Chapter 3 - THE TICKET TO NOWHERE
I stared at the silver money clip resting on the white hospital sheets.
My husband’s fingerprints were likely still etched into the tarnished metal. He had loved that clip. It was the only thing of his grandfather’s he had kept.
“You’re lying,” I said, forcing my eyes away from the silver and up to my sister’s face. “Luke would never use my company as collateral. He was an architect. He had nothing to do with Northline’s finances.”
Vanessa let out a sharp, dramatic sigh, as if she were explaining mathematics to a toddler. She picked up the gold pen and tapped it against the top page of the thick legal stack.
“Read it and weep, big sister,” she mocked. “He co-signed a bridge loan for my home-decor business three days before his heart gave out. Six million dollars. He pledged Northline’s holding accounts as the guarantee.”
Pain shot through my ribs as I shifted to grab the documents. I flipped past the cover sheet. There, at the bottom of a labyrinth of financial jargon, was Luke’s signature.
It wasn't a forgery. I knew the sharp angle of his 'L' and the hurried loop of his 'k'. It was his handwriting.
“Why would he do this?” I whispered, the betrayal burning hotter than my fractured pelvis.
“Because I asked him to,” Vanessa said, her eyes gleaming with a malicious victory. “Because he knew that despite all your nagging, Mom and Dad needed my business to succeed to keep up their lifestyle. Now, sign the release to unfreeze the accounts, or the creditors will dismantle your entire cybersecurity firm by Friday.”
“Get out.”
Vanessa blinked. “Excuse me?”
“I said get out!” I yelled, the monitors beside my bed beeping wildly as my heart rate spiked. “I am not signing anything without my attorney!”
“You’re making a mistake,” she hissed, snatching the gold pen back, though she left the documents and the silver money clip. “You always think you’re the smartest person in the room, Tessa. You’re about to lose everything.”
She turned on her heel and stormed out, her expensive heels clicking loudly against the linoleum.
The moment she was gone, I grabbed my phone and dialed Adrian.
“Adrian, get to the hospital right now,” I gasped, struggling to catch my breath. “Vanessa was just here. She has documents. Luke took out a six-million-dollar loan against Northline.”
“That’s impossible,” Adrian said immediately, his lawyer-brain engaging. “Northline’s bylaws require your signature for any institutional leveraging. Even if he was your husband, he couldn't unilaterally pledge corporate assets.”
“Then how is his signature on this paper?”
“I’m on my way,” Adrian said.
While I waited, Bethany came in to check my vitals. Seeing my distress, she dimmed the lights and brought me the clear plastic bag of personal belongings the paramedics had salvaged from my wrecked car.
“Maybe looking at some of your own things will help ground you,” she suggested gently, placing the bag on my bedside table.
I thanked her, unzipping the plastic. Inside was my ruined purse, a shattered compact mirror, my torn jacket, and the small leather diaper bag I had been carrying.
I reached into the diaper bag to find Benji’s pacifier, needing something familiar to hold. As my fingers grazed the bottom of the bag, I felt something hard hidden inside the lining.
I frowned, tracing the seam. There was a small, intentional slit in the fabric.
I dug my fingers inside and pulled out a small, dark velvet pouch.
I had never seen it before. It certainly didn't belong to the babies.
With trembling hands, I opened the drawstring. Inside wasn’t jewelry. It was a thick piece of cardstock.
I pulled it out and stared at it under the dim hospital light.
It was a one-way, first-class train ticket to Montreal.
The passenger name printed on the ticket was Luke’s.
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But the date of departure wasn't from the past. It was dated for the exact day he had died.
My husband hadn't been on a late-night architecture site visit when his heart gave out. He had been packing a bag to run away.
