Kenneth told me not to delete anything.
I almost snapped at him that I was not an idiot.
Instead, I forwarded screenshots to him and hospital security, then placed the phone on my desk as though physical distance could make the message less disturbing.
Tell your friend she should have kept quiet.
And tell your lawyer the money is gone.
Nora read the messages over my shoulder.
“That is not normal.”
“No.”
“Call the police back.”
“Kenneth already is.”
“You shouldn't go home alone.”
“I can handle myself.”
She gave me a look.
“So can I. That doesn't mean I volunteer to be followed.”
I hated when she was sensible.
By five o'clock, Officer Morales had returned.
He photographed the messages from my phone, confirmed the sending number was probably disposable, and asked whether I recognized the photograph's location.
I didn't.
Melinda was inside a vehicle.
Behind her, barely visible through the opposite window, stood part of a red sign and the edge of a concrete building.
Morales zoomed in.
“Could be anywhere.”
“Can you identify the car?”
“Maybe from metadata if we're lucky.”
“The photo came through text.”
“We'll see what can be recovered.”
He glanced at me.
“Do you know where Ms. Travis is now?”
“No.”
“Don't contact her.”
“Why?”
“We're trying to reduce variables.”
That sounded suspiciously like lawyer language.
“Is she in protective custody?”
“No.”
“Then is she safe?”
Morales closed his notebook.
“She is with someone she trusts.”
That irritated me.
“Who?”
“I can't tell you.”
“If someone photographed her—”
“We're aware.”
He softened slightly.
“Dr. Sinclair, the safest thing you can do right now is avoid trying to solve this yourself.”
I almost told him I had no desire to solve anything.
That would have been a lie.
I wanted answers.
Not because I missed Connor.
Not because I wanted revenge.
Because for years my life had been shaped by information deliberately withheld from me.
I had no appetite for blindness anymore.
At six-thirty, Kenneth picked me up himself.
“I can drive.”
“Your car is at home.”
“I can get another rideshare.”
“And give someone another opportunity to track your movements?”
He opened the passenger door.
“Get in.”
I did.
His office looked different at night.
The reception desk was empty.
Half the lights were off.
The city's reflection spread across the windows, broken by drops of rain.
Kenneth took off his coat and loosened his tie.
“I ordered food.”
“I don't want food.”
“Neither do I. We are still eating.”
Twenty minutes later, cartons of Thai food sat untouched beside documents covering his conference table.
“Start with the money,” I said.
Kenneth opened his laptop.
“Connor moved two hundred twenty-eight thousand dollars through three entities.”
“You said that already.”
“Tonight we identified the final recipient.”
He rotated the screen toward me.
The name meant nothing.
“Crescent Bridge Holdings.”
“Shell company?”
“Yes.”
“Connor's?”
“Not directly.”
“Whose?”
Kenneth leaned back.
“Gabriel Mercer's.”
I stared at him.
“No.”
“That was approximately my reaction.”
“Gabriel said Connor threatened him.”
“Both things can be true.”
“Why would Connor send him money?”
“We don't know.”
“Settlement?”
“Possibly.”
“Bribe?”
“Possibly.”
“Extortion?”
“Also possible.”
I stood and walked once around the table.
“When was the transfer?”
“Most of it three weeks ago.”
“The anonymous message to Gabriel arrived three weeks ago.”
“Yes.”
“That isn't coincidence.”
“I agree.”
“Did Gabriel disclose receiving money?”
“To his attorney? Unknown.”
“To you?”
“No.”
“He sat in my hospital and told me he wanted the truth while Connor had just sent money to his company.”
Kenneth held up a hand.
“Slow down.”
“I am slow.”
“No. You're angry.”
“That doesn't make me wrong.”
“No, but it may make the simplest explanation look more attractive than it deserves.”
I folded my arms.
“What complicated explanation do you prefer?”
“I prefer evidence.”
I hated him a little for that.
He knew.
“Crescent Bridge Holdings isn't merely Gabriel's company,” he said. “He owns thirty percent.”
“Who owns the rest?”
“Two partners.”
“Could the payment have been unrelated?”
“Yes.”
“Do the companies do business together?”
“We're checking.”
I sat again.
“So we know nothing.”
“We know money moved from concealed marital assets into a company partially owned by a man claiming potential paternity of Connor's son.”
“That is not nothing.”
“No.”
He opened another document.
“The transfer also occurred two days before Gabriel says he received the anonymous message urging him to seek DNA testing.”
I read the dates.
Two days.
“Someone pays his company.”
“Then someone tells him to challenge paternity.”
“Yes.”
“Could Connor be trying to lure him into filing?”
