Chapter 11: A Paper Trail Of Betrayal

My head was spinning as I stood in the sterile hallway of Stanley’s Heart Hospital. Every word Michael had spoken felt like a physical blow to my chest. My mother had forged a marriage? She had destroyed my life with Eleanor before it even began? Part of me wanted to storm into the Vance Estate and tear the truth out of her. Another part wanted to stay by Eleanor’s bedside, waiting for her to wake from her coma so I could look into those sea-glass eyes and ask why she believed a lie over me.

But I am a lawyer. I don’t win cases with emotions; I win them with evidence. I couldn't just take Michael’s word for it. I needed to see the ink. I needed to find those fake contracts.

I turned my back on the ICU and walked toward the exit, my steps echoing like a countdown. "Edward! Where are you going?" Michael shouted from the waiting area. "She’s in a coma!"

"I’m going to find the weapon my mother used to kill us," I replied, not looking back. "Pray she stays alive, Michael. She’s the only witness I have left."

I drove to my office in a trance, the Oaktown lights blurring into streaks of cold light. Once inside, I locked my door and shut off the world. I pulled out my laptop and began a deep dive into the European marriage registries from a decade ago. If my mother had forged a license in Europe to show Eleanor, there had to be a trace—either a real document filed in my name without my knowledge or a high-level forgery that left a digital footprint.

I put my phone on silent and tossed it onto the sofa. I couldn't talk to Serena. Not yet. Every time I thought of her, I saw Eleanor’s face in the back of my mind. Was Serena just another pawn? I couldn't bear the thought.

I spent hours making calls to old colleagues from my days studying in London and Paris. "Julian, it’s Edward Vance," I said, my voice hoarse as I spoke to a clerk in the French archives. "I need a records search. High priority. 2014 to 2015. Anything under my name or the Sterling estate."

"Edward? It’s three in the morning here," Julian grumbled.

"I don’t care if it’s the end of the world. Find it."

I spent the entire night at work. The city outside went dark, then turned a pale, sickly grey as the sun started to rise behind the tall buildings. My eyes burned, and my head pounded. I didn't realize how much time had passed until I checked my phone. Thirty missed calls. Twenty texts. All from Serena.

Where are you? Ed, please answer me. I'm worried. Did something happen to your mom?

I felt a pang of guilt, but I pushed it down. I couldn't be a husband right now. I had to be a lawyer.

Just as I was about to give up and head home, my phone vibrated. It wasn't Serena. It was an international number. "Goodwill?" I answered immediately.

Goodwill was a sharp, ruthless solicitor in London I’d worked with on a corporate fraud case years ago. He was the best at finding things that people wanted to stay buried. "Edward. I think I found what you’re looking for." Goodwill’s voice was crisp, cutting through my exhaustion.

"Tell me," I demanded, leaning forward so hard my chair creaked.

"You were right about the European filing," Goodwill said. "There is a marriage certificate registered in a small town outside of Lyon, France, dated ten years ago. Edward Vance and a woman named Louise Bennet."

My heart stopped. "Louise? Gabriel’s daughter?" Gabriel was my late dad’s best friend and business partner. I met Louise just once on a family getaway in France.

"But here’s the interesting part, Edward," Goodwill continued. "The signature on the groom’s side... I ran a quick comparison with your public filings. It’s a near-perfect match, but the ink density is wrong. It’s a digital overlay. A very expensive, very professional forgery."

"I knew it," I whispered, a cold anger rising in my throat.

"Wait, there’s more," Goodwill said. "The certificate was never fully legalized. It was 'pending' for years. But the person who paid the maintenance fees for the record to stay in the system? It wasn't your mother, Edward."

I frowned. "What? Then who was it?"

"The payments came from a blind trust titled 'Bennet Holdings,'" Goodwill replied. "The Bennet family—Louise’s family—has been paying to keep that fake marriage alive in the records for ten years."

I felt the room spin. My mother had started the lie, but the Bennets had kept it going. Why?

"Edward, are you there?"

"I'm here," I said, my voice shaky. "Goodwill, send me those documents. All of them. I need the payment trail and the forged digital stamps."

"Consider it done. But Edward... be careful. If the Bennets were involved in this, then Louise might not have been as much of a victim as you think."

I hung up the phone and stared at the rising sun. My mind was a hurricane. Was Louise in on it? And Serena... if she finds out about this forged marriage contract, will it affect us? Will it affect this new life I’m already building with her?

I stood up, grabbing my coat. I couldn't stay in this office any longer. I had the evidence, but I had no one I could trust. I needed to see Serena. I needed to look into her eyes and see if she was the safe haven I believed she was or if I had just married into a ten-year-old trap.

I walked out of the office, ignoring Evelyn, who I didn’t realize spent the night in the office just because I was there. She tried to stop me with a stack of papers, but I quickly dismissed her and gave her the day off.

I drove toward the penthouse, my hand tight on the steering wheel. When I entered the penthouse, the air felt different—heavy and laced with a scent I didn't recognize.

I walked into the master bedroom, expecting to find Serena angry and worried. Instead, I found her sitting on the edge of the bed, holding an old, yellowed envelope containing my fake marriage document in her hand—a photo of me and Louise, taken years before I ever met her.

She looked up at me, her face pale, her eyes filled with tears. "Edward," she whispered. "Are you really married to a—Louise Bennet?” I got this in the mail today from an anonymous source.

I stood there, frozen, confused, and choking on the words that were trying to escape my throat. "Ser... I can explain; please just hear me out—"