Chapter 5: The Woman Who Called
I did not hang up.
I should have.
Every reasonable instinct I had said to hand the phone to Detective Okafor and let him handle it.
But something in her voice — the flatness of it, the absence of any performance — made me stay on the line.
"How did you get this number?" I asked.
"Matthew's phone." A pause.
"He left it on the kitchen counter when he went to put Eli to bed.
I've had your number for two years.
I never called it."
Eli.
The boy had a name.
"Why are you calling now?" I said.
"Because I saw his face when he came back from the garage tonight." Another pause, longer.
"And because I found something on his phone three weeks ago that I haven't been able to stop thinking about."
Detective Okafor was watching me.
I put the call on speaker and set the phone on the bed between us.
"Lauren," I said.
"There's a detective in the room with me.
His name is Okafor.
He's listening."
Silence.
"Are you still there?" I asked.
"Yes." Her voice had changed slightly.
Not frightened.
Recalibrating.
"Okay."
"What did you find on his phone?" Okafor asked.
"A transfer confirmation.
From a vendor account I didn't recognize to an offshore account in my name.
I didn't set up that account.
I've never seen that account number before." Her voice was steady but thin.
"I think he's been using my name without my knowledge."
Okafor's pen was moving.
"How long have the transfers been going?" he asked.
"The confirmation I found was dated March 2021.
But there were earlier ones referenced in the thread.
I think it goes back further."
"Do you still have access to that thread?"
"I screenshotted it.
Twenty-two images." A brief pause.
"I didn't know what to do with them.
I didn't know if I was in trouble.
I didn't know if going to the police would—" She stopped.
"I have a son."
"Eli," I said.
A longer silence.
"Yes," she said quietly.
I looked at my father.
He was sitting with his hands folded on his knee, watching the phone on the bed with an expression I couldn't fully read.
"Lauren," I said.
"Is Eli Matthew's son?"
The pause that followed was the kind that answers before the words do.
"Yes."
"Does Matthew know you found the screenshots?"
"No.
I don't think so."
"Where are you right now?"
"A hotel.
I took Eli and left the apartment an hour ago.
Matthew doesn't know where we are."
Okafor leaned forward.
"Ms.
Thorne, I need you to send those screenshots to this number immediately." He read out a secure line.
"Do not delete anything from your phone.
Do not contact Matthew Hayes.
Do not go back to any property associated with him tonight."
"I won't," she said.
"Is there anything else on that phone?
Anything else you saw?"
Another pause.
"There was an email draft," she said.
"It was never sent.
It was addressed to someone named Carver at a law firm I didn't recognize.
It was about — it was about Clare." Her voice dropped slightly.
"About having her declared mentally unfit.
About using the Series D restructuring to remove her remaining equity before she could contest it."
My father's hands unfolded from his knee.
He placed them flat on the table beside the bed.
He did not pick up his phone.
He sat very still, the way a man sits when he is deciding something he will not be talked out of.
"Lauren," I said.
"Thank you for calling."
"I'm not—" She stopped.
Started again.
"I'm not a good person in this story."
"You called," I said.
"That counts for something."
She didn't answer that.
"Send the screenshots," Okafor said.
"Tonight."
"I'm sending them now."
The call ended.
The room was quiet for a moment.
Then my father stood up, buttoned his jacket, and walked to the window.
He stood with his back to us, looking out at the city.
"Mentally unfit," he said.
Not a question.
"Dad—"
"He was going to use the Series D to strip your equity.
Then have you declared unfit so you couldn't contest it." He turned around.
His voice was completely level.
That was the part that was frightening.
"He needed the Sterling name to build the company.
He needed your contacts, your work, your capital access.
And once the Series D closed and he didn't need any of it anymore—"
"He was going to discard me," I said.
"Legally.
Financially.
Completely."
Okafor's phone buzzed.
He looked at the screen.
"Screenshots are coming through." He stood.
"Mr.
Sterling, Mrs.
Hayes — I need to make some calls.
I'll be in the hallway."
He left.
My father came back to the chair beside my bed.
He sat down.
He looked at my splinted wrist for a moment.
"The draft email," he said.
"Carver.
I know that firm.
They specialize in contested competency proceedings." His jaw tightened.
"He had already retained them."
"How do you know?"
"Because I had someone watching his legal expenditures." He met my eyes.
"I told you I suspected something three months ago.
I wasn't only watching the vendor accounts."
I stared at him.
"You've been building a file," I said.
"Yes."
"For three months."
"Yes."
"While I was still living in that penthouse."
He held my gaze.
"I was waiting until I had enough.
Enough that he couldn't maneuver around it.
Enough that when it happened, it would be final." A pause.
"I moved too slowly.
I'm sorry."
I looked at the ceiling.
Outside in the hallway, I could hear Okafor's voice — low, precise, the cadence of someone giving instructions.
My phone buzzed again.
Matthew's name on the screen.
I showed it to my father.
May you like
He looked at it.
"Answer it," he said.
