Chapter 2 - Which Mrs. Lawson?“Put it down, Rachel.”
Michael’s tone was no longer weak.
Rachel held the hospital form between two fingers.
“You listed Claire as your spouse.”
“It was an administrative shortcut.”
Claire looked at him.
Rachel noticed.
Not confusion.
Annoyance.
“You told me they required a family contact,” Claire said.
Michael’s jaw tightened.
“Not now.”
Rachel almost laughed.
“Please. Don't stop because I’m here.”
Michael looked toward the hallway.
“Lower your voice.”
“I haven’t raised it.”
That was what bothered him.
Rachel had always been the emotional one in arguments.
Michael called himself the reasonable one.
For years, when she became upset, he became calmer.
When she cried, he became clinical.
When she demanded answers, he accused her of creating chaos.
Tonight, Rachel felt no urge to cry.
She wanted facts.
“How long?”
Michael sighed.
“Rachel—”
She looked at Claire.
“How long have you been coming here as his wife?”
Claire crossed her arms.
“I never introduced myself that way.”
“Did you correct anyone?”
Silence.
Rachel nodded.
“That’s what I thought.”
Michael swung his legs toward the side of the bed.
The heart monitor wires pulled slightly.
“Can we discuss this at home?”
“No.”
“Rachel.”
“No.”
Claire picked up her purse.
“I should leave.”
Rachel stepped aside.
“Please do.”
Claire moved toward the door.
Rachel spoke before she passed.
“One question.”
Claire stopped.
Rachel’s gaze held hers.
“What did you mean by the Bellamy deal?”
Michael answered immediately.
“Nothing.”
Rachel kept looking at Claire.
Claire did not answer.
That silence was answer enough.
Michael stood too quickly and winced.
“Claire.”
She looked back.
His expression carried a warning.
Rachel saw it.
Claire saw Rachel see it.
Something passed between the two women.
Then Claire walked out.
Michael shut his eyes.
“Congratulations.”
Rachel stared at him.
“For what?”
“You’ve turned a private misunderstanding into a spectacle.”
Rachel felt something inside her settle.
There it was.
The reversal.
The technique Michael had used for years.
He did something questionable.
She reacted.
Then her reaction became the problem.
“Who is she to you?”
“She consults for Bellamy.”
“I know that.”
“Then why are you asking?”
“Because consultants usually don't sit beside married executives in hospitals pretending to be their wives.”
“She wasn’t pretending.”
“The hospital says otherwise.”
Michael rubbed his forehead.
“I was admitted here twice earlier this year. Claire happened to be nearby both times. I put her down as an emergency contact because you were traveling.”
Rachel remembered.
Her mother’s estate property in Maine.
Three days in February.
Her father’s memorial scholarship dinner in April.
Both times Michael had told her he had slept badly.
He had never mentioned hospital visits.
“You were hospitalized twice?”
“For minor issues.”
“And you didn't tell me?”
“I didn't want you worrying.”
“But you wanted Claire worrying.”
Michael exhaled sharply.
“You're deliberately twisting everything.”
Rachel placed the admission form back on the table.
“I heard you.”
Michael became still.
“Outside the door.”
Nothing.
“I heard Claire say that once the Bellamy deal closes, none of this will matter.”
Michael’s eyes changed.
“And I heard you say I wouldn't know until it was too late.”
He looked away.
Rachel stepped closer.
“What deal?”
“An investment discussion.”
“What investment?”
“Something the board has been exploring.”
“I’m chair of the board.”
Michael’s silence lasted one second too long.
Rachel felt her pulse begin to race.
“You have been discussing a transaction involving my company without telling me?”
“It’s not your company.”
Rachel stared at him.
Michael regretted the words almost instantly.
Bellamy Foods had been founded by Rachel’s father, Thomas Bellamy.
After his death, Rachel inherited fifty-one percent of the voting shares.
Her younger sister Dana owned eighteen percent.
The remaining shares belonged to employees and two longtime investors.
Michael owned none.
But for six years, he had served as chief operating officer.
He had helped expand Bellamy into four states.
Rachel had trusted him enough to give him enormous operational authority.
Michael slowly said, “I mean you don't run it alone.”
“No. I own control.”
“And that attitude is exactly why Bellamy has stalled.”
Rachel studied him.
This wasn’t about Claire anymore.
Claire had simply broken the lock on a door Michael desperately wanted closed.
“What have you done?”
Michael’s face hardened.
“I haven’t done anything.”
Rachel turned toward the door.
“Where are you going?”
“Home.”
“Good. We’ll talk there tomorrow.”
Rachel looked back.
“No.”
“For God's sake, Rachel.”
“I’m going home. You are going to stay here until your doctor discharges you.”
“It’s my house too.”
“Yes.”
Rachel paused.
“For the moment.”
Michael’s eyes narrowed.
Rachel picked up the canvas food bag.
He noticed.
“I thought you brought that for me.”
She looked at the bag.
Chicken and wild-rice soup.
His favorite.
She had made it because she believed her husband was alone and sick.
Rachel set it back on the counter.
“I did.”
Then she walked out without it.
At the nurses’ station, Emily stood immediately.
“Mrs. Lawson?”
Rachel stopped.
Emily looked deeply uncomfortable.
“I checked something.”
Rachel waited.
Emily lowered her voice.
“Mr. Lawson’s file was updated six months ago.”
Rachel’s skin prickled.
“Updated how?”
“His primary contact was changed from you to Claire Dalton.”
Rachel said nothing.
Emily continued.
“And there’s an advance-directive document scanned into his chart.”
Rachel stared at her.
“I never signed an advance directive.”
Emily’s face went pale.
“I think,” she said carefully, “you need to see an attorney.”
Rachel slowly turned toward Michael’s corridor.
Six months.
This had not been an affair that accidentally spilled into a hospital.
Michael had been changing paperwork.
Contacts.
Legal documents.
Access.
And perhaps much more.
May you like
Rachel walked toward the elevator with one thought repeating in her mind.
What exactly had her husband been preparing for?
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