Chapter 3 - Blood and Bribes
Z
By mid-afternoon, the tabloid headlines were brutal. 'BROOKLYN SOCIALITE STARVED POSTPARTUM WIFE WHILE SCAMMING THOUSANDS', read the front page of the Post, featuring a grainy mugshot of Mark looking disheveled in a grey tracksuit, juxtaposed with a photo of Eleanor crying outside the precinct.
Maya was officially discharged from Manhattan General later that evening. I took her and Liam to a high-security, full-service luxury apartment complex in Tribeca—a place I rented under a corporate alias where my family could never track us down. I hired a 24/7 private night nurse and two executive protection agents to stand guard at the lobby. For the first time in weeks, Maya was able to sleep peacefully, surrounded by catered high-protein meals, medical care, and absolute security.
However, the war was far from over.
At 8:00 AM the following morning, while sitting in Julian’s midtown law office, my phone rang again. This time it was an unknown private number. I answered, signaling Julian to record the line.
"David... please, my son," Eleanor’s voice came through, completely stripped of her usual arrogant, aristocratic sharpness. She sounded frail, broken, and desperate. "I am sitting in a holding cell room waiting to talk to Mark's public defender. They won't let me leave. They are talking about charging me as an accomplice to felony fraud."
"You co-signed the documents, Eleanor," I said coldly. "You signed your name to stolen money."
"Mark told me it was an investment trust for Liam!" she sobbed, her voice trembling with calculated pathos. "He told me he was setting up a trust fund for your son because you were working too hard in Germany! I didn't know, David! You know I'm not good with legal papers! I'm an old woman!"
"An old woman who walked into my apartment, stole my newborn’s specialized prescription formula, took the food bought with my money, and left my wife to rot with an infected wound," I replied, my voice slicing through her fake tears like a scalpel. "You knew exactly what you were doing. You wanted to humiliate Maya. You wanted to put her in her place because she didn't come from your social circle."
There was a sudden, sharp pause on the line. The crying stopped instantly. Eleanor’s true face emerged—the cold, calculating matriarch who had spent years manipulating my father before his death, and who had spent the last decade viewing me as nothing more than a personal ATM for her lifestyle.
"Listen to me very carefully, David," Eleanor hissed, her tone suddenly dropping into a venomous, quiet register. "If you do not drop these charges and pay Mark’s bail, I will go to every news station in New York. I will tell them that you abused your father on his deathbed. I will produce a handwritten codicil to your father's will that proves you stole your entire inheritance from Chloe and me."
Julian shook his head frantically, signing to me to stay calm. I took a deep breath, leaning back in my leather chair.
"My father died seven years ago, Eleanor," I said calmly. "His estate was fully probated by a court-appointed trustee. If you had a fake codicil, you would have used it years ago. But go ahead. Try to present a forged document to the District Attorney while you are already under investigation for financial fraud. See how fast they add perjury and evidence fabrication to your indictment."
"You think you’re so smart because you made a few million in industrial engineering?" Eleanor sneered. "You are nothing without this family! You’re a cold, unfeeling sociopath! Maya is a gold-digging peasant who tricked you into marrying her, and that child—"
"Finish that sentence, Eleanor, and I promise you, I will make sure the state takes your brownstone to satisfy Mark’s restitution debts," I cut in, my voice deadlier than she had ever heard it before. "I own the mortgage on your Park Slope house, remember? I bought out the note three years ago when you were about to lose it to tax liens. You don't own that house. I do. And you have seventy-two hours to pack your bags."
The line went dead.
Julian leaned forward, a grim smile playing on his lips. "She's cornered, David. But cornered rats bite hard. She’s going to use Chloe to do something drastic."
"Let them try," I said. "What else did the DA find?"
Julian opened a secured folder labeled 'Internal Transfers'. "This is where the drama turns into a complete tragedy, David. Mark wasn't working alone in Nassau. The wire transfers from his offshore account weren't just going to sports betting sites. He was sending fifty thousand dollars a month to a private clinic in Switzerland."
May you like
I frowned, caught off guard. "A clinic? Who was sick?"
Julian met my gaze with heavy eyes. "Nobody was sick. The clinic is a high-end, discreet private fertility and DNA lab. Mark wasn't just stealing your money, David. He was using it to cover up a secret that goes back two years... a secret involving your sister Chloe, and a man you know very well."
