I tightened my grip on the phone.
“What?”
“He said Miriam constantly encouraged you to question things. He wanted her distracted and upset during the wedding.”
I felt nauseated.
“Brianna promised to handle it,” Eden continued.
“She believed ruining your mother’s hair would embarrass her enough to keep her away from the ceremony.”
I stared blankly ahead.
Mom had been deliberately humiliated.
Not because Brianna lacked experience.
Not because of an unfortunate mistake.
But because Brandon wanted her removed from the situation.
“Why?” I whispered.
Eden’s voice trembled.
“I believe they wanted you signing documents after the ceremony. Brianna repeatedly mentioned keeping ‘the old woman’ away from you.”
My hands felt cold.
“And the recording?”
“Brianna wanted promotional clips for social media. I was reviewing the footage before uploading it when I noticed their conversation. I saved a copy before she removed it from our shared folder.”
“Did you tell anyone?”
“No.”
“Why didn’t you warn me sooner?”
Eden began crying.
“Because Brianna threatened my job. I desperately need that income. My mother is ill, and I help cover our rent.”
My anger softened.
“Eden, listen carefully. You made the right decision.”
“No, I didn’t. I should’ve intervened.”
“You weren’t responsible for cutting my mother’s hair.”
“But I knew something was wrong.”
I remembered Brandon defending Brianna.
Waylon pushing Mom aside.
Charles demanding that I apologize.
Every one of them had behaved as though Brianna’s reputation mattered more than our well-being.
“There’s something else,” Eden whispered.
“What is it?”
“I noticed documents inside Brianna’s office.”
“What documents?”
“I’m not entirely sure. But both Brandon’s name and hers appeared on them.”
“Business records?”
“Possibly. But I noticed something unusual.”
I waited.
“She keeps a photograph of a little girl in her office. The child looks about two years old. Brianna tells everyone she’s her niece.”
I frowned.
“And?”
Eden lowered her voice.
“During a video call, I heard that little girl call Brandon ‘Daddy.’”
My breath caught.
“You’re absolutely certain?”
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
For several seconds, I couldn’t react.
Brandon had repeatedly told me how desperately he wanted children.
He’d become emotional whenever we discussed raising a family.
Once, he’d told me:
“I can’t wait to become a father.”
Now I was expecting his baby.
And he might already have another child.
“Eden,” I said carefully, “please forward everything you have to my attorney.”
“I promise.”
“And take care of yourself.”
“I will.”
Before ending the call, she hesitated.
“Naomi?”
“Yes?”
“There’s a reason Brianna seems so comfortable around Brandon’s parents.”
My stomach tightened.
“What reason?”
“I don’t know everything. But last Christmas, I overheard Mrs. Prescott say something unusual to Brianna.”
“What did she say?”
Eden paused.
Then whispered:
“She called Brianna the daughter she’d always wanted.”
CHAPTER 6: THE SECRET GROWING INSIDE ME
I hadn’t told June about my pregnancy.
I hadn’t even told Mom.
I’d imagined announcing it completely differently.
A tiny pair of baby shoes wrapped in silver paper.
A card reading:
Our greatest adventure begins now.
I’d pictured Brandon opening the gift after our reception, perhaps beside the fountain where we’d taken our engagement pictures.
He would laugh.
Then become emotional.
Then embrace me tightly.
That was the future I’d envisioned.
Instead, I was sitting in an attorney’s office, discovering evidence of another woman—and possibly another child.
The following morning, I woke feeling nauseated.
Mom discovered me sitting on the bathroom floor.
“Naomi?”
I wiped my face.
“I’m alright.”
She knelt beside me.
“Sweetheart, you’ve hardly eaten in two days.”
I wanted to tell her everything.
But when I tried speaking, the words wouldn’t come.
She watched me quietly.
Then her expression softened.
“Are you expecting a baby?”
I burst into tears.
She understood immediately.
Mom wrapped her arms around me.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
“I’m ten weeks pregnant.”
She embraced me more tightly.
“Does Brandon know?”
I shook my head.
“No.”
We remained together on the bathroom floor for several moments.
Then I whispered:
“I’m frightened, Mom.”
“I understand.”
“What if he tries to take my baby away?”
Mom gently raised my chin.
“Then we’ll seek proper legal guidance and make sure you’re both protected.”
“What if my child grows up resenting me for leaving their father?”
“Then someday, you’ll explain your decision in a way your child can understand.”
