68 The Night Her Husband Threw $250,000 on Her Hospital Bed, Brooke Discovered Two Heartbeats—and a $155,000 Betrayal That Could Destroy an Empire

Walter Prescott reached St. Catherine's seventeen minutes later.

Brooke would later learn that his driver had crossed downtown Manhattan faster than the ambulance carrying Kendra Vale that morning.

At the time, Brooke knew only pain.

Dr. Benson had ordered everyone not medically necessary out of the room, but when Walter appeared behind the glass partition, silver-haired and breathless in an open overcoat, Brooke began to cry.

Not because she was afraid.

Because she recognized the look in his eyes.

Regret.

Walter Prescott controlled Pacific Harbor Freight, a privately held shipping and logistics empire with terminals from New Jersey to Long Beach.

People described him as intimidating.

Competitors used harsher words.

Brooke had called him Dad until Garrett convinced her Walter's protectiveness was really control.

Three years earlier, after an argument over Garrett's rapid rise inside Pacific Harbor Freight, Brooke had stopped answering her father's calls.

Now Walter stood outside the delivery room like a man who would trade every ship he owned for permission to go back in time.

Dr. Benson looked at Brooke.

"Do you want him here?"

Brooke nodded.

Walter entered.

He stopped several feet from the bed.

"Hi, sweetheart."

Brooke laughed through tears.

"You still call me that?"

"I never stopped."

A contraction struck.

Walter immediately stepped back, helpless.

Dr. Benson pointed to a chair.

"Sit. Don't faint. Don't interfere."

"I don't faint."

"You own freight terminals. I deliver babies. Sit."

Walter sat.

For the next forty minutes, Brooke had no room in her mind for Garrett, Kendra, divorce papers, or stolen money.

There was only pressure.

Breathing.

Dr. Benson's calm commands.

Walter's hand in hers.

And the impossible realization that two children were about to enter a family already splitting apart.

The first baby arrived crying.

A girl.

Brooke sobbed when Dr. Benson placed the tiny child against her.

"Oh, God."

Walter covered his mouth.

Brooke looked at him.

"She's beautiful."

He nodded because he could not speak.

Seven minutes later came the second.

Another girl.

Smaller.

Furious.

Perfect.

Dr. Benson laughed softly.

"Someone has opinions."

Brooke stared at both babies.

Garrett had said her daughter would get nothing.

He had not known there were two.

That thought should have felt victorious.

Instead, it felt unbearably sad.

"What are their names?" Walter asked.

Brooke looked at the first child.

"Grace."

Then the second.

"June."

Walter blinked.

"Your mother's middle name."

Brooke nodded.

Walter's wife, Margaret, had died eleven years earlier.

Brooke had not said her mother's name around him in years.

Something passed between father and daughter.

Not forgiveness.

Not yet.

But a door opening.

Later, after nurses took the twins for routine checks and Brooke was settled into recovery, Walter's expression hardened.

"Show me the paper."

Brooke handed him her phone.

Walter studied the photograph.

$155,000.

Beacon Communications.

Garrett Hale.

Kendra Vale.

"What is Beacon?" Brooke asked.

"I don't know yet."

"You said you'd been looking for them."

"I said I'd been looking for Beacon Communications. That's different."

She stared at him.

Walter sighed.

"Six months ago Pacific Harbor Freight lost three major industrial accounts within eight weeks. All three clients moved to Meridian Logistics."

Brooke knew the company.

Meridian was Pacific Harbor's most aggressive competitor.

"Garrett handles national sales."

"Exactly."

Brooke's stomach tightened.

Walter continued.

"Garrett told the board we were losing business because of pricing pressure. Then anonymous allegations began circulating."

"What allegations?"

"Safety violations. False billing. Improper payments to port officials."

Brooke sat straighter despite the pain.

"Were they true?"

"No."

"How do you know?"

"Because I hired outside counsel and forensic auditors."

She studied him.

"And?"

"They found no evidence supporting the allegations. But they found something else."

Walter enlarged the photograph.

"Several anonymous media inquiries came from domains tied to a public relations contractor named Beacon Communications."

"Kendra works in corporate communications."

"She was hired as a consultant by Garrett fourteen months ago."

Brooke felt sick.

"At Pacific Harbor?"

Walter nodded.

"You knew Garrett was sleeping with her?"

"No."

She searched his face.

"Would you tell me if you had?"

"I would now."

The answer hurt because Brooke knew what it meant.

Three years earlier, he might not have.

"You never trusted Garrett."

"No."

"You didn't trust anyone I dated."

Walter flinched.

"That's not true."

"It was true enough."

"Brooke—"

"You offered him money to leave me."

Walter went silent.

There it was.

The wound they had never repaired.

Five years into Brooke's marriage, Walter had summoned Garrett to his office and offered him $3 million if he resigned from Pacific Harbor and moved away from Brooke.

Garrett had told her immediately.

Brooke had been furious.

Walter had defended himself by saying he was testing Garrett.

Brooke had called it humiliation.

Garrett had used the incident for years afterward as proof that Walter wanted to destroy their marriage.

"I was wrong," Walter said.

Brooke stared.

He had never said those words about Garrett.

"I shouldn't have done it."

"No."

"I thought I was protecting you."

"You were controlling me."

"Yes."

That answer surprised her.

Walter looked at the newborn bassinets.

"And that helped Garrett convince you I was the enemy."

Brooke lowered her eyes.

A nurse entered, checked monitors, then left.

Walter handed back the phone.

"Don't contact Garrett tonight."

"He'll come back."

"Probably."

"He has parental rights."

"Of course."

Walter's tone was careful.

"But the documents he demanded you sign aren't magic. Child support isn't simply a right you can bargain away on behalf of children. And he doesn't get to dictate their surnames with a piece of paper in a delivery room."

Brooke breathed out.

"How much trouble is he in?"

"I don't know."

"You're lying."

Walter looked at her.

She knew the face.

It was the face he used in board meetings when he possessed information he did not intend to share.

"Dad."

He stood.

"I need to make a call."

"To whom?"

"Our general counsel."

Brooke felt irritation rise.

"No."

Walter stopped.

"No more decisions about my life without me."

He looked at her for a long moment.

Then returned to the chair.

"All right."

He dialed and put the call on speaker.

A woman's voice answered.

"Walter?"

"Evelyn, I'm with Brooke."

Pause.

"Is she all right?"

"She delivered twins."

Another pause.

"Congratulations."

Brooke spoke.

"Thank you."

Walter continued.

"We have a Beacon authorization signed by Garrett and Kendra. One hundred fifty-five thousand dollars."

Evelyn Ross went silent.

Then she asked, "Where did the money come from?"

"My household account," Brooke said.

Evelyn inhaled sharply.

"Brooke, did you authorize any payment to Beacon?"

"No."

"Did you give Garrett power of attorney?"

"No."

"Did you share electronic banking credentials?"

"Years ago."

"Then we need the original statement and authorization immediately."

Walter frowned.

"Why?"

Evelyn hesitated.

"Because this amount matches something from the audit."

Brooke's heartbeat accelerated.

"What?"

Evelyn answered carefully.

"One hundred fifty-five thousand dollars is the exact amount Pacific Harbor paid Garrett as a discretionary client-retention reimbursement eleven days before that transfer."

Walter stood completely still.

Brooke looked at the photograph again.

"So the company paid Garrett."

"Yes."

"And Garrett moved it into our account?"

"That's what we need to determine."

"And then paid Beacon."

"Possibly."

Brooke stared at her sleeping daughters.

"What was he retaining?"

Evelyn's voice lowered.

"That's the problem."