Connor had three fractured ribs, twelve stitches above his left eyebrow and a badly sprained wrist.
He also had a police officer outside his hospital room.
By the time we arrived, detectives had already confirmed one fact.
Raymond Vale had been in custody when Connor was attacked.
So whoever Connor saw was not Vale.
That did not mean Connor lied.
It meant the story had acquired another mask.
I stood outside his room with Kenneth.
“You don’t have to see him.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you?”
“Because he asked.”
“That has never been a good enough reason before.”
“No.”
I looked through the narrow window in the door.
Connor lay propped against white pillows.
He looked smaller.
Without the expensive coat, controlled smile and practiced posture, he looked less like the man who had dominated so many rooms and more like someone who had finally run out of places to perform.
“I need to hear him.”
Kenneth nodded.
“I’ll be outside.”
I entered.
Connor turned his head.
The movement hurt.
He winced.
“Kirsten.”
“Connor.”
His eyes moved over my face.
“You read it.”
“Yes.”
“Everything?”
“Yes.”
He looked away.
“Of course.”
I took the chair near the bed.
“What happened?”
“I was driving north.”
“From the airport?”
“Yes.”
“Where were you going?”
“I don’t know.”
“That isn't an answer.”
“It’s the truth.”
He closed his eyes.
“I just wanted distance.”
“Then someone followed you.”
“Yes.”
“What vehicle?”
“Black SUV.”
“Make?”
“I don’t know.”
“License?”
“No.”
“Did you see the driver?”
“Not clearly.”
“But you told police it was Vale.”
“I thought it was.”
“Why?”
“Because I saw his face.”
I stared at him.
“You said you didn't see clearly.”
“At the gas station.”
“What gas station?”
“I stopped near the interstate.”
“And Vale was there?”
“A man who looked exactly like him.”
“Did he speak to you?”
“No.”
“Then?”
“He stood by the pumps watching me.”
“Could it have been Vale?”
“At the time I thought yes.”
“But Vale was already in custody.”
Connor’s mouth tightened.
“I know.”
“So who?”
“I don't know.”
“What happened after you left?”
“The SUV followed.”
“How long?”
“Five miles maybe.”
“Then?”
“Someone fired.”
“How many shots?”
“Two.”
“Hit the car?”
“One hit the rear quarter panel.”
“And you crashed.”
“I lost control.”
He looked toward the window.
“I thought I was going to die.”
The statement did not invite sympathy.
It simply existed.
“What did you do?”
“Climbed out.”
“With fractured ribs?”
“Adrenaline.”
“And flagged police.”
“Yes.”
I sat back.
“Did the SUV stop?”
“No.”
“Then why did you say Vale?”
“Because I saw him.”
“Or someone wanted you to.”
Connor looked at me.
“That’s what Morales said.”
“Does Vale have a brother?”
“Not that I know.”
“Twin?”
“No.”
“Someone using his appearance?”
“Maybe.”
“Mask?”
“I don’t know.”
He laughed weakly.
“I sound insane.”
“A little.”
“Thanks.”
“You asked for truth.”
That made him smile once.
Then pain erased it.
“Did you know about Red Marsh?” I asked.
“No.”
“Not before Vale mentioned it?”
“No.”
“Could Red Marsh belong to Ethan?”
“I checked.”
“When?”
“Months ago.”
“What did you find?”
“Nothing.”
“Meaning?”
“Layers of companies.”
“Jurisdictions?”
“Delaware. Nevada. British Virgin Islands.”
“You did all that while pretending everything was normal.”
Connor looked at me.
“I have never been as normal as I pretended.”
That was probably true.
“Could Red Marsh belong to Evelyn?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“I checked her too.”
“Walter?”
“Same.”
“Gabriel?”
Connor almost laughed.
“No.”
“Melinda?”
“No.”
“Then who hates your family?”
He looked at the ceiling.
“That list is not short.”
