203 He Humiliated Me Over Adult Diapers After Carrying His Triplets—Until His Best Friend Exposed His Hidden Past and Secret Life / Chapter 37 / 50

Chapter 37 - The Call from Cell Block D

My cell phone vibrated violently against the leather console.

It wasn't Victor Sterling. It was an automated collect call notification from the Federal Detention Center in Philadelphia:

*“You have an inmate call from: SCOTT HAYES. Press 1 to accept the charges.”*

I looked back at my three children. Noah had fallen back asleep, his little fist curled under his chin. Maya and Liam were breathing softly against their head supports.

I pressed 1.

"Lauren?" Scott's voice came through the line, breathless, strained, stripped of all the pompous arrogance that had once defined him. "Lauren, answer me! Did you find the box? Did you look under the boards?"

"I found it, Scott," I said coldly.

A ragged gasp of relief shuddered across the prison line. "Thank God. Listen to me very carefully. You have to take the drives to the address on Eighth Street. Ask for Arthur Pendelton. He’s my private counsel. He’ll execute the Zurich release and—"

"Shut up, Scott."

The silence on the other end was absolute. In four years of marriage, I had never once interrupted him. I had never raised my voice. I had spent three years apologizing for existing, apologizing for gaining weight during pregnancy, apologizing for bleeding after carrying three of his children.

"L-Lauren?" he stammered. "You don't understand the danger you're in—"

"No, Scott. *You* don't understand." I gripped the phone so hard the glass creaked. "I saw the video. I saw Section 14. I know why you married me. I know you used my grandfather’s name to build a wall of debt around me while you strutted around town in tailored suits, calling me a pathetic cow who couldn't control her own bladder."

"Lauren, please... they're going to kill me in here," he pleaded, his voice breaking into genuine sobs. "Sterling’s people run this cell block! If the Zurich vault auto-liquidates, I won't survive the night! They will stage it as a suicide!"

"Then you better start praying, Scott," I replied, my voice steady, freezing, devoid of pity. "Because I’m not bringing the drives to your lawyer. And I’m certainly not signing your release code."

"What are you going to do?" he shrieked. "You can't handle Sterling! You're a housewife! You don't know anything about corporate law!"

"I survived nine months of carrying three babies while you told me I was worthless," I whispered. "I survived delivery while you were sleeping with your junior analyst in Miami. Handling Victor Sterling will be the easiest thing I’ve ever done."

I hung up the phone.

I turned to Marcus. "Where is the handoff scheduled?"

Marcus stared at me, his jaw tight. "The abandoned quarry. Midnight. Sterling’s right-hand man, Raymond Vance—your estranged uncle—is waiting with three armed enforcers."