Chapter 4 - SAMANTHA’S SECOND MAN
Ryan talked for almost three hours.
Some of it was truth.
Some of it was self-preservation.
I didn’t know which was which yet.
He admitted sleeping with Samantha.
The affair between them had started before mine.
Seven months before mine.
That alone made me feel sick.
Ryan was married.
Two children.
He had spent months listening to me complain about Claire becoming distant while going home to his own wife after sleeping with the same woman.
The hypocrisy was almost impressive.
“How much did Samantha know about the company?”
Ryan rubbed both hands over his face.
“Everything we gave her.”
“We?”
His eyes dropped.
“I hired her first.”
“For what?”
“Public relations consulting.”
“Samantha told me she worked independently in luxury branding.”
“She did.”
“Did?”
“She lost most of her clients two years ago.”
I stared.
“She told me business was booming.”
Ryan laughed bitterly.
“She told me you were leaving Claire.”
Silence.
Neither of us enjoyed that.
Ryan continued.
“Samantha started asking about development deals. Investors. Land purchases.”
“And you told her?”
“At first? Nothing important.”
I looked at him.
He exhaled.
“Then more.”
“How did she move the money?”
“I thought I was approving legitimate consulting invoices.”
“You signed them.”
“So did you.”
“I didn’t knowingly sign those transfers.”
“Neither did I.”
I stared.
That changed things.
“If neither of us authorized them, who did?”
Ryan looked at me.
“She had access to both our devices.”
I remembered Samantha borrowing my laptop.
Ryan remembered her using his tablet.
“She copied authentication credentials,” he said.
“You’re guessing.”
“No.”
He removed his phone.
“I found this yesterday.”
It was an email from a cybersecurity firm.
A login from his account had been traced to an IP address in Miami while Ryan was physically in Charlotte.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I thought I could fix it before you found out.”
Of course.
Another man using secrecy to protect himself.
“How’d that go?”
He gave me a tired look.
“Apparently about as well as your marriage.”
I should have hit him.
Instead I laughed once.
He deserved that.
So did I.
By afternoon, our forensic accountant had found seven shell companies.
Westbrook Advisory.
Merritt Strategic.
Coastal Land Analysis.
All registered through layers of LLCs.
The money had eventually converged in one account.
That account belonged to an offshore holding company called Briar Capital.
We sent everything to law enforcement.
I also sent copies to Claire’s attorney.
No secrets.
Not anymore.
At five that evening, Samantha arrived at my office.
Security called from downstairs.
“She says it’s personal.”
“It isn’t.”
“She says she’s pregnant.”
I stopped breathing.
The room became completely silent.
“Send her up.”
Samantha entered twelve minutes later.
She wore a camel coat and carried a white envelope.
No dramatic tears.
No shouting.
She looked almost calm.
That frightened me more.
“You blocked my number.”
“Yes.”
“You sent accountants through my business records.”
“Yes.”
“You told Ryan’s wife.”
“No.”
She blinked.
“I did,” Ryan said from the conference table.
Samantha turned.
He was standing near the window.
Her expression changed.
“You.”
Ryan laughed.
“Nice to see you too.”
She looked between us.
“So now you’re friends?”
“No,” I said. “We’re two idiots comparing notes.”
That irritated her.
Good.
She placed the envelope on my desk.
“I’m pregnant.”
I didn’t touch it.
“How far?”
“Ten weeks.”
I did the math.
My stomach turned.
Possible.
“Is it mine?”
Samantha’s eyes filled.
“Yes.”
Ryan made a disgusted sound.
She turned on him.
“Not yours.”
“You told me three months ago we were trying to fix things.”
“We weren’t.”
I leaned against the desk.
My legs suddenly felt unreliable.
“Have you had a prenatal paternity test?”
Her face hardened.
“I don’t need one.”
“I do.”
“Daniel.”
“If the baby is mine, I’ll take responsibility.”
Something flickered in her eyes.
“But?”
“But responsibility doesn’t mean a relationship with you.”
“You’d choose Claire after she left you?”
“No.”
I held her gaze.
“I’m choosing to stop making every decision based on whichever woman is standing in front of me.”
She slapped me.
Hard.
Ryan looked almost entertained.
I didn’t move.