Kenneth looked at me.
“To what purpose?”
I thought about it.
“If Connor wanted a controlled legal challenge he could defeat.”
“Why?”
“To prove Noah is his publicly.”
“Despite his fertility diagnosis?”
“Highly unlikely isn't impossible.”
“No.”
“If the test showed Connor is the father, it ends doubts.”
“Assuming the test is accurate and untampered with.”
I stared at him.
“You think someone would tamper with a DNA test?”
“I didn't say that.”
“You implied it.”
“I said we should not assume motive yet.”
I rubbed my forehead.
The food smelled good now that frustration had worn through my nausea.
I opened one carton.
Kenneth looked pleased.
“Don't.”
“I said nothing.”
“You looked smug.”
“I am rarely accused of that.”
I ate two bites.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
Kenneth reached for it before I could.
“Speaker.”
I answered.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Then breathing.
“Kirsten?”
Melinda.
I straightened.
“Where are you?”
“I can't say.”
“Are you safe?”
“For now.”
Kenneth gestured for me to keep her talking.
“The police said you're with someone you trust.”
“I am.”
“Who?”
“I can't.”
Her voice trembled.
“Noah is asleep.”
I heard faint road noise.
“You're in a car.”
“Yes.”
“Are you moving?”
“Yes.”
“Melinda, did someone photograph you today?”
A pause.
“What?”
I looked at Kenneth.
“They sent me a picture of you holding Noah.”
Her breathing stopped.
“When?”
“This afternoon.”
“Oh God.”
“What happened at the house?”
She began crying.
Not loudly.
The sound was worse because she was trying to suppress it.
“Connor came home furious.”
“Why?”
“He found out about Gabriel's filing.”
“He already knew.”
“No. He knew Gabriel had threatened to file. He didn't know it was officially submitted.”
I looked at Kenneth.
He started taking notes.
“What did he do?”
“He accused me of helping Gabriel.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Did you call Gabriel last night?”
“Yes.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That I found Connor's medical records.”
Kenneth closed his eyes briefly.
“What happened after Connor came home?”
“He started packing.”
“Packing what?”
“Documents. Money. His passport.”
“Did he say he was leaving?”
“No.”
“Then?”
“He told me I had to sign something.”
I leaned forward.
“What?”
“I don't know. Some statement saying Noah was conceived while we were in an exclusive relationship.”
“Was that true?”
Silence.
“Melinda.”
“No.”
Kenneth wrote faster.
“What happened when you refused?”
“He grabbed my wrist.”
I closed my eyes.
“Are you hurt?”
“Bruised.”
“Did Noah see?”
“He was in the next room.”
“Then how did Gabriel become involved?”
“He didn't.”
I frowned.
“Connor told police Gabriel came to the house.”
“I know.”
“He didn't?”
“No.”
“Was anyone else there?”
Another silence.
“Yes.”
Kenneth looked up sharply.
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“You saw him.”
“Only from behind.”
“What did he look like?”
“Tall. Gray coat. Baseball cap.”
“Why was he there?”
“I think Connor was expecting him.”
“Did they argue?”
“Yes.”
“About what?”
“Money.”
There it was.
I looked at Kenneth.
“What did you hear?”
“Connor said, 'You weren't supposed to contact him yet.'”
“Contact who?”
“I don't know.”
“And the other man?”
“He said something about everything being ruined because Connor couldn't keep me under control.”
I felt cold.
“Then what?”
“They went into the office.”
“What did you do?”
“I took Noah and left.”
“Where?”
“To my sister.”
“So that's who you're with.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Connor knows where she lives.”
That made sense.
“Melinda, listen to me. Did Connor see you leave?”
“I don't think so.”
“Have you spoken to police?”
“Yes.”
“Did you tell them about the unknown man?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Kenneth slid a note toward me.
ASK ABOUT PAPERS.
“Those medical papers you found. Where were they?”
“In Connor's office.”
“Were there other documents with them?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Bank papers. Some trust documents.”
“Did you read the trust documents?”
“A little.”
My pulse quickened.
“What did they say?”
“Something about Walter.”
Connor's father.
“And Noah?”
“Yes.”
Kenneth leaned closer to the phone.
I continued.
“What about Noah?”
Melinda's voice broke.
“The trust is huge, Kirsten.”
“How huge?”
“I don't know. Millions.”
I looked at Kenneth.
His expression turned grim.
“What condition?”
“What?”
“Trusts usually have conditions. Did you see any?”
“I saw one line.”
“Tell me.”
She inhaled shakily.
“It said something about a biological male descendant.”
There it was.
The cost of the truth.