I wiped away my tears.
“What would I say?”
Mom offered a sad smile.
“That loving someone never means accepting a relationship that causes you harm.”
I rested against her shoulder.
She gently stroked my hair.
That small gesture nearly overwhelmed me.
Her own cherished hair had been left uneven and damaged.
Yet she was still comforting me.
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“Do you ever regret having me?”
She immediately pulled away.
“Never.”
“But you sacrificed so much.”
Mom shook her head.
“I gave up certain things. That doesn’t mean I regret you.”
I knew how difficult life had become after my father passed away when I was young.
Mom had worked endless hours sewing wedding gowns, school uniforms, and clothing alterations.
We’d never had much money.
But our home had always felt welcoming.
There were always fresh sheets, homemade soup, and someone waiting when I returned from school.
“You were the greatest blessing of my life,” Mom said.
“Nothing could ever compare.”
My tears fell faster.
Then she said something I’d always remember.
“You don’t need to figure out your entire future today. Just decide what will keep you safe right now.”
That afternoon, I attended my prenatal appointment.
My doctor examined the ultrasound.
The baby’s heartbeat was strong.
Everything appeared to be developing normally.
Watching that tiny movement on the monitor, I felt something change within me.
My baby was real.
Not merely an idea.
Not some distant dream.
A tiny developing life that depended entirely on me.
When the nurse gave me the ultrasound picture, I held it with extraordinary care.
Outside the clinic, I remained in my car for twenty minutes.
Then I called June.
“There’s something important I need to tell you.”
She listened without interrupting.
When I finished, she replied:
“Naomi, being pregnant doesn’t give Brandon control over your life or your inheritance. We’ll review your legal options separately from the property fraud investigation.”
I exhaled slowly.
“What should I do?”
“Keep records of any threats. Don’t meet him privately. And never let his family’s intimidation determine your choices.”
“Alright.”
June paused.
“There’s another development.”
My stomach tightened.
“What happened?”
“We’ve identified the registered agent for Briar Development Partners.”
“And?”
“The business was established through several entities connected to Charles Prescott.”
I closed my eyes.
“That figures.”
“But another individual appears in the ownership records.”
“Who?”
June’s voice grew serious.
“Brianna Collins.”
CHAPTER 7: THE PRICE OF A LIE
Three days after our canceled wedding, Brandon appeared outside my apartment.
I hadn’t asked him to come.
Mom and I were sitting at the kitchen table when someone knocked.
Then I heard him.
“Naomi! Open the door!”
Mom went still.
I approached the entrance but kept it locked.
“Go home, Brandon.”
“We need to talk.”
“Contact my lawyer.”
“This isn’t something attorneys should be involved in!”
I nearly laughed.
He’d apparently falsified legal paperwork concerning my inheritance.
Yet now he wanted lawyers excluded.
“Please leave.”
His voice softened.
“Baby, please.”
That familiar word hurt more than I’d anticipated.
“Don’t call me that.”
“I love you.”
I leaned against the door.
For one painful moment, I remembered the Brandon who brought coffee during rainy mornings.
The man who memorized my favorite books.
The man who comforted me through the night after Grandma died.
Then the recording returned to my mind.
“Do you love Brianna too?” I asked.
Silence followed.
Then:
“What?”
“I watched the recording.”
Another pause.
This one lasted longer.
Finally, he answered:
“Naomi, whatever you believe you saw—”
“I watched you kiss her.”
“You’re misunderstanding the situation.”
I closed my eyes.
“What possible explanation makes that acceptable?”
“She’s been part of my life since childhood. You know that.”
“Did you deliberately ask her to ruin my mother’s hair?”
No response.
“Brandon?”
“You’re exaggerating everything.”
I clenched my hands.
“You caused my mother pain.”
“I never laid a hand on her!”
“No. You arranged for someone else to humiliate her.”
His voice changed.
“Be careful, Naomi.”
An uncomfortable chill passed through me.
“Are you threatening me?”
“I’m offering advice.”
Then he added:
“You have no idea how my father responds when someone publicly embarrasses our family.”
I stood motionless.
“Do you realize what you’re saying?”
“Open the door.”
“No.”
“Naomi—”
“Leave, or I’ll contact the police.”
His voice became cold.
“Fine. But you’ll regret treating me this way.”
I heard him walking away.
Then a vehicle door closed.
Mom stepped out of the kitchen.
She’d recorded part of our conversation on her phone.
