Chapter 3 - The Morning the Kesslers Panicked
By sunrise, my name was everywhere.
BELLAMY HEIRESS RETURNS TO BOSTON AFTER HOSPITALIZATION.
KESSLER MARRIAGE COLLAPSES.
WHO IS AUDREY BELLAMY?
I sat in my father's library watching the news.
A reporter stood outside Dallas Memorial Hospital.
“Sources close to Kessler Strategic Partners claim Audrey Kessler has suffered a severe emotional breakdown following a domestic dispute—”
I laughed.
“Emotional breakdown?”
My father poured coffee.
“They're preparing the public.”
“For what?”
“War.”
My phone rang.
Reid.
I stared at the screen.
My father said nothing.
I answered.
“Hello.”
His voice was ice.
“Where are you?”
“Boston.”
Silence.
“You left the hospital.”
“Yes.”
“You left without telling me.”
“I didn't think you needed an invitation.”
“You're my wife.”
“Not for much longer.”
He exhaled.
“You have no idea what you're doing.”
“Actually, Reid, I finally do.”
“You think your father can protect you?”
“My father doesn't need to protect me.”
“You're injured.”
“You caused that.”
His voice hardened.
“That was an accident.”
“No.”
“It was a misunderstanding.”
“No.”
“Then what do you want?”
I looked at my father's desk.
“Everything you took.”
“What does that mean?”
“My money.”
“I didn't take your money.”
“My company.”
“Bellamy Holdings was never yours.”
I smiled.
“That's where you're wrong.”
He went silent.
Then:
“Who told you?”
“My father.”
“He's manipulating you.”
“Maybe.”
“You're making a mistake.”
“I already made one.”
“What?”
“Marrying you.”
He laughed.
It wasn't a happy laugh.
“You'll come back.”
“No.”
“You'll beg me.”
“No.”
“You'll lose everything.”
I looked out the window.
“No, Reid.”
I spoke quietly.
“You will.”
I hung up.
My father looked at me.
“Feel better?”
“No.”
“That will come.”
He slid a document toward me.
“Sign this.”
I read it.
It was a resignation from every position I had held within Kessler Strategic Partners.
I signed.
Then another.
A legal notice.
Another.
A shareholder activation document.
I signed all of them.
At noon, the Bellamy legal team entered the library.
There were eleven attorneys.
Reid had always joked that my father employed enough lawyers to start a small government.
He wasn't joking.
The senior attorney, Evelyn Cross, placed a folder before me.
“We've completed the preliminary audit.”
“And?”
She looked at me.
“Your husband has been transferring Bellamy assets into shell companies for eighteen months.”
I felt sick.
“How much?”
“Approximately $1.7 billion.”
My father closed his eyes.
I stared at the number.
“Why didn't anyone tell me?”
“You weren't legally in control.”
“But now?”
Evelyn smiled.
“Now you're days away.”
She opened another folder.
“Tessa Langley has received approximately $12 million in payments from entities connected to Reid.”
I looked at the documents.
“She wasn't just his mistress.”
“No.”
“She was an employee.”
“Yes.”
“What was her job?”
Evelyn hesitated.
“Surveillance.”
My skin prickled.
“Surveillance of whom?”
“You.”
I stared at her.
My father said nothing.
The lawyer continued.
“Your husband had people monitoring your communications, travel, bank accounts, and contacts.”
“Why?”
“To determine whether you knew about the Bellamy inheritance.”
I felt a cold emptiness spread through me.
Then Evelyn placed one final document on the desk.
A transcript.
Reid's voice.
Tessa's voice.
I read.
TESSA: What if she finds out?
REID: She won't.
TESSA: And if she does?
REID: Then we make sure nobody believes her.
My hands began shaking.
There was more.
TESSA: What about the accident?
REID: Which one?
TESSA: The stairs.
REID: If she survives, she's still useful.
I stopped reading.
My father took the paper from my hand.
“Audrey.”
I stared at him.
“He planned it.”
“Yes.”
“He planned to hurt me.”
“Yes.”
I stood.
The pain in my ribs didn't matter.
“Then I don't want a divorce.”
Everyone looked at me.
My father raised an eyebrow.
“What do you want?”
I looked toward Boston.
“I want him to watch everything he built disappear.”
Evelyn smiled.
“Now you're thinking like a Bellamy.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
I looked at the document again.
“I've spent four years thinking like a wife.”
May you like
I closed the folder.
“I'm done.”
