Chapter 6 - XIMENA TELLS THE TRUTH

Ximena agreed to meet at a small restaurant outside the city.

She arrived alone.

She looked exhausted.

The confident executive assistant who had once spoken to me like I was an inconvenience was gone.

She sat across from me.

“I didn't know it would happen.”

“What?”

“Chloe.”

My chest tightened.

“You knew she was denied.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

She looked down.

“Brendan ordered it.”

I already knew.

“What don't I know?”

She began crying.

“There was a financial crisis.”

“That doesn't explain it.”

“Fairchild Group was losing money.”

“How much?”

“Almost $90 million.”

I stared at her.

She continued.

“Victor wanted liquidity.”

“And Samantha?”

“She was supposed to bring financing.”

“In exchange for Brendan marrying her.”

Ximena nodded.

I closed my eyes.

“And my daughter?”

“Her treatment was expensive.”

“So they chose the company.”

“No.”

She shook her head.

“Brendan chose the company.”

I looked at her.

“Why?”

“Because he thought he could replace the money later.”

My hands tightened.

“He thought?”

“He believed Chloe would stabilize.”

I stared at her.

“My daughter wasn't a balance-sheet assumption.”

Ximena cried harder.

“I know.”

“Then why did you do it?”

She pulled out a flash drive.

“I was afraid.”

“Of Brendan?”

“Of Victor.”

That caught my attention.

“What did Victor threaten?”

“My family.”

I said nothing.

“He knew where my mother lived.”

Then Ximena said something that changed everything.

“Brendan wasn't the person making the decisions.”

“Who was?”

She whispered,

“Victor.”

I leaned forward.

“Explain.”

“Brendan thought he was controlling the company.”

“But?”

“Victor had been using him.”

“For what?”

“To hide the losses.”

She gave me the flash drive.

“Everything is on there.”

I took it.

“Why now?”

“Because I can't live with Chloe's death.”

I looked at her.

“Did you know she was going to die?”

“No.”

“But you knew the medication was being withheld.”

“Yes.”

I stood.

“Then you'll testify.”

She looked terrified.

“Will you protect me?”

“I can't promise that.”

She looked down.

“But I can promise you this.”

I paused.

“If you tell the truth, I won't let them destroy you.”

She nodded.

The next morning, we opened the files.

There were emails.

Payments.

Recordings.

Internal instructions.

Then we found something worse.

A document labeled:

PROJECT BLUEBELL.

I opened it.

It was a plan to restructure Fairchild Group after Brendan's divorce.

The plan included me.

Under “Nora Fairchild,” someone had written:

Psychologically unstable. Financially dependent. Easily discredited after husband's remarriage.

I stared.

They had planned to destroy me.

Not emotionally.

Legally.

They intended to have Brendan divorce me, claim I was unstable, and use that narrative to seize anything connected to my father's assets.

But there was another name in the document.

Samantha Hayes.

I looked at Raymond.

“She knew.”

“Yes.”

“And Victor?”

“Yes.”

I turned the page.

Then froze.

A signature appeared at the bottom.

Not Victor's.

Not Brendan's.

My father's.

I stared.

“No.”

Raymond examined it.

“It's authentic.”

“What?”

“My father signed this?”

“Apparently.”

I read the paragraph.

The document wasn't created by Victor.

It had been submitted to Victor.

My father had written a counterproposal.

One sentence stood out:

If my daughter is ever placed in danger, the Fairchild Group will become the subject of compulsory ownership review.

Raymond looked at me.

“Your father anticipated this.”

I whispered,

“He knew.”

Then I saw the date.

Three years before Chloe was born.

My father had predicted that the Fairchilds would eventually try to control me.

But why?

Then Ximena's final file opened.

A photograph.

Victor.

Samantha.

And another man.

I recognized him.

He had been at my father's funeral.

A man I hadn't seen in years.

My father's former business partner.

Daniel Hayes.

Samantha's father.

But the photograph was dated twenty-eight years earlier.

And beside Daniel was my father.

They were standing outside the hospital where Samantha had been born.

I looked at Raymond.

“What were they doing there?”

He didn't answer.

I enlarged the photograph.

On the hospital wall behind them was a sign.

CARDIAC PEDIATRIC UNIT.

I suddenly understood.

Samantha's connection to my family wasn't financial.

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It was medical.

And possibly biological.