“Someone with money.”
“Still not short.”
“And access to family records.”
His expression changed.
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“You have a guess.”
Connor hesitated.
“My cousin Rebecca.”
I searched my memory.
“Michael’s older daughter?”
“Yes.”
Walter’s late brother Michael had two daughters.
Rebecca and Claire.
I had met them only a handful of times.
Both lived outside Indiana.
“Why Rebecca?”
“She hated Walter.”
“Why?”
“Because of what happened to Michael.”
“What happened to Michael?”
Connor looked at me.
“You don’t know.”
“Apparently not.”
“He died broke.”
That surprised me.
Walter’s brother had been part of the Fleming family business for decades.
“How?”
“Dad pushed him out.”
“When?”
“After some investment dispute.”
“Walter never mentioned it.”
“Of course not.”
“What exactly happened?”
“Michael challenged him over voting control. Dad won.”
“And?”
“Michael borrowed against everything trying to fight.”
“He lost.”
“Yes.”
“How does that lead to Rebecca?”
“She blamed Dad for destroying him.”
“Did she know you might be Michael’s son?”
Connor’s eyes shifted.
“I think so.”
“Why?”
“Vale said someone from Michael’s branch requested family genetic records years ago.”
My pulse quickened.
“When?”
“Before I hired him to investigate my birth.”
“So someone else was already looking.”
“Yes.”
“Rebecca?”
“Maybe.”
“That would give her motive to expose your paternity.”
“Yes.”
“But why follow Melinda?”
Connor stared at me.
“To break the trust.”
I understood.
“If your claim to succession failed through your own paternity and Noah’s…”
“Then Dad’s structure becomes vulnerable from both directions.”
“And Michael’s biological descendants could challenge.”
“Yes.”
“Rebecca and Claire.”
“Yes.”
I stood.
“This isn’t just revenge.”
“No.”
“It’s corporate control.”
Connor nodded.
“Now you understand.”
I almost laughed.
“Do not say that like this makes you less guilty.”
His face tightened.
“I know.”
“Red Marsh may have manipulated events around you. That doesn't make you innocent of the things you admitted.”
“I know.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because I do.”
I looked at him.
For once, I believed him.
A knock sounded.
Morales entered.
“Sorry.”
Connor’s shoulders tightened.
“What?”
“We need to ask about the shooter.”
“I already told you.”
“We have video.”
Connor frowned.
“From where?”
“Gas station.”
Morales held a tablet.
The footage showed Connor fueling his car.
Across the lot stood a tall man in a dark jacket.
Even from the grainy camera, the resemblance to Vale was remarkable.
Same height.
Same gray hair.
Same posture.
Then the man turned slightly.
Morales froze the image.
“Look at his left hand.”
Connor leaned closer.
I did too.
The man wore a large silver ring.
“Vale doesn't wear that,” Connor said.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“He hates jewelry.”
Morales swiped.
Another frame.
The man entered the black SUV.
His face became clearer.
Not Vale.
Similar.
But younger.
Perhaps by ten years.
Connor stared.
Then whispered, “No.”
“What?”
“I know him.”
Morales leaned forward.
“Name.”
Connor swallowed.
“Thomas Vale.”
“Relation to Raymond?”
“His son.”
That explained the resemblance.
“Where is Thomas now?”
“I thought California.”
“When did you last see him?”
“Five years ago.”
“What did he do?”
“Worked with Raymond.”
“As investigator?”
“Sometimes.”
“Why didn't you mention him?”
“Because he disappeared from the business.”
“Why?”
Connor hesitated.
“Raymond said they had a falling-out.”
Morales’s expression hardened.
“Over?”
“Money.”
Of course.
“Could Thomas be working for Red Marsh?”
Connor looked at me.
“Yes.”
“Did Thomas know your family?”
“He knew everything Raymond knew.”
That was dangerous.
Morales stepped outside to make calls.
