Chapter 3 - THE WOMAN BEHIND SAMANTHA
By morning, my grief had become something harder.
Determination.
Raymond arrived at eight.
Two forensic accountants came with him.
I spent six hours reviewing financial records.
By noon, I understood the basic structure.
The Fairchild Group wasn't one company.
It was a maze.
Construction.
Real estate.
Private equity.
Hospitality.
Insurance.
Logistics.
And beneath everything were shell companies.
Millions moved between them.
Loans disguised as investments.
Investments disguised as consulting fees.
Consulting fees disguised as bonuses.
I recognized the pattern immediately.
Someone had been manipulating liquidity.
I pointed to a transfer.
“This company didn't exist three years ago.”
Raymond nodded.
“Correct.”
“Who owns it?”
“We don't know yet.”
“Find out.”
He smiled.
“Your father would have been proud.”
I didn't smile back.
“Find out.”
By afternoon, we had a name.
Hayes Strategic Holdings.
Samantha's family.
But then we discovered something stranger.
Hayes Strategic Holdings wasn't the true owner.
It was controlled by another entity.
Blackstone Meridian Trust.
I stared at the screen.
“Who owns that?”
Raymond looked at me.
“That's the question.”
Hours later, an answer arrived.
A trust administrator.
A dead man's estate.
And a connection to my father.
My father hadn't merely investigated the Fairchilds.
He had been investigating Samantha's family too.
That evening, Brendan called.
I almost ignored him.
Then I answered.
“Where are you?”
“Safe.”
“I want you home.”
“No.”
“Nora.”
“What?”
“We need to talk.”
“We've talked.”
“No. You don't understand what you're doing.”
“I understand more than you think.”
His voice changed.
“You contacted your father's attorney.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because my father left me instructions.”
Silence.
Then:
“What did he tell you?”
I smiled.
“You're asking the wrong question.”
“What?”
“You should be asking what he discovered about you.”
He hung up.
Five minutes later, Raymond entered the room.
“We have a problem.”
“What?”
“Brendan has initiated a legal action.”
“For what?”
“Marital asset protection.”
I stared at him.
“He's trying to freeze everything?”
“Yes.”
I laughed quietly.
“He still doesn't know.”
“Know what?”
“That he can't freeze what doesn't belong to him.”
Raymond smiled.
“Exactly.”
The next morning, a judge's clerk called.
Brendan's lawyers had filed an emergency petition claiming I was emotionally unstable and attempting to misappropriate Fairchild assets.
I read the petition twice.
Then I laughed.
They had described me as dependent.
Financially inexperienced.
Emotionally compromised.
Unable to make rational decisions.
I looked at Raymond.
“Did they seriously call me financially inexperienced?”
“Yes.”
I leaned back.
“That's almost insulting.”
Raymond slid another document toward me.
“Then perhaps you'll enjoy this.”
It was my professional license.
Still active.
My father's team had maintained it.
I stared.
“I could go back to work.”
“You could.”
“I don't want a job.”
Raymond smiled.
“No.”
I looked at the documents.
“I want control.”
That afternoon, I went to a conference room downtown.
For the first time in years, I wore a suit.
Black.
Simple.
No wedding ring.
Twenty people sat around the table.
Accountants.
Attorneys.
Analysts.
Investors.
I stood at the front.
“My name is Nora Fairchild.”
Everyone listened.
“My husband believes I'm trying to destroy his company.”
I paused.
“He's wrong.”
A screen behind me lit up.
Fairchild Group.
Then its subsidiaries.
Then the money transfers.
“I'm not trying to destroy anything.”
I looked around the room.
“I'm trying to find out who already did.”
Nobody spoke.
Then an analyst raised his hand.
“We found another transfer.”
“To Hayes Strategic?”
“No.”
“Where?”
He clicked the screen.
A payment of $12.4 million.
Recipient:
Crown Meridian Foundation.
I stared.
“Who controls it?”
The analyst hesitated.
“We don't know.”
“Find out.”
“We already tried.”
“And?”
He swallowed.
“The foundation has no public activity.”
I looked at Raymond.
“Then why is Fairchild paying them?”
“We don't know.”
“Keep digging.”
That night, Samantha called me.
I answered.
“Hello?”
Her voice was soft.
“You need to stop.”
“Stop what?”
“Investigating.”
“Why?”
“You don't know what you're getting into.”
I looked out the window.
“Neither do you.”
Silence.
Then she said,
“Brendan loves me.”
I felt strangely calm.
“I don't care.”
“He was never happy with you.”
“I don't care.”
“You were only useful because of your father's connections.”
That caught my attention.
“What did you say?”
She went silent.
I asked again.
“Why did you say that?”
She hung up.
I immediately called Raymond.
“Find out everything about Samantha Hayes.”
“We already are.”
“No.”
I looked at the city below.
“Everything.”
Her education.
Her family.
Her companies.
Her relationships.
Her financial history.
Her connections.
And especially one thing.
“Find out why she thinks my father knew her.”
Two hours later, Raymond called.
His voice was different.
“Nora.”
“What?”
“We found something.”
“What?”
“A photograph.”
“Of Samantha?”
“No.”
“Of your father.”
My heart stopped.
“Where?”
“In Samantha's private records.”
“Send it.”
A message arrived.
I opened the photograph.
My father stood outside a restaurant.
Beside him was Samantha.
But she looked much younger.
Maybe twenty.
And between them stood another person.
A little girl.
I zoomed in.
I knew that face.
I had seen it before.
In an old photograph from my father's study.
My father had always called her—
“Who is she?” I whispered.
Raymond answered.
“We're trying to determine that.”
I stared at the picture.
Then I noticed something.
My father was holding a document.
At the top was a single word.
ADOPTION.
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And suddenly, Samantha Hayes wasn't simply the other woman in my marriage.
She might have been connected to my family long before Brendan ever met her.