Samantha’s eyes filled with tears.
“You said you loved me.”
“I did.”
“That meant nothing?”
“It meant I was willing to say words I hadn’t earned.”
Her face changed.
For the first time, the polished Samantha disappeared.
“You think Claire is some saint?”
“No.”
“She hired someone to follow us.”
“She had every reason.”
“She went through your financial records.”
“They were marital records.”
“She planned this.”
“Yes.”
“She wanted to humiliate you.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“If Claire wanted to humiliate me, she could have sent those photographs to my parents, clients, employees, everybody.”
Samantha’s expression tightened.
“She didn’t.”
That realization had come slowly.
Claire had evidence capable of destroying my reputation.
She had used it only to leave.
Samantha sat.
Her anger vanished as quickly as it had arrived.
“I didn’t mean for the money to happen like this.”
Ryan and I both froze.
I spoke carefully.
“What does that mean?”
She realized her mistake.
“Nothing.”
“Samantha.”
“I was talking about the bracelet.”
“No.”
I moved closer.
“You said money.”
She grabbed her purse.
“I’m leaving.”
Ryan blocked the door.
“Move.”
“No.”
I looked at him.
“Move.”
He stepped aside reluctantly.
Samantha reached the door.
Then I said, “Briar Capital.”
She stopped.
Only for a second.
But it was enough.
Ryan saw it too.
“You know the name,” he said.
“No.”
“Yes, you do.”
She opened the door.
I didn’t stop her.
Ten minutes later, our lawyer advised us not to pursue her personally.
Let investigators handle it.
For once, I listened.
The pregnancy issue was separate.
My attorney arranged a noninvasive prenatal paternity test through counsel.
Samantha resisted for three days.
Then agreed.
I told Claire the same evening.
Not because I wanted sympathy.
Because I refused to let her learn from anyone else.
We met in the attorney’s conference room.
Hope slept in her stroller between us.
“There’s something else.”
Claire’s face became tired.
“What now?”
“Samantha says she’s pregnant.”
Claire went completely still.
I hated myself for being the reason that expression existed.
“How far?”
“Ten weeks.”
Claire looked at the window.
I didn’t touch her.
Didn’t explain.
Didn’t tell her Samantha might be lying.
I simply waited.
Finally Claire whispered, “Could it be yours?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes closed.
That single word cost me more than any lie I had ever told.
“Claire.”
“Don’t.”
“I’m not asking you for anything.”
“Good.”
“I requested a paternity test.”
She nodded.
“I will support the child if—”
“I know how biology works, Daniel.”
“I’m sorry.”
Claire stood.
Hope stirred.
Immediately, Claire reached down and touched our daughter’s chest.
Hope settled.
Then Claire looked at me.
“If that baby is yours, be better to them than you were to Hope.”
There was no jealousy.
That made it hurt more.
“I will.”
“And do not make that child carry the shame of what you did.”
“I won’t.”
Claire left.
The paternity result took nine days.
Those nine days felt longer than the previous year.
During them, another $830,000 in fraudulent transactions surfaced.
Our board placed both Ryan and me on administrative leave while investigators reviewed everything.
I didn’t fight it.
Then the paternity report arrived.
I opened it in my lawyer’s office.
Probability of paternity: excluded.
I read it three times.
Not mine.
Relief hit first.
Then suspicion.
Ryan was tested next.
Three days later, his wife received the answer before I did.
The baby wasn’t Ryan’s either.
When investigators attempted to locate Samantha, her apartment was empty.
Her phone was disconnected.
Her car was found in an airport parking garage.
And Briar Capital’s remaining accounts—nearly three million dollars—had been emptied overnight.
Samantha had vanished.
We thought the scandal had finally turned into a straightforward financial crime.
Then Claire called me for the first time since she left.
I answered immediately.
“What happened?”
Her voice shook.
“Hope’s sick.”
Everything inside me stopped.
“We’re at Levine Children’s.”
“I’m coming.”
“Daniel—”
“What?”
“She can’t breathe right.”
Nothing else mattered.
Not Samantha.
Not the money.
Not the paternity test.
May you like
I grabbed my keys.
And for the first time since becoming a father, when my daughter needed me, nobody had to ask twice.