Connor sank back.
“There’s another thing.”
I almost laughed.
“There is always another thing.”
“Thomas dated Claire.”
I stopped.
“Michael’s younger daughter?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Years ago.”
“How serious?”
“Very.”
“Did Raymond approve?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“He thought the Flemings were poison.”
“That apparently didn't stop him taking their money.”
Connor smiled faintly.
“Raymond contains contradictions.”
“So Thomas had a direct connection to Michael’s family branch.”
“Yes.”
“And access through his father.”
“Yes.”
“Could Claire own Red Marsh?”
Connor looked uncertain.
“I don’t know.”
“Would she have money?”
“Her own? Some.”
“Enough for private investigators and corporate acquisitions?”
“No.”
“Rebecca?”
“Maybe.”
“Together?”
“Possible.”
I looked through the door window.
Kenneth stood outside speaking to Morales.
The outline sharpened.
Red Marsh.
Michael’s daughters.
The original trust.
Vale’s divided loyalty.
Thomas following Melinda.
A campaign that predated Gabriel’s filing.
“What did they want from Noah?”
Connor whispered, “Proof.”
“Proof of what?”
“That I was lying.”
“Why?”
“So Dad’s trust structure could be attacked.”
“That still doesn't explain Gabriel’s assault.”
“No.”
“Or the threat sent to me.”
“No.”
“Or the photograph of Vale bound.”
Connor looked toward the ceiling.
“Thomas.”
“You think Thomas sent it.”
“He could have.”
“Why frame you?”
“To force police attention onto me.”
“Which worked.”
“Yes.”
“Did Raymond know Thomas was active?”
“I don't know.”
“Then ask him.”
Connor laughed painfully.
“He hates me.”
“That isn't the same as refusing to answer.”
Connor looked at me.
“You really think everyone can be reasoned with.”
“No.”
“I used to.”
The difference mattered.
Kenneth entered.
“Morales is checking Thomas Vale.”
Connor nodded.
Kenneth looked at him.
“I have another question.”
“Go ahead.”
“Why was Raymond at the hangar with you?”
Connor closed his eyes.
“He offered an exit.”
“You said that.”
“Passport route. Charter.”
“Who paid?”
“Raymond said a client.”
“Red Marsh?”
“He wouldn't confirm.”
“So the same person potentially trying to destroy you offered to help you flee.”
“Yes.”
Kenneth’s expression sharpened.
“Not help.”
Connor looked at him.
“What?”
“Remove.”
The room went quiet.
Kenneth continued.
“If you left the country during active investigations, you become the perfect villain.”
I felt cold.
“Everything freezes around Connor.”
“Yes.”
“Gabriel’s assault looks like his.”
“Yes.”
“Vale’s disappearance looks like his.”
“Yes.”
“The trust fraud looks like his alone.”
“Yes.”
“Red Marsh stays hidden.”
Connor’s face drained.
“I was being packaged.”
Kenneth nodded.
“As the complete explanation.”
That was the first phrase all day that sounded exactly right.
Connor had committed enough genuine wrongdoing that planting additional wrongdoing around him required very little effort.
He had built the perfect frame.
Around himself.
My phone rang.
Walter.
I answered.
“Kirsten.”
“What happened?”
His voice was tight.
“Rebecca is here.”
I looked at Kenneth.
“Where?”
“My office.”
“Alone?”
“No.”
“Who’s with her?”
A pause.
“Claire.”
Connor had heard enough to understand.
He tried to sit higher and winced.
“What do they want?”
I asked Walter the same thing.
His answer came slowly.
“They say they own Red Marsh Consulting.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 19: Michael’s Daughters Admitted They Built Red Marsh to Challenge Walter, but Denied Ordering the Violence That Had Protected Their Plan
The Morning My Ex-Husband Tried to Humiliate Me in a Hospital Hallway and Misread the Calm on My Face
Part 18 of 35
