Chapter 3

Early the next morning, Richard headed out for work.

Before leaving, he kissed me. "I'll come home early tonight. We'll make up for missing our anniversary."

I nodded. "Okay."

As soon as the door shut, my smile disappeared.

I grabbed my phone and dialed Ethan.

"Mr. Cole, I need you to check something for me," I said.

"Go ahead," he replied.

"Can you find out where Richard got the original funding for Lane Real Estate?" I asked.

Ethan paused for a couple of seconds. "I'll get on it today."

"Also," I added, "can you book me an appointment with Grace Martin, head of gynecology at Bayview Hospital? I need my medical records from seven years ago."

"Got it," he said.

After hanging up, I changed and headed out.

I went to the VIP lounge at Bayview Private Bank.

For the past seven years, I'd been making investments under the alias "Victoria Scott."

And when I say "some," I actually mean quite a bit.

Back when my grandmother was still around, she gave me 17 million to practice with.

Over seven years, the 17 million had turned into 1 billion.

No one knew Victoria Scott was me, not even Richard.

All he knew was that his wife stayed home, never worked, never socialized, and waited for him to come home every day.

The bank manager stood up as soon as he saw me. "Ms. Grant, it's been a while. Your account's latest net value is 1 billion, and this month's return is..."

"I need you to do something for me," I cut him off. "Sell all the Lane Real Estate shares under Victoria Scott."

He froze. "All of them? You hold 9% of Lane Real Estate. Selling everything at once could send the stock price crashing."

"I know," I said.

"Alright. When do you want to do this?" he asked.

"Three days from now," I said. "I'll let you know before then."

As I walked out of the bank, my phone buzzed again.

It was Jessica Parker, my college roommate, now an investigative reporter at Bayview Broadcasting Network.

"Victoria, I looked over those files you sent me," Jessica said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Are you really sure you want to dig into this?"

Yesterday at three in the morning, I'd sent her the screenshot of Helen's email from Richard's inbox.

"I'm sure," I said.

"Listen, Victoria." Jessica took a deep breath, then paused. "I've always thought something was fishy about that southern city redevelopment project Lane Real Estate won three years ago. The timeline in that email you sent matches up exactly."

"How do you think they pulled it off?" I asked.

"Isn't it obvious?" Jessica scoffed. "The south of the city redevelopment was a major city project. Seven companies bid for it. Lane Real Estate was ranked fifth in qualifications, but somehow they came out on top. I could never find any proof before."

"What about now?" I pressed.

"If you're willing to work with me, I can dig deeper," Jessica said.

"I'm in," I said. "But you follow my lead on the timing."

"Alright. When?" she asked.

"When I say so," I replied.

After hanging up, I glanced at the time.

It was ten in the morning. Richard should be at the office by now.

He had no clue that overnight, the woman waiting for him had turned into a threat to him.

And he was still texting me: [Tori, what do you want for lunch? I'll have my assistant order it for you.]

I replied: [Whatever, you decide.]

He sent back a kissy emoji.

Looking at that emoji, I felt nothing but disgust.

That afternoon, Ethan called me.

"Ms. Grant, I've got something," he said.

"Spill it," I replied.

"Seven years ago, Lane Real Estate started with 100 million. 70 million came from a loan at Bayview Commercial Bank, and the other 30 million." He paused. "They used your name as the guarantor."

"What?" I snapped.

"Someone used your personal info to secure a 30 million loan from Bayview Commercial Bank. The collateral was an office building owned by your grandmother.

"Your name was signed on the paperwork, but I checked the handwriting. It was inconsistent with your current signature. It doesn't match," he explained.

I let out a cold laugh.

Fake marriage, fake signature, fake guarantee.

Richard had been plotting against me since day one.

"One more thing," Ethan went on. "I've booked you in with Dr. Martin at three this afternoon. But she said some things she can only tell you face-to-face."

"Alright," I said.

At three in the afternoon, I arrived at Bayview Hospital.

Dr. Grace Martin was in her fifties, her hair streaked with gray, gold-rimmed glasses perched on her nose, and a serious expression on her face.

I took a seat. She studied me for a moment, then sighed.

"Ms. Grant, you're here for your records from the gynecology department seven years ago?" she asked.

"Yes," I replied.

She pushed a medical file across the desk.

I opened it.

November 3, 2017.

Reason for visit: Unable to conceive after six months of marriage.

The test results showed severely diminished ovarian function, with an AMH level of 0.3.

My doctor suggested I consider assisted reproduction.

It was after seeing these results that I began the long journey of IVF.

"Is there a problem with this medical record?" I asked.

Grace took off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose.

"Here's the issue," she said. "Your checkup from a month before you were admitted showed your ovarian function was totally normal. Your AMH level was 3.2. That's actually outstanding for someone your age."

I looked at her.

"So, in one month, your ovarian function dropped from normal to nearly shutting down," Grace said, locking eyes with me. "That doesn't happen naturally. Unless..."

"Unless something else was involved," I finished her sentence.

She nodded. "Certain medications can suppress ovarian function in a short time. If taken for a long period, the damage could be irreversible."

I clenched the corner of the medical record, my fingers digging in.

"Dr. Martin, if I had stopped the medication right away, would there have been a chance for recovery?" I asked.

"Seven years ago, yes," she said, her voice tinged with regret. "But now I'll need to run a full set of tests to know for sure."

"Schedule it for the earliest possible time," I said.

"Would tomorrow morning work?" Grace asked.

"That's fine," I replied.

I stood up and put the medical record away.

As I reached the door, Grace called after me, "Ms. Grant."

I turned around.

"If the test results confirm your suspicions," she said, "I can provide a forensic medical report."

"Thank you," I replied.

As I walked out of the hospital, the sky was gloomy, like it was about to rain.

I got into the car but didn't start the engine.

That bowl of soup was brought to me by Helen. Back then, she had a warm and kind smile.

"Victoria, this is our family's secret recipe. It's really good for your health," she said.

I was so touched I nearly cried, thinking Helen was the best mother-in-law anyone could ask for.

Every month after that, she had someone deliver soup to me.

I kept drinking it for a whole year. Then I never had a normal period again.

Everyone said it was my constitution.

Richard held me and said, "It's okay. I don't care. Having you is enough."

But the truth was that he did care after all.

He never needed me to have his children, because Sophie was already having his babies.

My phone buzzed.

Richard sent a message: [Tori, want to have dinner at the Peninsula Hotel tonight? I've booked a private room. The two of us will make up for our anniversary.]

I stared at the screen and typed: [Sure, which dress should I wear?]

He replied instantly: [Wear the red one. It looks great on you.]

I put my phone down and started the car.

'Fine, I'll play along with you one last time,' I thought to myself.