Chapter 12 - Camille’s Price
Camille was not trapped in a basement.
She was in her own penthouse.
The distinction mattered legally.
Emotionally, it mattered less.
Owen had not physically imprisoned her.
He had taken documents from a safe they both used, including her passport and copies of communications proving her participation in fraud.
Then he told her that if she went to police, she would go to prison first.
It was coercion built from complicity.
Marcello arrived with Rebecca and Detective Patel.
No dramatic rescue.
No forced entry.
Camille opened the door herself.
She looked smaller without the prosthetic belly.
That was the first thing Marcello noticed.
For five months, his eyes had automatically included the imagined child when he looked at her.
Now there was only Camille.
A woman he had loved.
A woman who had lied.
She sat at the dining table.
Detective Patel explained that Camille was free to speak or not speak.
Rebecca reminded Marcello not to interfere.
Camille looked at him.
“I wasn’t pregnant.”
The words still hurt despite everything.
Marcello said nothing.
“I found out the week after we got engaged.”
“Found out what?”
“That I couldn’t give you what you wanted.”
“You mean a child?”
She nodded.
“I had surgery years ago. There were complications. My chances were extremely low.”
Marcello stared.
“Why didn’t you tell me before we got engaged?”
“I thought I could fix it.”
“You thought you could fix fertility by lying?”
“No. I thought we could use IVF. A surrogate. Something.”
“Then why fake a pregnancy?”
Her eyes dropped.
“Because you were pulling away.”
“I was working.”
“You were always working.”
“That does not answer the question.”
Camille looked toward Detective Patel.
Then back at him.
“Owen knew I was afraid you would end the engagement.”
“How?”
“I asked him about financial protection.”
Marcello laughed bitterly.
“Of course.”
“He told me if I were pregnant, you would stop hesitating about the wedding.”
“And you agreed?”
“Not immediately.”
“How long did immediately last?”
“Three days.”
Marcello looked away.
Camille continued.
“The first ultrasound was supposed to be enough to buy time. Then Owen introduced me to Elliot Graham. They showed me how the marital agreement could protect me.”
“Protect you?”
“I had built my entire life around becoming part of yours.”
“No, Camille. You built a lie around accessing mine.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“That’s fair.”
It was the first honest sentence she had given him in weeks.
Detective Patel asked, “Where did the money from the foundation go?”
Camille wiped her face.
“Some paid for the false medical trail. Some paid consultants. Some went to Graham and Owen.”
“How much did you receive?”
“About four hundred thousand.”
Marcello closed his eyes.
She had stolen from the charitable foundation named for his grandmother.
Camille rushed on.
“I spent some on events, wardrobe, travel—things Owen said were necessary to maintain the story.”
“You mean maintain your lifestyle.”
“Yes.”
“Did Julian know?”
“About the pregnancy, eventually. Not at first.”
“About the money?”
“Not all of it.”
Detective Patel asked, “What was the intended end point?”
Camille’s face collapsed.
“A miscarriage.”
Marcello stood so suddenly the chair scraped across the floor.
Rebecca touched his arm.
He pulled away but remained silent.
Camille whispered, “After the wedding.”
“How far along?”
“Six months. Maybe seven.”
“You planned to make me mourn.”
“I know.”
“No. You planned to watch me mourn.”
She began sobbing.
Marcello felt nothing comforting toward her.
Only grief for someone who had never existed.
Detective Patel continued.
“What changed?”
“Owen got greedy.”
“How?”
“He said Marcello would sign more if the pregnancy became medically complicated.”
Marcello turned.
“What more?”
“A durable voting proxy.”
Rebecca swore softly.
Camille nodded.
“He wanted me to say the stress was dangerous. That the board fight was threatening the baby. He thought Marcello would grant Owen temporary proxy authority to stabilize the company.”
Marcello understood.
Then Owen could coordinate with Julian’s bloc.
Force a leadership vote.
Possibly remove Marcello.
“What was Julian promised?”
“CEO.”
Julian, waiting in another room under counsel’s advice, had not told him that.
Marcello’s jaw tightened.
Camille continued.
“But Owen never planned to give it to him.”
“How do you know?”
“I saw emails between Owen and Elliot. They called Julian ‘the useful brother.’”
Marcello almost laughed.
Betrayal nested inside betrayal.
Detective Patel asked about the passport.
Camille pointed toward Owen’s private office suite across town.
“He keeps duplicate files there.”
“Access?”
“I have the code.”
She wrote it down.
Then she looked at Marcello.
“There’s something else.”
He waited.
“Owen knows Lily saw us.”
Marcello’s face hardened.
Camille whispered, “He wanted me to pay Elena.”
“You sent the cash?”
“Yes.”
Marcello stepped back.
Camille cried harder.
“I didn’t send the threat.”
“But you sent the money.”
“Yes.”
“To silence a child.”
“To make the problem go away.”
Marcello’s voice became quiet.
“Lily is three.”
“I know.”
“No. I don’t think you do.”
He walked toward the door.
Camille called after him.
“Marcello.”
He stopped without turning.
“I did love you.”
Marcello looked back.
“That may be the worst part.”
Then Detective Patel’s phone rang.
She listened.
Her expression changed.
When she ended the call, she looked at Marcello.
“Owen Mercer just boarded a private aircraft at Teterboro.”
“Destination?”
“Filed flight plan says Nassau.”
Camille stood.
“He’s leaving.”
Detective Patel was already dialing.
Marcello looked at the woman he had almost married.
“No.”
May you like
He looked at the documents spread across her table.
“He’s running.”
