Chapter 7 - The Parallel Life
"The baby?" I repeated, the words tasting like ash in my mouth.
Amanda stepped further into the room, ignoring the two security guards standing by the door. Tears finally spilled over her lower lashes, tracking down her cheeks as she dropped the leather folder onto the foot of my hospital bed.
"I'm seven months pregnant," Amanda said, her voice shaking violently. "He set me up in a townhouse in Arlington six months ago. He paid the lease, he visited on weekends, and he swore up and down that his downtown life—his fancy firm, his mother Vivian, his high-society friends—was just a corporate sham he had to maintain for his partners."
She looked at me, her eyes filled with a desperate, humiliating realization. "He told me you were the fake marriage. He said you were just a cold, career-obsessed auditor who used him for his social circle, and that he was only staying with you until his partnership vested."
Catherine stepped forward, pulling the folder open with gloved efficiency. Inside were certified documents: a marriage certificate from a small chapel in Nevada dated four years prior—long before Derek and I ever met—and copies of bank statements showing regular monthly wire transfers from Derek's personal account to Amanda's Arlington address.
"He never divorced you," Catherine noted clinically, flipping through the pages. "Derek committed bigamy. The Nevada marriage was never legally dissolved. Which means his marriage to you, Elena, is entirely void under state law."
The room tilted again. For two years, I had believed I was a wife. I had built a home, managed household expenses, compromised my career trajectory, and absorbed his endless criticisms, believing we shared a legitimate legal and emotional foundation.
Now, sitting in a hospital gown with a bruised shoulder and a stabilized pregnancy, I learned I had been nothing more than a primary financial asset in a double-dealing scam.
"Why didn't you come forward sooner?" my father asked quietly, his tone devoid of judgment, carrying only the weight of judicial authority.
"Because he threatened me," Amanda sobbed, burying her face in her hands. "Two days ago, he came to the townhouse. He looked frantic. He told me that if anyone ever found out about us, or if I tried to claim any of his assets, he would ensure my family lost everything. He said his mother Vivian owned half the courts in this city."
I looked at Amanda, and the cold anger inside me melted slightly, replaced by a shared, searing contempt for the man who had manipulated both of us.
"Vivian knows," I said softly.
Amanda dropped her hands, her eyes widening. "What?"
"Vivian picked out my wedding dress," I said, a bitter smile touching my lips. "She vetted my salary, she criticized my cooking, and she sat at my dining table last night. She knew about you the entire time, Amanda. To her, you were just another investment risk to be managed from a safe distance."
Amanda stared at me, the horror dawning in her eyes as she realized the full depth of the Sterling family's rot. "She visited the townhouse twice. She brought tea. She... she acted like she cared about the baby."
"She cares about control," Catherine intervened, sliding the folder back together. "And right now, Derek's control is completely unraveling. Between the federal wire fraud investigation into his firm, the hidden Cayman accounts, and now evidence of bigamy and financial fraud, his defense counsel won't even touch him by morning."
Marcus stood up, walking over to Amanda and placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Sit down, young lady. You are safe here. My firm will handle your protection and legal standing as well. Derek thought he could build a fortress of lies, but he forgot that paper trails always outlive the people who write them."
Amanda sank into the vinyl armchair beside the bed, wiping her eyes with trembling fingers. She looked at me, her expression a mix of apprehension and gratitude. "What do we do now, Elena? He's going to be arraigned in the morning. His mother is already trying to liquidate whatever she can move."
I looked down at my hands, feeling the steady, rhythmic kick of my own child against my palm.
May you like
"We don't wait for him to make the next move," I said, looking up at my father and Catherine. "We go after the safety deposit box at First Commonwealth Bank before Vivian gets the key."
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