Chapter 5 - The Betrayal Inside My Own Company
At 7:40 the next morning, I learned the person who first targeted my marriage had been sitting beside me for years.
Grant Holloway.
At least, that was what Henry Wallace claimed.
I stared at the text until the words blurred.
Clover was asleep in a recliner beside Elias.
Her head leaned against the wall.
One hand rested near the incubator.
I stepped quietly into the hallway and called Grant.
He answered immediately.
“You saw my message.”
“Yes.”
“He’s lying.”
I said nothing.
“Adrian.”
“Where are you?”
“Office.”
“Stay there.”
“Adrian—”
“Stay there.”
I ended the call.
For twenty minutes, I stood outside the NICU trying to decide whether I believed Wallace.
Grant had been my best friend for fifteen years.
College roommate.
Business partner.
Best man at my wedding.
The man who drove me to the hospital yesterday.
The man helping expose the conspiracy.
Could he really have started it?
I didn’t want to believe it.
But I had learned what blind trust could cost.
When Clover woke, I told her.
She stared at me.
“Grant?”
“That’s Wallace’s claim.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“Neither do I.”
“But?”
“But I didn’t believe my mother could do what she did either.”
Clover looked toward Elias.
“Go.”
I hesitated.
“What?”
“Go find out.”
“I don’t want to leave.”
“You’ll be ten minutes away.”
“I already missed—”
“Adrian.”
Her voice softened.
“You didn’t choose to miss the pregnancy.”
“I chose work every time you needed me.”
“This isn’t work.”
She touched my hand.
“This is truth.”
I looked at our hands.
Her fingers remained there.
“Call me if anything changes.”
“I will.”
“Immediately.”
“Yes.”
I drove to headquarters.
The $940 million contract remained unsigned in the conference room.
Investors had postponed everything.
For the first time in my career, I didn’t care.
Grant stood beside the windows.
He turned when I entered.
“You think I did it.”
“I think I’m done assuming anyone is innocent.”
He looked hurt.
Good.
I was hurt too.
Miles joined us.
He carried a laptop.
“What did Wallace say exactly?” I asked.
Grant answered.
“He claims I approached him ten months ago and asked for information about Clover.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
Miles opened the laptop.
“We pulled Wallace’s phone records.”
He turned the screen.
“There were seventeen calls between his number and a phone registered to Holloway Holdings.”
My stomach dropped.
Grant stared.
“That’s my father’s company.”
“Do you use their lines?”
“No.”
“Who does?”
“My father. My sister. Finance staff.”
Then Grant’s face changed.
“My father.”
I frowned.
“Why would Robert care about my marriage?”
Grant closed his eyes.
“Because he hated the WestBridge deal.”
That surprised me.
Robert Holloway owned thirty-two percent of Vance Development through an early investment agreement.
He had supported us from the beginning.
Or so I thought.
Grant explained.
“WestBridge required dilution.”
“Yes.”
“My father’s ownership would fall below twenty percent.”
“So?”
“He fought me about it for months.”
“You never told me.”
“I thought I could handle him.”
That phrase sounded familiar.
Too familiar.
“He wanted the deal killed?”
“Yes.”
Miles scrolled.
“Wallace received payments from Holloway Holdings.”
Grant’s face went pale.
“How much?”
“One point two million over eleven months.”
Silence.
My anger returned.
“Call your father.”
Grant looked at me.
“Adrian—”
“Call him.”
He did.
Robert answered on the fourth ring.
“Grant?”
“Dad, are you alone?”
A pause.
“Yes.”
Grant put him on speaker.
I stepped closer.
“Robert.”
Silence.
Then, “Adrian.”
“You paid Henry Wallace.”
Another silence.
“Who told you that?”
“That’s not a denial.”
Grant looked sick.
“Dad.”
Robert sighed.
“You boys have no idea what you were risking.”
My fists tightened.
Grant whispered, “What did you do?”
“What was necessary.”
There it was again.
Control disguised as protection.
Robert explained.
He believed the WestBridge agreement would eventually force him out of the company.
He knew my mother resented Clover.
He knew my marriage was strained.
So he quietly encouraged Henry Wallace to “accelerate” the separation.
At first, the goal was simple.
Distract me.
Delay financing.
Create uncertainty.
Then Eleanor discovered Wallace’s efforts.
Instead of stopping him, she joined.
Vanessa became useful because she had access to my communication systems.
Everyone had a different motive.
But all benefited from the same outcome.
My life falling apart.
Grant slammed his palm against the table.
“You used me.”
Robert’s voice hardened.
“I built half of what you have.”
“No. You invested money.”
“Without me, there would be no company.”
Grant looked toward me.
“That is exactly why I never told you.”
Robert continued.
“You were going to hand Adrian more control and reduce our family’s influence.”
“Our family?”
Grant laughed bitterly.
“You mean you.”
I stepped forward.
“Did you know Clover was pregnant?”
“No.”
“Did you intercept messages?”
“No.”
“Did you know Eleanor did?”
Pause.
“Eventually.”
I felt sick.
“And you said nothing.”
“It wasn’t my business.”
“You were destroying my marriage!”
“I was protecting my investment.”
I ended the call.
I couldn’t hear another word.
Grant sat down.
For the first time since I had known him, he looked completely defeated.
“I’m sorry.”
I stared at him.
“For what?”
“For not seeing my father.”
“That makes two of us.”
He looked up.
“You believe me?”
“I believe evidence.”
“And?”
“The evidence says your father used your company lines without you knowing.”
Grant nodded slowly.
“Thank you.”
“This doesn’t fix everything.”
“I know.”
“But you’re not responsible for what he did.”
Grant looked toward the unsigned contract.
