Chapter 3 - The Name Behind Beacon
Garrett returned to the hospital at nine the next morning carrying flowers.
White roses.
Brooke stared at them from her bed.
He had always bought white roses after hurting her.
Their first serious fight.
White roses.
The night he called her father a tyrant and demanded she choose between them.
White roses.
After Brooke discovered a hotel receipt in Boston from a week Garrett claimed he was in Dallas.
White roses.
She had once thought the gesture meant remorse.
Now she understood it meant reset.
Garrett placed the bouquet on a side table.
"You look better."
Brooke said nothing.
His eyes shifted toward the two bassinets.
He froze.
For perhaps three seconds, Garrett Hale lost control of his face.
"Two?"
Brooke watched him carefully.
"Grace and June."
He approached slowly.
"Twins?"
"Yes."
"You never told me."
"No."
Anger replaced shock.
"You hid my children from me?"
Brooke almost admired the speed with which he rearranged himself into the victim.
"You announced your mistress had given you a son while I was ten centimeters dilated."
"That happened after you lied to me for months."
"Interesting timeline."
Garrett lowered his voice.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because at twenty-four weeks I heard you tell someone that if I was having another girl, you were finished."
Garrett's face tightened.
"I don't remember saying that."
"I do."
"People say things."
"Yes. Yesterday you said my daughter gets nothing."
Garrett looked at the twins again.
Something complicated moved across his expression.
Not love.
Not quite.
Possession.
"Those documents obviously need to be revised."
Brooke nearly laughed.
"Obviously."
"Brooke, we can handle this privately."
"Can we?"
"You don't want your father turning this into a corporate war."
"Why are you so afraid of my father?"
"I'm not."
She picked up her phone.
"Who is Beacon Communications?"
Garrett's gaze flickered.
Tiny.
Almost invisible.
But Brooke saw it.
"I don't know."
"Kendra signed a $155,000 authorization to them."
"Business expense."
"From our household account."
Garrett's jaw tightened.
"I move funds between accounts all the time."
"Without telling me?"
"You told me to manage the finances."
"I told you to pay the mortgage."
He moved closer.
"You're exhausted."
"Don't."
"Your hormones—"
"Finish that sentence."
Garrett stopped.
Brooke looked toward the door.
Dr. Benson had arranged for hospital security to be nearby.
Garrett noticed.
His voice softened.
"Kendra's baby doesn't change the fact that I'm their father."
"No."
"And I have rights."
"Yes."
Brooke's calm seemed to unsettle him.
He had expected screaming.
Tears.
A woman begging him to come home.
Instead, Brooke said, "You'll speak through my attorney about the divorce."
"Your father already hired one?"
"I did."
"You've been awake twelve hours."
"Long enough."
Garrett looked toward the bassinets again.
"May I hold them?"
The question surprised her.
For a moment, she saw the man she had married.
The man who once slept on a hospital floor when Brooke had pneumonia.
The man who had stood in the rain during their wedding because Brooke wanted outdoor photographs despite the weather.
She hated that those memories still existed.
"Sit," she said.
Garrett sat.
A nurse handed him Grace.
His expression changed when the baby opened her eyes.
Something genuine appeared.
Wonder.
Fear.
Maybe grief.
Garrett touched her cheek.
"She's tiny."
"Six pounds, one ounce."
"And June?"
"Five thirteen."
He looked at Brooke.
"Are they healthy?"
"Yes."
His shoulders dropped slightly.
For five minutes, there was no corporate conspiracy.
No mistress.
No check.
Only a father holding his daughter.
That made what happened next worse.
Garrett's phone lit up on the chair.
KENDRA.
Brooke saw the preview.
WE HAVE A PROBLEM. WALTER FOUND BEACON.
Garrett snatched up the phone.
Too late.
Brooke had read it.
Their eyes met.
Garrett stood abruptly and handed Grace back to the nurse.
"What did you see?"
"Enough."
"You misunderstand."
"Then explain."
"Not here."
