Chapter 12 - Kendra's Choice

The investment account had been created seven years earlier.

Brooke recognized it immediately.

Her mother had funded it.

A modest portfolio by Prescott standards, roughly $600,000 at inception.

Margaret had called it Brooke's "walk-away money."

Every woman should have enough money to leave a room where she isn't respected.

Brooke had laughed at the time.

After marriage, Garrett persuaded her to consolidate financial management.

The account remained legally Brooke's separate property.

Garrett had no ownership right.

But through old credentials and a forged authorization, he liquidated $250,000.

Then he converted Brooke's own money into a cashier's check.

And threw it onto her hospital bed as though he were granting mercy.

For nearly an hour, Brooke could not speak.

Walter did not try.

Eventually she said, "Mom paid for the check."

Walter looked at her.

"No."

"The money was hers."

"She gave it to you."

"Garrett stole it."

"Yes."

Brooke began laughing.

It sounded wrong.

Then laughter became tears.

Walter moved toward her, stopped, and waited.

Brooke opened her arms.

He held her.

For the first time since Margaret's funeral, father and daughter grieved together without arguing about how grief should look.

Later, Kendra came to the townhouse again.

This time without sunglasses.

Her son, Noah, was with his grandmother.

Brooke poured coffee.

Neither woman pretended they were friends.

Kendra said, "I heard about the check."

"Everyone hears everything eventually."

"I'm sorry."

Brooke looked at her.

"For which part?"

Kendra accepted the question.

"All of it."

"You slept with my husband."

"Yes."

"You helped him build a file against me."

"Yes."

"You signed payments supporting fake evidence against my father."

"Yes."

"Sorry doesn't cover that."

"I know."

Brooke appreciated that answer more than apology.

Kendra placed an envelope on the table.

"What's this?"

"My statement."

"To prosecutors?"

"And your divorce attorney."

Brooke did not touch it.

"What does it say?"

"Everything Garrett told me about your marriage."

Brooke's expression hardened.

"That could become gossip."

"I know."

"Why would I want it?"

"Because he told me why he wanted the birth settlement."

Brooke waited.

Kendra looked down.

"The $250,000 wasn't the real objective."

"What was?"

"The financial release."

Brooke already suspected that.

Kendra continued.

"Garrett believed the language would make it harder for you to challenge transfers from your separate accounts."

"That waiver wouldn't necessarily hold."

"His lawyer told him that."

Brooke frowned.

"He knew?"

"Yes."

"Then why?"

"He didn't need it to be bulletproof."

Kendra looked up.

"He needed something signed."

Brooke understood.

Litigation leverage.

A document he could wave around.

Proof that Brooke had voluntarily settled.

Even if parts were unenforceable, the existence of her signature could create delay, confusion, expense.

"He counted on me being exhausted."

"Yes."

"In pain."

Kendra nodded.

Brooke stared at the table.

"What did he say about the twins?"

"He didn't know."

"I know."

"He thought you were carrying one girl."

"Yes."

Kendra's face filled with shame.

"He told me your daughter would grow up fine because Prescott money would protect her."

Brooke's hands tightened.

"And Noah?"

Kendra swallowed.

"He talked about him like an heir."

There it was.

The son.

Not just a child.

A symbol.

Garrett had spent years resenting Walter Prescott's dynastic thinking.

Then recreated it in uglier form.

Brooke asked, "Did you believe that?"

"At first."

"What changed?"

Kendra looked toward the nursery.

"When Noah was born, Garrett held him for about three minutes."

Brooke said nothing.

"Then he answered a call."

"About Pacific Harbor?"

"Yes."

"He left?"

"Within twenty minutes."

Brooke remembered Garrett entering her delivery room not long after.

Kendra laughed bitterly.

"I had spent months imagining I was giving him what he wanted."

"A son."

"Yes."

"And?"

"I realized what he wanted wasn't a son."

Brooke waited.

"He wanted victory."

Silence settled.

Kendra pushed the envelope closer.

"I can't undo what I did."

"No."

"But I can stop helping him lie."

Brooke took the statement.

"Why now?"

Kendra looked at her.

"Because one day Noah will ask what I did when I learned who his father was."

Brooke understood that more than she wanted to.

Children changed the audience for your choices.

Suddenly, every excuse had a future witness.

After Kendra left, Brooke read the statement.

Garrett had discussed Brooke's maternal trust.

Her voting rights.

The planned smear campaign.

The settlement timing.

And one fact Brooke had not known.

Garrett had originally planned to offer her $500,000.

Then, after reviewing her personal account balance, he reduced it to $250,000 because he believed the lower figure would humiliate her into reacting emotionally.

Brooke stopped reading.

He had engineered even the insult.

Not merely to save money.

To make her angry.

An angry woman in labor might scream.

Threaten.

Throw something.

Create a scene he could later describe as instability.

Brooke suddenly remembered Garrett glancing toward his phone during the confrontation.

Was it recording?

She called Evelyn.

"Can we recover deleted files from Garrett's phone?"

"Possibly. Why?"

Brooke explained.

Silence.

Then Evelyn said, "I'll contact the forensic team."

The answer came three days later.

A deleted video existed.

Garrett had propped his phone against a water pitcher before throwing the check.

The recording showed everything.

His demand.

His words.

MY MISTRESS GAVE ME A SON.

YOUR DAUGHTER GETS NOTHING.

SIGN IT, BROOKE.

And Brooke.

In severe labor.

Refusing.

Calmly.

No screaming.

No threats.

No instability.

The trap he built for her had recorded his own cruelty instead.

Brooke watched it once.

Then never again.

Her divorce attorney watched it many times.

So did prosecutors.

So did the family court.

Garrett had created evidence because he expected Brooke to fail.

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Instead, he had preserved the exact moment she didn't.

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