to stop asking questions about the foundation.””
“Where is Daniel?””
“He's trying to protect you.””
“From whom?””
A pause.
“From your husband.””
I looked at Denise.
“Marcus?””
“No.””
“Then who?””
The man lowered his voice.
“The person Marcus has been paying for three years.””
“Who?””
“Your lawyer.””
The call ended.
I stared at Denise.
She didn't move.
Then Naomi's phone lit up.
May you like
A new message appeared.
*Ask her about the $40,000 payment.*