“What happens now?”
“With WestBridge?”
“Yes.”
I thought about it.
Then something became clear.
“We walk away.”
His eyebrows rose.
“What?”
“The deal.”
“Adrian, it’s worth nine hundred forty million.”
“I know.”
“You spent three years on it.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
I looked toward the skyline.
“Because half the reason I wanted it was to prove something.”
“To who?”
“My father.”
“My mother.”
“Vale.”
“Everyone.”
I shook my head.
“I built my entire life around winning.”
Grant remained silent.
“And when winning cost me dinners with Clover, weekends, anniversaries, I told myself it was temporary.”
I looked at him.
“But there was always another deal.”
Grant nodded.
“What will you do instead?”
“Build differently.”
The words surprised me.
But they felt right.
I called the investors.
I explained that Vance Development was withdrawing from the project.
Some were furious.
Some confused.
One threatened litigation.
Our attorneys would handle it.
For once, I didn’t measure my worth by whether a deal closed.
Then I returned to St. Catherine.
Clover was sitting beside Elias.
She looked up.
“What happened?”
“It was Grant’s father.”
Her eyes widened.
I explained.
When I finished, she shook her head.
“All of these people…”
“I know.”
“They used us.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Money. Control. Pride.”
She looked at me.
“Do you know what’s terrible?”
“What?”
“They didn’t need to invent much.”
I understood.
“They just needed to keep us from talking.”
She nodded.
That afternoon, we finally talked.
Really talked.
About everything.
Not the conspiracy.
Us.
Clover told me how lonely she had felt during the final year of our marriage.
How she stopped inviting me to dinners because she already expected me to cancel.
How she stopped asking whether I would come to appointments because disappointment felt worse than certainty.
I told her how afraid I had been.
Afraid that slowing down would destroy everything my father built.
Afraid employees would lose jobs.
Afraid investors would leave.
Afraid becoming a husband and father would expose how little I knew about being present.
“You could have told me,” she said.
“I know.”
“I would have understood.”
“I know that now.”
She smiled sadly.
“You always thought solving problems meant fixing them alone.”
I nodded.
“And you always thought asking twice meant begging.”
She looked surprised.
“That’s fair.”
We sat quietly.
Then Elias moved.
Clover smiled.
“He does that when he hears your voice.”
“That’s impossible.”
“He heard you yesterday.”
“I’ve spoken to him twice.”
“Maybe he already knows you’re loud.”
I smiled.
“I’m not loud.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“You once argued with a contractor for forty minutes because marble samples were two shades off.”
“They were clearly different.”
Clover laughed.
A real laugh.
The first I had heard in six months.
I forgot how much I missed it.
Then her expression softened.
“Adrian.”
“Yes?”
“What happens when Elias leaves the hospital?”
The question landed heavily.
“I don’t know.”
“You live in Highland Park.”
“You?”
“I rented an apartment near the medical center.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
My jaw tightened.
“You shouldn’t be alone with a premature newborn.”
She gave me a look.
“Millions of mothers manage.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know.”
I leaned forward.
“I want to help.”
“You’re his father.”
“I mean more than financial help.”
She watched me carefully.
“I want night feedings.”
“You have meetings.”
“I canceled WestBridge.”
Her eyes widened.
“You what?”
“I withdrew.”
“Adrian…”
“I’m not doing it for you.”
“That was almost a billion-dollar deal.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
“Because I realized I don’t want Elias growing up knowing my assistant better than he knows me.”
Clover stared.
Then tears filled her eyes.
She looked away quickly.
“I’m not asking you to trust me immediately.”
“I know.”
“I’m asking you to let me earn it.”
She was quiet for a long time.
Finally, she nodded.
“Okay.”
One word.
Small.
But it felt like a door opening.
Three days passed.
Elias improved.
His oxygen support decreased.
His weight stabilized.
Clover regained strength.
I slept in a chair more often than at home.
Then, on the fourth evening, Dr. Lawson entered with a smile.
“He’s doing beautifully.”
Clover immediately stood.
“What does that mean?”
“It means if he continues progressing, we can begin planning for discharge in a few weeks.”
Relief flooded Clover’s face.
I smiled.
Then Dr. Lawson handed her a folder.
“There is one administrative issue.”
“What?”
“The birth certificate.”
Clover looked at me.
The father section was blank.
Not because she doubted me.
Because I hadn’t been there.
I looked at the line.
Adrian James Vance.
I could sign.
I wanted to sign.
But I stopped.
Clover noticed.
“What?”
“I want a DNA test.”
Her face changed.
I immediately raised my hand.
“Not because I doubt you.”
“Then why?”
“Because my mother used paternity against you.”
I looked at her.
“I want official proof that no one can ever use that lie again.”
Clover studied me.
Then nodded.
“I understand.”
The hospital arranged it.
The results came forty-eight hours later.
99.99%.
My son.
Officially.
Irrefutably.
I signed the certificate.
Elias Adrian Vance-Sterling.
Clover looked at me.
“You’re okay with both names?”
“He belongs to both of us.”
She smiled.
That evening, I thought the worst was finally behind us.
Then Dr. Lawson called us into a private room.
Her expression was serious.
“There’s something I need to tell you about Clover’s complications.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
She looked at Clover.
“The premature labor may not have been entirely spontaneous.”
Clover stared.
“What are you saying?”
Dr. Lawson placed test results on the table.
“We found something unusual in your earlier prenatal records.”
My heartbeat accelerated.
Someone had already sabotaged our marriage.
May you like
Now the doctor was telling us there might have been something wrong with Clover’s pregnancy care too.
And suddenly the conspiracy no longer felt limited to messages and documents.
