Chapter 8 - The Grifter's Confession And The Empty Bank Account
Back in the States, three days of cold, unforgiving reality had completely dismantled Preston Hale.
He sat on the stained mattress of a ninety-dollar-a-night motel on the outskirts of the industrial highway.
The wallpaper was peeling at the corners, and the smell of old tobacco and chemical disinfectant permeated the air.
His designer suit was ruined, stained with gutter grease from the morning his father threw him onto the pavement.
On the laminate nightstand sat an empty bottle of cheap bourbon and three plastic cups.
His prepaid disposable phone buzzed on the nightstand.
Preston lunged for it, his trembling fingers nearly knocking the phone to the floor.
The screen displayed an unknown local number.
"Hello? Lena?" he screamed into the receiver.
"Preston?" a soft, sobbing voice answered instead.
It wasn't Lena.
It was Brielle.
The sound of her voice sent a violent jolt of pure fury straight through Preston’s chest.
"You," he growled, his voice cracking into a ragged snarl.
"How did you get this number?"
"Your mother... your mother gave it to me before she blocked my phone," Brielle wept hysterically.
"Preston, please, you have to help me! They locked me out of the apartment!"
"They changed the keycard codes, and the landlord says I owe eight thousand dollars in back rent!"
"Go ask the real father of your bastard!" Preston shouted, jumping up from the bed.
"The lab report came back, Brielle! Zero percent! You played me for an absolute fool!"
"I didn't mean to hurt you, Preston!" she sobbed, the sound of street sirens blaring in her background.
"Marcus swore he was going to divorce his wife and marry me!"
"Marcus?" Preston froze, the name hitting him like a physical blow to the stomach.
"Marcus who?"
"Marcus Vance," Brielle choked out between ragged breaths.
"The regional VP for logistics... the one Arthur fired two years ago..."
Preston’s knees buckled, and he collapsed back onto the edge of the mattress.
Marcus Vance was Arthur’s former business partner who had been pushed out of Hale Industries after an embezzlement scandal.
Vance had sworn vengeance against Arthur and Preston at the country club in front of fifty witnesses.
"You... you slept with Vance?" Preston whispered, horrified beyond comprehension.
"He told me if I got pregnant and made you believe it was yours, Arthur would give you the CEO seat!" Brielle confessed, weeping openly.
"He said your family was so desperate for a male heir that you wouldn't even ask questions!"
"He said we could take half your family trust in child support and settlement money!"
"You set up a corporate extortion scheme using an unborn child?" Preston screamed, tearing at his hair.
"Marcus left town, Preston!" Brielle cried out, completely desperate.
"The minute your father ordered the DNA test, Marcus emptied his bank accounts and took off to Costa Rica!"
"He left me with nothing! The clinic is suing me for the testing fees, and I don't have anywhere to sleep!"
"You ruined my life!" Preston roared into the phone, his vision tunneling into black dots.
"I gave up my real wife! I gave up my daughters! I walked away from Madeline and Sophie for you!"
"You gave them up because you wanted a boy to impress your father!" Brielle screamed back, her tears turning suddenly bitter and vile.
"Don't blame this on me, Preston!"
"You couldn't wait to discard Lena the second you thought you had an heir!"
"You laughed at your daughters' drawings! You told me yourself that girls were useless in your family!"
"You did this to yourself because you're a weak, pathetic coward who needed a son to feel like a man!"
Preston threw the disposable phone with all his might against the motel wall.
The cheap plastic shattered into a dozen pieces, the battery skittering across the stained carpet.
Silence rushed back into the room, cold and suffocating.
Brielle’s words echoed in his skull like a firing squad: You couldn't wait to discard Lena... you did this to yourself.
He looked down at his dirty, trembling hands.
She was right.
The unbearable, sickening realization began to crush his chest until he could barely draw breath.
Lena had never asked for anything.
For eleven years, she had balanced her military duties, managed their household, and shielded their children from Arthur’s toxic demands.
She had never complained when Arthur insulted her background.
She had never retaliated when Evelyn treated her like hired help.
She had endured it all with quiet, dignified grace, waiting for Preston to act like a real husband.
And the moment he had an opportunity to prove his loyalty to his family, he had traded her for a lie.
Preston buried his face in his dirty hands and began to wail, rocking back and forth in the empty motel room.
He had thrown away gold for painted lead.
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And now, across an ocean, the woman he had treated like a secretary was commanding an entire military theater.
While he sat alone, broke, and discarded in the gutter.
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