Chapter 5 - The Ledger of Lies
Rebecca froze, her sharp legal mind halting mid-thought as she stared down at me. ""What did you say?""
""I’m eight weeks pregnant,"" I whispered, tears finally escaping the corners of my eyes and sliding down my cold cheeks. ""I found out three days ago. Just before he left for his supposed trip to New York. The same gestation as Vanessa.""
Rebecca sat back on her heels, a mixture of horror and fierce protectiveness washing over her face. ""Does he know?""
""No,"" I said firmly, wiping my face with the sleeve of my scrubs. ""And he will never know until the ink on our divorce decree is completely dry. He forfeited his right to be a father the night he let me miscarry alone. If he knows about this child, he’ll use it as leverage in court. He’ll try to claim parental alienation, drag out the custody battle, and use his connection to Arthur Reed to drown me in legal fees.""
""You're right,"" Rebecca agreed instantly, her business tone snapping back into place like armor. ""We don't disclose the pregnancy until the financial settlement is signed and sealed. Under Illinois law, we can finalize the asset division first if we bifurcate the proceedings. We take everything he has before he even realizes he has another heir.""
""I don't care about his money, Rebecca,"" I said tiredly. ""I just want my peace. I want to raise this baby without his toxic presence poisoning every single day.""
""You will,"" Rebecca promised, taking my cold hands into hers. ""But you will also take what is rightfully yours. You poured your inheritance into Moretti Capital to keep it alive during the early years. He didn't just cheat on you, Claire; he stole from you to fund his second life. That ends tonight.""
An hour later, I walked through the quiet hallways of the hospital toward the obstetrics recovery wing. Vanessa Reed had been settled into Room 412, hooked up to an IV drip, resting comfortably. As I approached the door, intending to verify her charts for the morning rotation, I heard hushed, furious voices leaking through the partially opened door.
""You brought me to her hospital?!"" Vanessa’s voice was sharp, laced with venom and betrayal. ""Are you out of your mind, Vincent?! That woman is your wife!""
""I told you, I panicked!"" Vincent hissed back. ""Chicago Memorial had the only level-one trauma center open during the blizzard! If I had driven across town to Northwestern, you would have lost the baby in the car!""
""She knows, doesn't she?"" Vanessa cried, her voice cracking. ""She looked at me like I was dirt! And that lawyer—who was that lawyer I saw in the corridor?!""
""It doesn't matter,"" Vincent snapped, his voice hard, defensive. ""She’s serving me divorce papers. It’s over between us anyway. Isn't this what you wanted? You’ve been begging me to leave Claire for two years!""
""Not like this!"" Vanessa retorted. ""My father doesn't know you’re still legally married! I told him you were already divorced! If my father finds out that you lied to him—that you knocked me up while still sharing a bed with Dr. Claire Moretti—he will pull every red cent out of your hedge fund! He will crush you, Vincent!""
I stood frozen in the shadows of the hallway, listening to the truth unravel piece by piece. Vanessa hadn't been an innocent victim, but she had been thoroughly deceived as well. Vincent had played both of us, weaving an intricate tapestry of lies to keep his business empire afloat on one side while feeding his vanity on the other.
""He won't find out,"" Vincent said coldly. ""Because Claire won't say a word. She’s too proud. She cares too much about her medical career and her pristine reputation to make a public scene. She’ll take a quiet settlement and disappear.""
Standing outside that door, something shifted deep within my soul. The lingering sadness, the residual grief over my lost marriage, completely evaporated. In its place grew a calm, lethal resolve.
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Vincent Moretti thought I was a quiet, compliant doctor who would fade into the background to avoid embarrassment. He had forgotten that every single day, I fought against death itself in the emergency room. I wasn't afraid of blood, I wasn't afraid of chaos, and I certainly was not afraid of him.
I pulled out my phone, pressed the audio record button, and saved the remaining three minutes of their heated argument. Then, I turned on my heel and walked away into the silent night.