I stared in surprise.
“When did you learn to do that?”
She offered a weary smile.
“Your grandmother always taught me to document threatening behavior.”
I hugged her.
An hour later, June called.
She’d discovered another concerning document.
The proposed property sale wasn’t simply priced far below market value.
It included a clause requiring the seller to indemnify Briar Development against certain undisclosed liabilities.
In other words, I could’ve surrendered valuable property for a fraction of its worth while potentially accepting substantial financial obligations.
“They intended to acquire the property while leaving you financially vulnerable,” June explained.
I pressed my hand against my forehead.
“How much could I have lost?”
“The land alone may be worth millions more than their proposed price. But I’m especially concerned about other assets mentioned in the assignment.”
“What other assets?”
June hesitated.
“The blue ledger might help us understand.”
I glanced toward Mom’s sewing room.
Grandma’s belongings were stored inside.
Boxes of sewing patterns.
Spools of thread.
Old photographs.
Fabric samples.
And somewhere among those memories, a book that might reveal everything.
“Mom,” I called, “we need to locate Grandma’s ledger.”
CHAPTER 8: THE BLUE LEDGER
We spent almost four hours searching.
Mom’s sewing room occupied our apartment’s smallest bedroom.
Shelves covered every wall.
Glass jars held buttons, labeled containers organized thread, and neatly folded fabrics filled the remaining space.
Grandma’s sewing machine stood beside the window.
I’d learned to sew using that machine at nine.
Mom searched drawers while I examined storage boxes.
Eventually, I discovered a dusty metal trunk beneath a table.
Inside were photographs and bundles of aging business documents.
At the very bottom rested a navy-blue leather ledger.
My heart raced.
“Mom!”
She hurried toward me.
I held up the book.
“Is this the one?”
She nodded.
“Yes.”
We opened it together.
Its pages contained handwritten records dating back to the early 1990s.
Names.
Payments.
Loans.
Investments.
Grandma’s handwriting remained beautifully organized.
I recognized several former employees.
Then one name caught my attention.
Charles Prescott.
An entry dated April 17, 1997, recorded a payment of $425,000.
Beside the amount, Grandma had written:
Initial capital contribution—Prescott Commercial Ventures.
Another entry documented transferred business equipment.
A third listed an additional investment.
“What does this mean?” I whispered.
Mom looked astonished.
“I remember your grandmother helping someone establish a business, but I never realized how much she’d invested.”
I turned another page.
A handwritten note appeared.
Charles insists the investment will be temporary.
He believes I don’t understand ownership.
I will let the documents explain it to him.
Despite everything, I nearly smiled.
That sounded exactly like Grandma.
The following page referenced stock certificates.
Another mentioned a shareholders’ agreement.
I immediately called June.
She answered quickly.
“Did you locate it?”
“Yes.”
“Read the entries aloud.”
I began reading.
When I mentioned the stock certificates, June fell unusually quiet.
Then she asked:
“Naomi, does Evelyn mention an ownership percentage?”
I turned another page.
There it was.
Written in Grandma’s precise handwriting.
Fifty-one percent ownership interest.
My mouth went dry.
“June?”
“What does the entry say?”
“Fifty-one percent.”
Silence followed.
Then June whispered:
“Oh my goodness.”
I stared at the number.
“Fifty-one percent of what?”
June inhaled slowly.
“Originally, Prescott Commercial Ventures.”
“Does that company still exist?”
“It underwent restructuring years ago.”
“What did it become?”
A long pause followed.
Then she answered:
“Prescott Commercial Ventures eventually became part of Prescott Holdings Group.”
I recognized that company immediately.
Nearly everyone working in Northern California commercial real estate knew its name.
Prescott Holdings controlled hotels, office complexes, upscale residential developments, and event venues.
Charles Prescott had built his public reputation around that empire.
His photographs regularly appeared at charity events and construction ceremonies.
Business publications celebrated him as a self-made entrepreneur.
I looked down at Grandma’s handwriting.
“Are you saying she owned part of that company?”
“She certainly held an ownership interest at one point. We’re still investigating what happened to those shares.”
“How valuable could they be?”
June hesitated.
“Potentially worth a considerable amount.”
My heartbeat quickened.
“But Grandma lived modestly. She drove an old Toyota.”
“Having valuable assets on paper doesn’t necessarily mean having access to their financial benefits.”
I turned toward Mom.
Her face had grown pale.
