Chapter 5: Richard Finds Out
The video had four million views by Tuesday morning.
Not the original video — Vanessa's video of the birthday party, with its cruel caption, had been taken down after a wave of comments turned against her.
This was a different video entirely.
A financial news segment.
Thirty seconds of footage from the lobby of the Whitfield Group headquarters, showing Maya walking in through the front doors, followed by a chyron that read: *MISSING WHITFIELD HEIR SURFACES — PROBATE CHALLENGE FILED.*
Richard saw it on his phone at the kitchen table, still in yesterday's clothes, a half-empty coffee mug in front of him.
He watched it three times.
Then he called Maya.
She didn't answer.
He called again.
Straight to voicemail.
"Maya." His voice was careful in a way it had never been before.
"I don't know what's going on, but I think we should talk.
Whatever happened at the party — I may have overreacted.
I want to fix things.
Call me back."
He hung up and sat very still.
Then he called Vanessa.
"Did you see the news?" he said the moment she picked up.
"I saw it."
"Tell me this isn't real."
"I don't know if it's real," Vanessa said.
"But it looks real."
"She's a waitress," Richard said.
"She's been a waitress for six years.
She doesn't have family money.
She doesn't have anything."
"Richard." Vanessa's voice was flat.
"The Whitfield Group is worth four billion dollars.
If she is who they're saying she is, she has been worth four billion dollars the entire time you were married to her."
The line went quiet.
"I need to fix this," Richard said.
"Fix what, exactly?"
"My marriage."
Vanessa hung up.
---
Richard arrived at Carol's apartment building at noon.
He stood at the intercom with a paper bag from the bakery Maya had always liked — croissants, the kind she used to buy on Sunday mornings before Lily was born, back when things between them were still something worth remembering.
Carol's voice came through the speaker.
"She doesn't want to see you, Richard."
"I just need five minutes."
"She said you'd say that."
"Carol, please.
I'm her husband."
"You pushed her face into her daughter's birthday cake in front of fifty people," Carol said.
"And then you laughed."
Silence.
"I know," Richard said.
"I know what I did.
I'm asking for a chance to—"
"She's not here," Carol said.
"And even if she were, the answer would be no.
Go home, Richard."
The intercom clicked off.
He stood on the sidewalk for a while with the paper bag in his hand.
A woman walked past with a stroller.
A cab honked somewhere down the block.
He took out his phone and called his mother.
"She filed something with the courts," he said when Olivia picked up.
"About Eleanor Whitfield's estate."
"I heard," Olivia said.
"I saw the news."
"Did you know?
When we got married — did anyone know who she was?"
A pause that lasted exactly one beat too long.
"Mom."
"I had suspicions," Olivia said carefully.
"Nothing confirmed."
Richard's hand tightened on the phone.
"What kind of suspicions?"
"The ring, Richard.
I noticed the ring years ago.
I did some research.
I wasn't certain."
"And you said nothing."
"I said nothing because if I was wrong, it didn't matter.
And if I was right—" She stopped.
"If you were right, what?"
"If I was right," Olivia said, "then you needed to keep her close.
Not push her away."
Richard looked down at the bakery bag still in his hand.
He dropped it in the trash can on the corner.
"I need to speak to a lawyer," he said.
May you like
"Yes," Olivia agreed.
"You do."
