Chapter 6
Monday morning came too soon.
Emily met her lawyer, Sarah Chen, at her office downtown. Sarah was sharp, aggressive, and had a reputation for eating men like Nathan Davenport for breakfast.
“Did they sign?” Sarah asked, sliding a manila folder across the desk.
Emily shook her head.
“Not yet. But they will. They don’t have a choice.”
Sarah raised an eyebrow.
“Nathan called me this morning. Said he wants to negotiate.”
Emily sat down.
“Negotiate what? The prenup is clear.”
“He says he has evidence that you’ve been embezzling from the family accounts,” Sarah said.
Emily stared at her.
“That’s absurd.”
“I know it is,” Sarah said. “But he’s willing to go public with the accusation unless you drop your demands. He wants half the assets. Full spousal support. And he wants you to retract everything you said about Brooke and the foundation.”
Emily leaned back, processing.
So that was their play.
Accuse her of the very thing they’d done.
Deny, deflect, attack.
Classic Davenport.
“They’re bluffing,” Emily said.
“Maybe,” Sarah said. “But bluffs can still cause damage. Even if it’s proven false, the accusation alone will tarnish your reputation. Your career as a forensic auditor depends on your credibility. If the Davenports start a smear campaign—”
“I know,” Emily interrupted. “But they won’t get that far. I have the recording. Brooke confessed to everything. Including Charles’s offshore accounts. If they push this, I release everything. All of it.”
Sarah studied her.
“You’re sure you want to do that? Once that recording is out, there’s no going back. Charles Davenport will be ruined. Nathan will be ruined. The foundation will probably collapse. Hundreds of jobs lost. Kids who depend on that foundation will suffer.”
Emily’s resolve wavered for just a second.
She thought about the children the foundation helped. The sick kids, the after-school programs, the scholarships.
Then she thought about Brooke’s words.
“Wives like you are only good for washing our sheets.”
She thought about Nathan’s betrayal.
About Charles’s arrogance.
About five years of being made to feel small, of being ignored, of being treated like she didn't matter.
“I didn't create this mess,” Emily said. “They did. And if innocent people get hurt, that’s on them. Not me. I gave them a choice. They chose to fight.”
Sarah nodded.
“Okay. Then we go on the offensive. I’ll file for divorce this morning. We’ll include the evidence of infidelity and fraud. And I’ll send a letter to Davenport Industries’ board of directors, informing them of the pending allegations against Charles and Nathan.”
She slid another folder across the desk.
“Also… I had someone look into Brooke’s background. You might find this interesting.”
Emily opened the folder.
Inside were documents, photos, police reports.
Brooke’s real name wasn't Brooke.
It was Brenda Ann Myers.
She’d been married twice before. Both times to wealthy older men. Both marriages had ended with the husbands dead under suspicious circumstances. Both times, Brooke—Brenda—had walked away with millions.
Emily’s blood ran cold.
“She’s a black widow,” she whispered.
“Looks like it,” Sarah said. “No charges were ever filed. Not enough evidence. But the pattern is clear. She marries rich men. They die. She collects. Charles Davenport was supposed to be the biggest score of her career.”
Emily thought about Charles’s health.
He’d been having “heart issues” lately.
Brooke had been “taking care of him.”
Making his meals.
Giving him his vitamins.
“Oh my God,” Emily said. “She’s going to kill him.”
Sarah leaned forward.
“We don’t know that for sure.”
“We have to warn him,” Emily said, standing up.
“Warn him?” Sarah looked incredulous. “Emily, this man has spent five years treating you like garbage. His son cheated on you with his wife. They’re trying to destroy your reputation. Why would you warn him?”
“Because if he dies, Brooke gets everything,” Emily said. “The company. The foundation. All of it. And she’ll get away with it. Again. I can’t let that happen. Not after everything she’s already done.”
Sarah sighed.
“You’re too good for your own good, you know that?”
Emily picked up the folder.
“Maybe. But I’m not going to let a murderer win.”
She left Sarah’s office and called Charles.
He didn't answer.
She called Nathan.
He didn't answer either.
Emily cursed under her breath.
She drove to the Davenport estate in Atherton.
The gates were open. That was unusual. Charles was paranoid about security.
Emily pulled up to the house.
The front door was ajar.
Her heart hammered against her ribs.
She got out of the car and approached the house.
“Charles?” she called out. “Nathan? Brooke?”
No answer.
Emily pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The house was silent.
Too silent.
She walked through the foyer, her heels clicking on the marble. The usual sounds of the estate—staff moving around, phones ringing, Charles’s classical music playing—were gone.
In the living room, she found the first sign of trouble.
A broken vase.
Scattered papers.
A chair overturned.
Emily’s hand went to her phone, ready to call 911.
Then she heard a sound.
A faint groan.
Coming from the study.
She moved toward the sound, her hand trembling.
She pushed open the study door.
Charles Davenport lay on the floor, clutching his chest. His face was purple, his breathing ragged.
Brooke knelt beside him, holding a glass of water.
When she saw Emily, she smiled.
“Perfect timing,” Brooke said. “He just had another one of his spells.”
Emily stared at the glass in Brooke’s hand.
“What did you give him?”
Brooke’s smile widened.
“Just his heart medication. The doctor prescribed it. Nothing to worry about.”
Charles tried to speak, but only a gurgle came out. His eyes locked with Emily’s.
They were full of fear.
And recognition.
He knew.
Emily stepped forward.
“Call an ambulance,” she said.
“Oh, I already did,” Brooke said. “They’re on their way. But traffic is terrible this time of day. I hope they get here in time.”
She stood up, the glass still in her hand.
“You know,” she said, walking toward Emily, “I almost feel bad for him. He really did love me, in his own pathetic way. He would have given me everything eventually. But I didn't want to wait. I’m not a patient woman, Emily. You should know that by now.”
Emily backed away.
“You killed them,” she said. “Your other husbands.”
Brooke didn't deny it.
“They were weak,” she said. “Just like Charles. Just like Nathan. Men are so easy to manipulate, you know? A little attention. A little sympathy. A little sex. And they’ll do anything you want. They’ll sign anything. They’ll even die for you.”
She was close now.
Too close.
Emily could smell that jasmine perfume.
“The police are coming,” Emily said.
“Let them come,” Brooke said. “They’ll find a grieving widow and her dead husband who had a history of heart problems. No one will suspect a thing. And then, when the will is read… I’ll be the richest woman in California.”
She laughed softly.
“And you? You’ll be the crazy ex-daughter-in-law who made up wild accusations to get attention. No one will believe you, Emily. No one.”
May you like
Brooke raised the glass as if toasting.
“Checkmate.”