"Of course."
Garrett grabbed his coat.
Brooke said, "Was the $155,000 for Kendra?"
"No."
"For Beacon?"
He stopped at the door.
"Brooke, there are things happening at Pacific Harbor you don't understand."
"Then help me."
"You don't want to understand them."
He left.
This time he forgot the flowers.
An hour later, Walter arrived with Evelyn Ross.
Evelyn was fifty-three, composed, and precise, with the reassuring manner of someone who billed by the hour because panic was inefficient.
She set a thin binder on Brooke's tray.
"We found Beacon."
Brooke looked at Walter.
"Already?"
Evelyn nodded.
"Beacon Communications LLC was formed in Delaware twenty months ago."
"Owner?"
"Technically, another holding company."
"Who owns that?"
"Another LLC."
Brooke sighed.
"Eventually?"
"Kendra Vale."
Brooke closed her eyes.
Of course.
Evelyn continued.
"She didn't disclose the ownership when Garrett recommended Beacon for limited outside consulting."
"How much did Pacific Harbor pay them?"
"Directly? Only eighty-two thousand."
Brooke frowned.
"Then what's the $155,000?"
"That's what makes this interesting."
Evelyn opened the binder.
"Garrett requested a $155,000 reimbursement for an emergency client-retention initiative. He claimed he'd advanced the money personally because timing was critical."
"To which client?"
"He redacted the name under a confidentiality claim."
"Can he do that?"
"He had enough delegated authority to request expedited reimbursement. The CFO approved it based on Garrett's certification."
Walter's jaw tightened.
"I changed that policy this morning."
Evelyn continued.
"The company paid Garrett. Within twenty-four hours, roughly the same amount entered your joint account."
Brooke stared.
"So Garrett used our account to wash the trail."
"That's one possibility."
"And then paid Beacon."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"We subpoena nothing yet," Walter said.
Brooke looked at him sharply.
"We're not law enforcement."
Evelyn nodded.
"We can preserve company records and request information through internal processes. Your divorce counsel can seek marital financial records. If evidence supports fraud or theft, Pacific Harbor can refer it to authorities."
Brooke looked down at Grace.
"What did Beacon do?"
Evelyn slid over a page.
A list of invoices.
MEDIA STRATEGY.
REPUTATIONAL RISK ASSESSMENT.
STAKEHOLDER ACTIVATION.
EXECUTIVE CONTINGENCY PLANNING.
Brooke frowned.
"That could mean anything."
"Exactly."
Walter's phone buzzed.
He checked the screen.
His face changed.
"What?"
He turned the phone toward Evelyn.
A news alert.
PACIFIC HARBOR FREIGHT CEO ACCUSED OF SECRET PORT PAYMENTS.
Brooke's stomach dropped.
Walter read silently.
The article cited unnamed internal sources and referenced supposedly confidential emails.
Evelyn swore under her breath.
Brooke looked at the publication time.
Eight minutes earlier.
Then she noticed something else.
The article included a scanned email allegedly sent by Walter.
She enlarged it.
Walter's signature appeared at the bottom.
But Brooke wasn't looking at the signature.
She was looking at the timestamp.
7:42 p.m., March 18.
Brooke remembered March 18.
It was her mother's birthday.
Walter had spent that evening with Brooke.
For the first time in three years.
At a small restaurant in Brooklyn.
His phone had died before dessert.
Brooke knew because she had lent him hers to call his driver.
"Dad."
Walter looked at her.
"This email is fake."
Evelyn leaned forward.
"How do you know?"
Brooke held up the screen.
"Because I was with him when he supposedly sent it."
Then another notification appeared.
Pacific Harbor Freight shares did not trade publicly.
But one of its largest lenders had issued a statement.
The bank was reviewing the allegations.
Walter read it twice.
His face drained of color.
Evelyn whispered, "They're not trying to embarrass you."
Brooke looked between them.
"What are they trying to do?"
Walter stared at the screen.
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"Trigger my loan covenants."
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