Chapter 5 - The Delivery Boy’s Dark Past
We spent the rest of the night parked behind a 24-hour diner on the outskirts of Covington, just across the river from Cincinnati. The neon sign buzzed and flickered, casting a sickly pink glow over the dashboard.
I spread the contents of the manila folder across my lap, analyzing every document under the harsh light of my phone.
"Look at this," I pointed to a series of wire transfers spanning the last five years. "Millions of dollars moving from Grant's real estate firm into shell companies registered in the Cayman Islands. And look at the recipient of the secondary accounts: *The Cincinnati Horizon Medical Foundation*."
Ethan leaned over, squinting at the paper. "Horizon Medical? Isn't that the private pediatric research wing where Evelyn Cross works?"
"Yes," I breathed. "Grant didn't just stash his divorce assets away. He’s been embezzling from his own company to fund Evelyn’s medical syndicate. And my son... my son is part of it."
"How so?" Ethan asked gently.
I swallowed hard, memories of that horrific night five years ago flooding back. "When I woke up from the C-section, Margaret—Grant's mother—was sitting by my bed. She told me the baby's heart stopped during delivery. But she was the one who insisted on handling all the hospital administrative paperwork because Grant 'was too distraught to function'."
I clutched my head, a searing migraine blooming behind my eyes. "Margaret is on the board of directors at Cincinnati General Hospital. She had the power to falsify death certificates and reroute a living infant directly to Evelyn."
"Why?" Ethan asked, his jaw clenching. "Why go to such elaborate, monstrous lengths? Why not just get a divorce back then?"
"Because five years ago, Grant didn't have his billion-dollar real estate empire," I said, staring into the dark. "Back then, he was living off my family's trust fund. My grandfather left me a massive inheritance—contingent upon me staying married and producing an heir. If Grant had divorced me then, he would have walked away with nothing. But if I 'lost' our child and fell into a deep, medicated depression, he could slowly dismantle my sanity, isolate me from my friends, force me to sign away my assets, and eventually discard me when he was ready to marry Evelyn in broad daylight."
The silence in the Subaru was deafening. The sheer, calculated malice of it made my stomach churn.
Ethan stared at me, a complex emotion shifting in his deep brown eyes—pity, yes, but mostly a fierce, unyielding respect.
"You're stronger than you think, Claire," Ethan said quietly.
I looked at him, noticing for the first time the rigid posture, the scars on his knuckles, the way his eyes constantly scanned our surroundings like a man trained to look for threats.
"You're not just a delivery driver, are you, Ethan?" I asked softly.
Ethan hesitated, his fingers drumming once against the steering wheel. He let out a long breath.
"I used to be a corporate investigator for a private security firm in Chicago," Ethan admitted, his voice low. "Five years ago, I uncovered financial fraud involving a major pharmaceutical conglomerate. They framed me, ruined my career, and threatened my family. I lost everything, just like you. I drifted down here, changed my name, and started hiding behind a delivery uniform to stay off the radar."
I stared at him, stunned. "Fate has a twisted sense of humor."
"Maybe," Ethan said with a faint, grim smile. "Or maybe it brought me to the right doorstep at 8:12 p.m."
Ethan pulled out his phone. "If we want to bring Grant down, we can't use standard channels. We need to strike where it hurts him most: his public reputation, his corporate board, and his upcoming real estate merger."
"What do you have in mind?" I asked.
May you like
Ethan's smile turned sharp. "We're going to crash his anniversary gala tomorrow night—and we're going to broadcast his entire empire of lies to the whole city of Cincinnati."
***