June continued.
“It’s possible dividends were withheld, ownership information concealed, or transfers made without proper authorization. We need to examine the original agreements.”
I turned another page.
There was one final handwritten note.
The entry was dated six months before Grandma passed away.
I have confirmed enough to know Charles has been dishonest.
The original documents are secure.
He believes time has erased the evidence.
But time has only increased its value.
Beneath those words, Grandma had written another sentence, underlined twice.
THEY CANNOT SELL WHAT NEVER BELONGED TO THEM.
I read it aloud.
Mom began crying.
“She knew,” she whispered.
I turned toward her.
“Knew what?”
Mom gently touched Grandma’s handwriting.
“That Charles would eventually come after you.”
CHAPTER 9: THE OTHER WOMAN WAS NEVER THE OTHER WOMAN
Two days later, another shocking discovery changed everything I believed about my relationship.
June summoned me to her office Thursday morning.
She looked exhausted.
Several folders lay open across her desk.
“Naomi, please sit down.”
I obeyed.
Mom settled beside me.
June folded her hands.
“We’ve been investigating Brianna Collins.”
I swallowed.
“Alright.”
“Her current legal name is no longer simply Brianna Collins.”
I stared.
“What?”
June placed a certified record before me.
Across the top were the words:
CERTIFICATE OF MARRIAGE.
The document had been issued in Clark County, Nevada.
The date was March 14, 2023.
The groom was Brandon Michael Prescott.
The bride was Brianna Elise Collins.
My vision blurred.
I read the certificate.
Then read it again.
“That can’t be correct.”
June remained silent.
I shook my head.
“Brandon and I began dating in 2023.”
“I know.”
“He proposed last year.”
“I know.”
I pointed toward the certificate.
“But this says—”
My voice trembled.
“It says he’s married to her.”
June nodded.
“Yes.”
I couldn’t move.
Brianna wasn’t merely Brandon’s secret girlfriend.
She wasn’t a childhood friend who’d unexpectedly captured his affection.
She wasn’t simply someone he’d been seeing behind my back.
She was his legal wife.
Our planned wedding couldn’t have created a valid marriage while his existing marriage remained legally intact.
The elaborate ceremony.
The vows.
The promises.
The guests.
Everything had been an elaborate performance.
I covered my mouth.
“Oh my God.”
Mom reached for my hand.
June continued gently.
“We’ve also confirmed they have a daughter.”
A photograph appeared on her computer.
A little girl with blonde curls and beautiful blue eyes smiled toward the camera.
Her name was Poppy.
She was two years old.
Her birth certificate identified Brandon Prescott as her father.
I felt as though the ground had vanished beneath me.
Brandon had comforted me after Grandma’s funeral.
He’d met my closest friends.
He’d celebrated my birthdays.
He’d helped arrange our wedding.
And throughout those years, he’d already had a wife.
And a daughter.
My hands began trembling.
“Does his family know?”
June examined the documents.
“We can’t establish precisely what each family member knew, but the marriage wasn’t difficult to confirm. His parents attended several events with Brianna after the wedding date.”
I remembered Diane Prescott affectionately calling Brianna her little girl.
I remembered Charles demanding my apology.
I remembered Brandon protecting Brianna when Waylon pushed my mother.
Suddenly, their behavior made sense.
They hadn’t simply been defending an old family friend.
They’d been protecting the woman they already regarded as their daughter-in-law.
I stood abruptly, scraping my chair against the floor.
“I need some fresh air.”
Mom followed me outside.
I leaned against the building, struggling to steady my breathing.
Pedestrians passed carrying coffee and shopping bags.
Cars traveled through the intersection.
Somewhere nearby, a dog barked.
The world continued normally, completely unaware of what I’d just discovered.
But my world had changed.
“Three years,” I whispered.
Mom wrapped an arm around me.
“He deceived me for three years.”
“I know.”
“He promised we’d spend our lives together.”
Mom remained quiet.
“He already had a life.”
My voice cracked.
“He already had a family.”
Then I remembered the tiny heartbeat from my ultrasound.
I lowered myself onto a bench.
“Mom, I’m expecting his baby.”
She sat beside me.
“I know.”
“What am I supposed to tell my child?”
She held my hand.
“The truth. When they’re old enough to understand.”
I shook my head.
“How could someone be so dishonest?”
Tears filled Mom’s eyes.
“I wish I knew, sweetheart.”
