CHAPTER 11 — THE WOMAN BESIDE ME
I placed the page on Victoria’s desk.
“Explain it.”
She read it slowly.
“I’ve never seen this.”
“The account has your name.”
“It has my name, not my authorization.”
“That’s exactly what Arthur said about the gambling account.”
Pain crossed her face.
But she did not become defensive.
Instead, she called the federal prosecutor and requested an immediate forensic review of her finances.
Then she handed over her phones, computer, and banking credentials.
“You should find another attorney until this is resolved,” she said.
“Did my father trust you?”
“Yes.”
“Then why would anyone create an account in your name?”
“To discredit me when the folder surfaced.”
“Who knew you would represent me?”
“My father and your father worked together. Arthur could have predicted it.”
Victoria stepped away from the case voluntarily.
For the first time since the hospital, I felt completely alone.
Arthur had betrayed me.
Elias had betrayed me.
Brooke had betrayed me.
Now evidence pointed toward the one person who had helped me survive.
The federal review found that the account had been opened using a copy of Victoria’s passport and legal license.
The associated address belonged to a vacant office rented by Grant Mercer.
Victoria had been framed.
But the five million dollars was real.
It moved from Blackstone Harbor through the false Victoria account and into a trust registered in the Cayman Islands.
The beneficiary was listed only by initials.
C.B.
Claire Bennett.
Arthur had built another trap.
If the account were revealed at trial, he could claim I had benefited from the entire conspiracy.
That I had accused him only after the plan collapsed.
Federal agents searched my devices and financial history.
They found no evidence that I knew about the trust.
Still, Arthur’s attorney used the discovery to demand that charges related to company theft be reconsidered.
Grant had withdrawn from representing Arthur, but a new legal team filed motions questioning my credibility.
The media turned again.
Headlines asked whether I was a victim or the hidden architect of the fraud.
Outside my hotel, reporters shouted accusations.
Then someone leaked photographs of my medical records.
Images of my burned face spread across the internet beside the word LIAR.
The leak came from inside St. Jude Medical Center.
Investigators traced the access to a hospital administrator named Thomas Reed.
Thomas had received a payment from Aster Row Holdings.
He admitted selling the records.
He also admitted changing one detail in the hospital database.
The timestamp of my arrival.
According to the altered record, I had arrived nearly three hours after the coffee incident.
Arthur’s attorneys argued that I could have worsened my own injuries during that missing period.
Fortunately, the ambulance-bay cameras proved the original time.
But Thomas offered something more important.
Arthur had paid him months earlier to create a false psychiatric history under my name.
The records claimed I had been treated for paranoia, aggression, and delusional behavior.
The same diagnosis appeared in the medical directive Elias notarized.
The psychiatrist who signed it was Dr. Stephen Rowe.
Detectives went to his office.
They found it empty.
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On the wall, written in black marker, was one sentence:
CLAIRE WAS NEVER THE REAL TARGET.
