Chapter 4 - The Singapore Intercept
Ten thousand miles away, in the gleaming boardroom of a luxury skyscraper overlooking Marina Bay, Ryan Brooks was closing the deal of a lifetime. The international construction consortium had just agreed to his terms. Millions of dollars were on the line, securing his family's financial freedom for generations.
He smiled, shaking hands with the primary investors, but a sudden, inexplicable knot tightened in his stomach. A deep sense of dread washed over him. He excused himself and stepped out onto the balcony, pulling out his phone.
There were seventeen missed calls.
Before he could even process the notifications, his phone rang again. The caller ID showed his mother, Patricia.
“Mom?” Ryan said, his voice laced with sudden anxiety. “What’s wrong? I have seventeen missed calls from an unknown number—”
“Ryan, oh thank God I reached you!” Patricia’s voice came through the line, sounding breathless, frantic, and entirely performative. “There’s been a horrible accident. It’s Clara.”
Ryan’s heart stopped. “What? What happened to Clara? Is she okay? The babies?”
“She… she had a fall, darling. In the kitchen,” Patricia sobbed into the phone. “Brianna and I were at a charity luncheon when we got a call from the neighborhood watch. The paramedics were at your house. We rushed over to the hospital immediately. Ryan, it’s bad. She slipped on some cooking oil she must have spilled. She’s in emergency surgery right now.”
Ryan gripped the balcony railing so hard his knuckles turned white. “A fall? Clara is incredibly careful. How could she slip?”
“You know how clumsy women get in their third trimester, Ryan,” Patricia said, her voice dropping into a comforting, manipulative purr. “And honestly… I didn't want to tell you this while you were away, but Clara has been very unstable lately. She’s been paranoid about money. She was screaming at Brianna on the phone earlier today, demanding that we give her more access to your family estate. We think she was rushing around the kitchen in a state of manic hysteria and just… lost her footing.”
Ryan’s mind spun. Clara? Unstable? Paranoid about money? That didn't sound like the brilliant, grounded forensic accountant he had married. But his mother’s voice was filled with such convincing maternal concern that he couldn't think straight.
“I’m booking the next flight out,” Ryan said, his voice cracking. “I’ll be there in fourteen hours.”
“Yes, please hurry, darling,” Patricia said. “Brianna and I are here at Saint Jude’s Hospital. We’re doing everything we can to protect your interests. Don't worry about a thing. Just get here safely.”
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As Patricia hung up the phone, she turned to Brianna, who was sitting in the hospital waiting room, chewing her fingernails.
“He’s on his way,” Patricia whispered, a cold smile touching her lips. “The seed of doubt has been planted. By the time he arrives, Clara will either be dead, or she’ll look so unhinged that no one will believe a word she says.”