We sat quietly for a long time.
Then she said something that helped me regain my composure.
“His dishonesty doesn’t make your child a mistake.”
I looked at her.
She squeezed my hand.
“Your baby has done nothing wrong. Neither have you.”
I rested against her shoulder.
For the first time, I understood I wasn’t mourning a lost marriage.
I was grieving the person I’d believed Brandon to be.
CHAPTER 10: THE FAMILY BUSINESS
By Friday, June had uncovered enough information to understand the apparent scheme.
Brandon and Brianna had secretly married in Nevada.
They’d concealed their marriage while Brandon pursued me romantically.
Business associates connected to Charles Prescott had prepared documents intended to transfer control of Grandma’s trust assets.
Briar Development Partners was linked to companies controlled by Brandon and Brianna.
And the proposed Mercer House transaction would’ve transferred valuable property far below its estimated market value.
But one question remained unanswered.
Why had Charles Prescott gone to such lengths to arrange his son’s marriage to me?
Falsifying documents seemed easier than organizing an entire wedding.
June suspected the answer involved the original shareholders’ agreement.
“We’ve confirmed your grandmother’s trust held a substantial interest in the original business,” she explained.
“But Charles has been acting as though he owns everything.”
“Precisely.”
“How is that possible?”
“Through complicated corporate restructurings, incomplete financial disclosures, and disputed ownership records.”
I frowned.
“Could he have taken Grandma’s shares without permission?”
“That’s among the issues we’re examining.”
She showed me a timeline.
In 1997, Grandma invested in Prescott Commercial Ventures.
In 2004, the business purchased two small hotels.
In 2011, it merged with another company.
In 2017, the organization restructured under Prescott Holdings.
Throughout those transactions, Grandma’s ownership should’ve been properly documented.
Instead, multiple records contained inconsistent share allocations.
Some identified her as an investor.
Others excluded her entirely.
One document even appeared to contain a signature she couldn’t possibly have provided.
It was dated three months after her de:ath.
I stared at the page.
“That’s impossible.”
“Yes.”
“Someone copied her signature too?”
June nodded seriously.
“It certainly appears that way.”
I remembered Grandma’s letter.
They cannot sell what was never theirs.
Charles hadn’t merely attempted to take my inheritance.
He’d apparently spent years trying to eliminate Grandma’s ownership rights.
And her passing had created another opportunity.
A young granddaughter.
A grieving mother.
An inheritance neither fully understood.
And a charming son who knew how to win my trust.
Then I remembered something important.
“June, Brandon insisted we marry before October.”
She looked up.
“Did he explain why?”
“He claimed he wanted an autumn wedding. But whenever I suggested waiting until spring, he became irritated.”
June’s expression sharpened.
“Do you remember his exact explanation?”
I considered carefully.
“He said, ‘October is important. My family has a business transition happening, and I’d rather have everything settled before then.’”
June leaned back.
“Interesting.”
“Why?”
“Prescott Holdings has its annual shareholders’ meeting next week.”
My stomach tightened.
“And?”
“There’s a scheduled vote involving changes to the company’s ownership structure.”
I stared at her.
“You think they needed my signature before that meeting?”
“That’s possible.”
“And they expected the wedding to make me sign without questioning anything.”
June nodded.
“Or make you reluctant to dispute documents submitted under your name.”
I felt nauseated.
“All those months of wedding preparations…”
“May have contributed to the pressure.”
I remembered Brandon insisting on selecting the venue.
His father volunteering to manage the vendors.
Brianna insisting she style Mom’s hair.
The prenuptial agreement.
The sudden demand to sign additional documents before our honeymoon.
Those events no longer seemed like unrelated coincidences.
They appeared coordinated.
Then June spoke.
“Naomi, we may be able to prevent the restructuring.”
I looked at her.
“How?”
“By formally challenging the unauthorized transfer and requesting a complete accounting of your grandmother’s ownership.”
“Will Charles cooperate?”
June gave a faint smile.
“I wouldn’t expect him to.”
“What if he refuses?”
She closed the folder.
“Then we’ll ask the court to require it.”
CHAPTER 11: THE MAN BEHIND THE SMILE
Charles Prescott called me personally that evening.
I considered ignoring him.
Then I remembered June’s advice.
Any threatening statements needed to be documented.
I answered with Mom beside me.
“Naomi,” he said smoothly.
“I’m pleased you’ve finally decided to behave like an adult.”
