Chapter 4 - The Truth About OwenThe monitor beeped faster, a jagged line dancing across the screen.
“You’re lying,” I choked out, my hands trembling as I gripped the sheets. “Owen fell through the ice. The police investigated. It was an accident.”
“The police investigated what your family paid them to investigate,” Thorne corrected coldly. “Your mother buried the truth right alongside your brother. She knew you and Owen had been fighting that night—fighting over Mara, fighting over the family business, fighting over a secret so toxic it could have destroyed the Holloway name.”
Flashes of light pierced my brain—not the car crash, but older memories. Shouting in the winter cold. Owen’s face, red with fury, shoving me against the side of the boathouse. The dark, freezing water of the lake.
“No,” I groaned, pressing the palms of my hands against my temples as a splitting headache flared behind my eyes. “We argued, yes. But I left. I walked away.”
“You walked away after you hit him,” Thorne said, his voice unyielding. “And when you came back twenty minutes later with Mara, Owen was already gone. But he wasn't dead yet, Grant. He was drowning in three feet of water, and someone held him under.”
I stared at the doctor, horrified. “Are you accusing me? You think I killed my own brother?”
“No,” Thorne said, shaking his head. “I know you didn't. But she did.”
“Mara?” I laughed, a harsh, hysterical sound. “Mara loved Owen! They were—”
“Mara was never with Owen,” Thorne interrupted, dropping a bombshell that blew my entire past to smithereens. “Owen was blackmailing her. He had proof that she embezzled millions from the Holloway foundation to cover up her brother’s illegal debts. You thought she vanished nine years ago because she couldn't handle your grief? She vanished because she struck a deal with your mother: disappear forever, or go to prison for life.”
The room seemed to spin. Every memory I had of the past nine years—the hollow ache in my chest, the resentment, the belief that Mara had abandoned me when I needed her most—shattered into a million jagged pieces.
She hadn't abandoned me. She had been exiled.
“And the marriage?” I whispered, my voice cracking. “Why did we get married two days after the funeral?”
“Because,” Thorne said, leaning forward, “you found the ledger. You figured out what Owen was doing, and you realized your mother was protecting the family name by framing Mara. You married her on the spot to give her spousal privilege so she couldn't be compelled to testify against you—or against the truth.”
“And then my mother separated us,” I finished, the fog finally parting to reveal a terrifying, brutal landscape. “She told me Mara left. She threatened to ruin us both if I ever looked for her.”
“And it worked,” Thorne said. “Until two weeks ago, when your mother suffered a massive stroke and was admitted to Memorial General Hospital.”
I froze. Memorial General.
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“Who is in the hospital?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.
“Your mother, Grant,” Thorne said quietly. “And she’s waking up. Just like you. Which is why someone tried to run you off the road on Route 9 before you could reach her bedside.”