Connor had far more to lose than pride.
“Melinda.”
“Yes?”
“Did Connor know about that trust before Noah was born?”
“He talked about his father's estate constantly.”
“That isn't what I asked.”
“Yes.”
“How soon after you told Connor you were pregnant did Walter know?”
“A few weeks.”
“And did Walter believe Connor was the father?”
“Of course.”
The answer came automatically.
Then she realized what she had said.
I heard her breath catch.
“Kirsten…”
“Don't speculate. Just listen.”
“What?”
“If the police put you somewhere safe, stay there.”
“I will.”
“Do not meet Connor alone.”
“I won't.”
“And do not contact Gabriel again.”
Silence.
“I already did.”
“When?”
“Ten minutes ago.”
I closed my eyes.
“What did you tell him?”
“That Connor lied to me about the fertility testing.”
“What did Gabriel say?”
“He didn't answer.”
A chill moved through me.
“Did the call connect?”
“No.”
“Text?”
“Yes.”
“Any response?”
“No.”
Kenneth held out his hand for my phone, but before I could give it to him another call came in.
Officer Morales.
I told Melinda to stay on the line, then merged the calls.
“Officer?”
“Dr. Sinclair, are you with your attorney?”
“Yes.”
“Good. We need to speak.”
“I'm also on the phone with Melinda.”
Morales paused.
“Ms. Travis?”
“Yes.”
“Melinda, do not tell us your location on this call.”
She made a small sound of agreement.
Morales continued.
“We've recovered footage from the neighborhood.”
“Of Gabriel?”
“No.”
I exchanged a look with Kenneth.
“The man seen approaching the property wasn't Gabriel Mercer.”
“Who was he?”
“We don't know yet.”
“Then why did Connor say it was Gabriel?”
“That is one of our questions.”
I leaned forward.
“What else?”
Morales hesitated.
“We attempted to contact Mr. Mercer.”
My stomach tightened.
“And?”
“No answer.”
“Maybe he's with his lawyer.”
“We checked.”
Kenneth stood.
“Officer, what aren't you saying?”
Morales's voice changed.
“He missed a scheduled meeting with counsel.”
Melinda made a faint sound.
I gripped the phone.
“When?”
“Two hours ago.”
“Could he simply have turned off his phone?”
“Yes.”
“But you don't think so.”
“We're concerned.”
“Why?”
Another pause.
“Because his vehicle was found abandoned near Eagle Creek.”
The conference room went completely silent.
“Was there blood?” I asked.
“No.”
“Signs of a struggle?”
“Nothing obvious.”
“Then maybe he left voluntarily.”
“Possible.”
Kenneth's gaze stayed on mine.
“Officer,” he said, “does Connor know Gabriel is missing?”
“We haven't informed him.”
I thought of the anonymous photograph.
Tell your friend she should have kept quiet.
Then tell your lawyer the money is gone.
The threat suddenly felt less theatrical.
“Officer Morales.”
“Yes?”
“Someone may be trying to make Gabriel look unstable or violent before he disappears.”
Kenneth held up a hand.
“That's speculation.”
“I know.”
Morales replied carefully.
“Right now, everything is a possibility.”
After the call ended, Melinda remained connected.
She had gone very quiet.
“Melinda?”
“Yes.”
“You heard them.”
“Yes.”
“Stay where you are.”
“I will.”
“Kirsten.”
“What?”
Her next words came as a whisper.
“I know who the man in the gray coat might be.”
Kenneth froze.
“Who?”
“Connor has met him before.”
“Name?”
“I don't know his real name.”
“What does Connor call him?”
She swallowed.
“Mr. Vale.”
Kenneth's face changed.
Not recognition exactly.
Alarm.
“You know that name,” I said.
He nodded once.
“Vale is not a person.”
“What is it?”
“A company.”
“What kind?”
Kenneth turned toward his laptop.
“Private investigations.”
Melinda began crying again.
But Kenneth was already typing.
Then he stopped.
His face went pale.
“What?”
He rotated the computer toward me.
A company registration page filled the screen.
Vale Strategic Services.
Owner: Raymond Vale.
Services included corporate investigations, asset recovery and litigation support.
Nothing extraordinary.
Until Kenneth pointed to the registered client contact listed in an archived filing.
Walter Fleming.
Connor's father.
Click here to continue reading: PART 8: Walter Fleming’s Investigator Led Us to the Missing Money, but Connor’s Father Revealed the Family Secret He Had Protected for Years
The Morning My Ex-Husband Tried to Humiliate Me in a Hospital Hallway and Misread the Calm on My Face
Part 7 of 35
