Chapter 8: The Woman With the Fake Belly
Rebecca Sloan looked nothing like her father.
Everett had always been polished mahogany and quiet control. Rebecca arrived at St. Catherine’s wearing muddy sneakers, a wrinkled coat, and the exhausted expression of someone who had been running from a family name.
Rebecca looked at me first.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
I had no energy left for vague apologies. “For what?”
“For knowing pieces and not understanding fast enough.”
Mara leaned forward. “Start with Vanessa.”
Rebecca swallowed. “Her pregnancy is fake.”
The words struck the room like a dropped tray.
I stared at her. “Daniel believed she was pregnant.”
“Daniel believes whatever flatters him.”
Grandfather’s mouth tightened.
Rebecca opened a folder and slid photographs across the table. Vanessa entering a women’s health boutique without a belly. Vanessa leaving with a fitted silicone pregnancy pad in a garment bag. Vanessa at a private apartment two days later, red dress stretched over a perfect curve.
“She used the fake pregnancy to pressure Daniel,” Rebecca said. “She told him once Claire delivered, she would give him the healthy family image he deserved. My father coached her.”
My hands turned cold.
Vanessa had stood behind Daniel, touching her fake belly while my actual premature children fought for breath.
Mara asked, “Why?”
“Because sympathy changes optics. Daniel divorcing a recovering wife looks monstrous. Daniel leaving a fragile marriage for the pregnant woman carrying his next child looks... still ugly, but controllable.”
I closed my eyes.
There was always another layer.
Rebecca continued. “The belly also let Vanessa wear the coat without questions. People assumed it was hers. The badge was hidden in the lining. She used it to access records, then cut out the embroidered initials when she realized the coat could identify Claire’s children.”
Grandfather’s voice was ice. “Where is Vanessa now?”
“Trying to leave the country.”
Mara’s phone was already in her hand.
Rebecca looked at me. “I came because my father is making deals, and he will try to trade names to protect himself. But he won’t give you the board’s private archive. I know where it is.”
“Why help me?” I asked.
Her eyes filled, but she did not cry.
Grandfather flinched slightly.
Rebecca noticed. “And you let him.”
The room went silent.
I almost expected Grandfather to crush her with a look.
Instead, he nodded once. “Yes.”
Rebecca’s anger softened into surprise.
She gave Mara an address for a storage facility in Queens. Unit 914. The archive required two codes: one from Everett’s old credentials, one from Rebecca’s thumbprint. She agreed to cooperate if granted protection for accessing files she had technically stolen from her father.
Mara said, “Protection can be discussed. Immunity has to be earned.”
Rebecca nodded. “Fair.”
At that moment, Dr. Porter entered with a tablet. “Claire, you need to see this.”
The screen showed a news alert.
BILLIONAIRE HEIRESS ACCUSED OF USING PREMATURE TWINS IN TRUST WAR
Beneath it was an old photo of me at thirteen, leaving my parents’ funeral.
My face blurred. My eyes hollow.
The leak had begun.
Daniel’s attorney had not threatened idly. The Preservation Board was pushing me into public view as unstable, secretive, and manipulated by August Vale. They mentioned trauma therapy, postpartum recovery, and “questions” about my fitness.
Grandfather’s face darkened. “I will destroy them.”
“No,” I said.
He looked at me.
I held out my hand for the tablet and read the article again. My heart was pounding, but not from fear.
“They want me to look hidden,” I said. “So I won’t hide.”
Mara’s eyes met mine.
I turned to Dr. Porter. “How soon can Noah and Lily be moved safely in their incubators?”
Her face changed. “Moved where?”
“To the hospital atrium.”
Grandfather understood first.
May you like
I looked at the headline one more time.
“If they want the world to meet the unstable heiress,” I said, “then the world can meet the mother they tried to erase.”
