Chapter 4 - THE FIRST WIFE
4
Nathan had told me there had been serious relationships before me.
College girlfriend.
Woman in Boston.
A few dates after moving to Los Angeles.
Never a wife.
Never a pregnancy.
Never a lost child.
Laura Kent agreed to meet David before speaking further.
She was frightened.
That mattered.
People inventing gossip usually want attention.
People holding dangerous information often want distance.
David met her at a private law office near the hospital.
I participated by secure video call.
Laura looked to be in her late fifties.
Short brown hair.
No makeup.
Nervous hands.
She had worked for Patricia Caldwell as a personal assistant and household manager for eleven years.
She left six years ago.
“Why?” David asked.
Laura looked toward the camera.
“Because of Rebecca.”
Nathan’s first wife.
Rebecca Sloan.
They married when Nathan was twenty-seven.
He was now thirty-six.
The marriage lasted less than a year.
Rebecca became pregnant three months after the wedding.
“She and Patricia hated each other,” Laura said.
“Why?”
“Rebecca came from money.”
That sounded absurdly familiar.
“How much money?” I asked.
“Her family owned manufacturing businesses in Ohio.”
“Did Nathan work?”
“Some.”
That answer told me plenty.
Nathan had presented himself to me as a boutique investment consultant.
His income fluctuated.
I never cared.
I made more.
My mistake was assuming he did not care either.
“What happened?” David asked.
Laura described a Thanksgiving gathering at Patricia’s previous home.
Rebecca was approximately twenty-nine weeks pregnant.
Patricia expected her to cook.
Rebecca refused.
There was an argument.
Nathan sided with his mother.
Later that night, Rebecca became ill.
Severe abdominal pain.
Dizziness.
Vomiting.
“She asked Nathan to take her to the hospital.”
My mouth went dry.
“What did he do?”
Laura looked at me.
“He told her she was being dramatic.”
The same phrase.
Not exactly.
But close enough.
“What happened to the baby?”
“Rebecca began bleeding.”
Laura’s voice shook.
“I drove her.”
“You?”
“Nathan wouldn’t.”
“Why?”
“He said his mother needed him.”
I wanted to vomit.
Rebecca reached the hospital.
The baby could not be saved.
“What caused it?”
Laura hesitated.
“They said placental abruption.”
That can happen spontaneously.
Trauma.
Hypertension.
Other factors.
I asked:
“Did anyone suspect Patricia?”
Laura looked away.
“I did.”
“Why?”
“Because Rebecca told me something before she left Nathan.”
“What?”
“She said Patricia had been giving her herbal tea all evening.”
My skin prickled.
“That proves nothing.”
“I know.”
“What was in it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did Rebecca?”
“She said it tasted strange.”
David intervened.
“Mrs. Kent, did Rebecca accuse Patricia of causing the pregnancy loss?”
“No.”
“Then what frightened you?”
Laura inhaled.
“After Rebecca came home from the hospital, Patricia told Nathan not to let her speak to anyone alone.”
Silence.
“What happened next?”
Rebecca moved out.
Annulment.
Sealed agreement.
Money changed hands.
“How much?” I asked.
Laura shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
“Why sealed?”
“Nathan said Rebecca was unstable.”
There it was again.
Unstable.
A pattern.
“Where is Rebecca now?”
“I don’t know.”
David did.
Within hours, his investigator found Rebecca Sloan under her current married name.
Dr. Rebecca Hart.
A pediatric radiologist in Denver.
Not unstable.
Not hidden.
Living an ordinary professional life.
She agreed to speak with me after hearing I was pregnant and had been refused medical transport at Patricia’s house.
Her face appeared on my tablet that evening.
She was forty.
Calm.
Beautiful in a tired, serious way.
When she saw me in the hospital bed, her expression changed.
“You look exactly how I felt.”
That sentence erased any doubt about whether we shared a story.
“Nathan never told me about you.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“He said he’d never been married.”
“He was.”
“Why was it sealed?”
Rebecca gave a bitter smile.
“Patricia.”
Of course.
She told me Nathan and Patricia had pushed for an annulment claiming fraud related to financial disclosures.
Rebecca wanted out badly enough to agree.
Her father negotiated a confidential settlement.
“What happened during your pregnancy?”
Rebecca looked away.
“For years, I told myself it was random.”
