After examining the death certificate front and back several times, Marian looked at me with undisguised contempt.
"You almost had me fooled."
She tossed the death certificate at me, her voice cold:
"Seems Frederick was right. You're far more calculating than you look."
"You—!"
"By the end of today, bring Freddy home. He's only six. He shouldn't be learning bad habits from a father like you."
She turned to leave.
I scrambled to my feet to stop her.
But Frederick stepped between us.
"Mr. Graves..."
His voice dropped low enough that only I could hear:
"I know Freddy's been dead for a while now."
I stared at him in disbelief.
"Want to know why Marian doesn't?"
He let out a quiet laugh. "Because I made sure every piece of news about Freddy never reached her."
My fists clenched.
"You know, Freddy really was pitiful.
"His mother had barely 'died' before he was diagnosed with a congenital heart defect.
"There was a donor match for him. A perfect one. But his father couldn't scrape together a single dollar. Working four jobs a day, never sleeping, and still couldn't cover the surgery.
"So little Freddy just... missed his chance."
My eyes burned red.
"But don't worry."
Frederick adjusted the cuff of his tailored sleeve. "He didn't die for nothing. His bone marrow, his kidneys, his corneas..."
The air left my lungs.
He laughed softly.
"Shame you weren't there. When they forced the boy to sign the consent form, he kept crying for his daddy.
"And you, his father, were out delivering food." He tilted his head. "Ah—!"
"You son of a bitch!"
I seized his throat with both hands. "Give me back my son!"
"Enough!"
A slap cracked across my face.
Three days without food. I collapsed into the heap of garbage.
Marian shielded Frederick behind her.
Frederick's voice turned wounded, pitiful:
"I was just asking where he's hiding Freddy. Mr. Graves can survive in a landfill, but a child can't take that kind of suffering!
"And just because I wanted to take Freddy somewhere safe, he tried to kill me?!"
"That's a lie! You just said—" "Enough!"
Marian's jaw was clenched so tight the tendons in her neck stood out. "If you have even a shred of conscience as a father, you'll bring Freddy back yourself.
"Otherwise, we're getting a divorce."
She opened the passenger door for Frederick and they drove away.
Divorce?
I laughed.
Fine. But before that, I had one more thing to do.
The next morning, a formal complaint letter sat on the desk of Marian's boss.
At the same time, a banner appeared across the front of her company building:
TECH RISING STAR MARIAN HENSON KILLED HER OWN SON FOR HER COLLEGE SWEETHEART. The bold letters drew a crowd in minutes.
And I knelt at the entrance, holding Freddy's portrait.
Silent. Motionless.
Everything she and Frederick had done, I'd printed into pamphlets and handed them out on the spot.
Some people's eyes went red just reading them:
"Is that a child in the photo? He was so small. How could Ms. Henson just abandon her husband and son, fake her own death for three years?"
"Faking your death is one thing, but cutting them off completely? Froze all the money, pretended to mortgage the house. Was this really a loyalty test, or was she trying to drive her husband into the ground so her ex could take his place?"
"The company needs to answer for this! If it's true, does someone like that deserve to sit in that position?"
Within the hour, a senior executive came downstairs personally to escort me up.
Marian stood in the doorway of her office, watching me approach. Her expression was unreadable.
The door closed behind us. The executive poured me tea himself.
