Chapter 6: What the Police Report Said
Adrian didn't sleep.
He sat in the family waiting room until past midnight, phone in hand, making calls he should have made years ago.
His personal lawyer first.
Then a private investigator he had used once before for a business matter.
Then, after a long pause, his grandfather's estate attorney — a man named Harlow who had handled the family trust for thirty years and who owed Gerald nothing.
Harlow picked up on the second ring despite the hour.
"I had a feeling I'd hear from you eventually," Harlow said.
"You knew about the heir clause?"
"I drafted it.
Your grandfather asked me not to discuss it unless you asked directly.
You never asked."
"Did my father know I didn't know?"
A pause.
"He knew."
Adrian looked at the ceiling of the waiting room.
A child's drawing was taped to the wall across from him — a crayon sun above a crayon house, the kind of thing that ends up in hospitals because someone thought it would help.
"I need the full terms," Adrian said.
"Everything."
Harlow read them.
It took twelve minutes.
Adrian listened without interrupting.
When it was done, he said, "If I have two biological children already, does the heir clause change anything?"
"It changes everything," Harlow said.
"The clause requires a biological heir.
It does not require a child born within a marriage.
Your grandfather's language was specific on that point.
Your father's interpretation of it was — creative."
"Meaning my father told me I needed to marry and have a child quickly, when in fact I may already qualify."
"If paternity is established, yes.
The trust would transfer to you on your thirty-fifth birthday regardless of your marital status."
Adrian set the phone down for a moment.
He picked it up again.
"Harlow.
Has my father made any recent changes to the trust documents?"
Another pause.
Longer this time.
"He submitted a petition eight weeks ago to have the heir clause amended.
He cited — and I'm reading directly — 'the beneficiary's apparent unwillingness to fulfill the conditions within the required timeframe.' I declined to process it.
It requires a court order to amend.
He knows that."
"Did he pursue the court order?"
"He filed for one.
The hearing is scheduled for next month."
Adrian was quiet.
"He was going to cut you out," Harlow said.
Not unkindly.
Just plainly.
"I know." Adrian stood up and walked to the window.
The parking lot was nearly empty.
One security light buzzed at the far end.
"I need you to halt that petition.
Whatever legal mechanism exists to freeze it."
"I can file a counter-petition on your behalf.
With supporting documentation, we could have it suspended within forty-eight hours."
"Do it."
"Adrian." Harlow's voice was careful.
"If what you're telling me about the children is accurate, and if the car incident is what it sounds like — you should speak to the police.
Not just a civil attorney."
"I know."
"Tonight, if possible."
"I know, Harlow."
He hung up and went back to room 412.
Renata was awake.
Clara had taken the children to a hotel two blocks from the hospital — Adrian had insisted and paid for it before they left.
The room was quieter now.
A monitor beeped softly.
The night nurse had been in twice.
Adrian sat down beside the bed and put the police report on the blanket between them.
He had asked the attending physician for a copy of the incident documentation.
It had taken an hour and his lawyer's name, but he had it.
"The other driver," he said.
"Did you see anything?"
"It was dark.
The car came from behind." Renata looked at the report without touching it.
"Black sedan.
No front plate.
The detective who came said they had no leads."
"The detective's name is on this report.
I'm going to call him in the morning."
"Adrian—"
"Someone ran you off the road six days before my wedding." He looked at her steadily.
"Six days before Clara was going to walk into that hall.
That's not a coincidence."
Renata pressed her lips together.
"You don't know it was your father."
"No.
I don't know yet."
"He's — he's capable of a lot of things.
But that—"
"I'm not accusing him tonight.
I'm gathering information." He folded the report and put it in his jacket pocket.
"But I need you to tell me everything you remember.
Everything he ever said to you.
Every threat.
Every meeting.
Every name he mentioned."
She talked for another hour.
He wrote everything down in the notes app on his phone.
Names.
Dates.
Specific phrases Gerald had used.
The name of the lawyer Gerald had sent to her apartment when Daniel was eight months old.
The amount of money Gerald had offered.
The exact words of the threat.
By the time she finished, it was nearly two in the morning.
"Get some sleep," he said.
"Adrian." She caught his hand before he could stand.
"Whatever happens with the trust, with your father — I didn't come back for that.
I want you to know that.
Clara went to that wedding because she was frightened for me.
Not because of money."
He looked at her hand on his.
"I know."
"I just need you to know."
"I know, Renata." He turned his hand over and held hers for a moment.
"Sleep.
I'll be here in the morning."
He walked out into the corridor.
His phone buzzed.
A text from a number he didn't recognize.
*You should have taken the deal.
This gets worse for everyone now.*
He screenshot it.
Sent it to his lawyer.
May you like
Sent it to the investigator.
Then he went back to the waiting room, sat down under the crayon sun, and waited for morning.