“Do you still believe that?”
“No.”
My heartbeat increased.
“Why not?”
“Because three months after I left, my father’s accountant found that Nathan had tried to obtain access to a trust in my name.”
A trust.
Another financial target.
“How?”
“Spousal authorization forms. Forged emails. Nothing succeeded.”
“Did you report it?”
“My father threatened legal action.”
“What happened?”
“Patricia negotiated.”
Money.
Silence.
Another settlement.
“What about the tea?”
Rebecca’s face changed.
“You know about that?”
“Laura told me.”
For a moment, Rebecca seemed transported back years.
“Patricia insisted it would help swelling.”
“What kind?”
“She called it a traditional pregnancy tea.”
“Did you keep any?”
“No.”
“Did doctors test for anything unusual?”
“No.”
“What happened before the pain started?”
Rebecca rubbed her arms.
“I had been on my feet all day. Patricia kept giving me chores. Nathan kept telling me not to upset her.”
My eyes filled.
Same script.
Different woman.
“I asked to go to the hospital early in the evening,” Rebecca said. “Nathan said wait.”
“Until when?”
“Morning.”
I stopped breathing.
Exact word.
Morning.
Rebecca noticed my face.
“What?”
“That’s what they told me.”
She closed her eyes.
“God.”
“Why morning?”
“I never knew.”
Maybe now I did.
Scheduled legal paperwork.
Meetings.
Notaries.
Financial moves timed for when the pregnant wife was vulnerable.
“Rebecca, did anyone ask you to sign anything around that time?”
She thought.
Then her face changed.
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Nathan brought me insurance documents the week before Thanksgiving.”
“What insurance?”
“Life insurance.”
My fingers went cold.
“How much?”
“Five million.”
“Beneficiary?”
“Initially Nathan.”
“Initially?”
“Patricia wanted a trust.”
I looked at Maya.
Same structure.
Same mother.
Same son.
Same pregnant wife.
Rebecca continued.
“After I lost the baby, I discovered there were also papers transferring some of my trust income to a marital investment account.”
“Did you sign?”
“I thought I did.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nathan gave me a stack of documents. Some pages were different when my lawyer later reviewed them.”
Substituted signature pages.
Old trick.
Still effective if the victim trusts you.
“What did your father do?”
“Threatened criminal complaints.”
“Why weren’t charges filed?”
Rebecca’s expression hardened.
“Because Patricia had something on him.”
“What?”
“I never found out.”
Blackmail.
Patricia did not merely manipulate family.
She collected leverage.
After we ended the call, I lay awake staring at the hospital ceiling.
Lily remained stable.
The NICU nurses sent photographs every few hours.
I pumped milk.
I tried to rest.
I failed.
At midnight, David called.
“We found the annulment file.”
“How?”
“Rebecca authorized release.”
“And?”
“Nathan received a settlement.”
I frowned.
“Nathan?”
“Rebecca’s family paid two hundred thousand dollars to end all financial claims.”
“Why would they pay him?”
“Speed and silence.”
I understood.
Patricia had monetized the collapse of her son’s first marriage.
Even when the asset theft failed, the exit generated money.
“Anything else?”
“One exhibit is missing from the sealed file.”
“What exhibit?”
“A medical chronology.”
My skin prickled.
“Why missing?”
“No idea.”
Then David lowered his voice.
“Emily, we also found something attached to your marriage license file.”
“What?”
“A prenuptial waiver.”
“I never signed a prenup waiver.”
“I know.”
Nathan and I had no formal prenup because our major pre-marital assets remained separately titled.
Or I believed they did.
David sent the document.
My name.
My signature.
Not mine.
The waiver stated I voluntarily declined independent review of marital property classifications.
Meaning Nathan could later argue certain assets had become marital through commingling.
“How long has this been filed?”
“Since your wedding.”
Four years.
The fraud had not begun when I became pregnant.
It had existed from day one.
Before the party.
Before Lily.
Before Hartwell Meridian.
Nathan had entered our marriage with altered paperwork already in place.
Then David said:
“There’s one more thing.”
“What?”
“The witness on the waiver.”
I read the name.
Susan Bell.
The same notary scheduled for the fraudulent stock transfer that morning.
My marriage had been built using the same woman who was supposed to help steal my equity.
May you like
This was not Patricia improvising.
It was a system.
