THE LIE THAT WORE A RING - Chapter 15: Chapter 15
You are reading THE LIE THAT WORE A RING, Chapter 15: Chapter 15. Read more chapters of THE LIE THAT WORE A RING.
Nathaniel had always been sharp.
Not loud like his mother. Not charming like his father. But quietly sharp—like a blade hidden under cloth. And now, that sharpness was no longer a defense.
It was his weapon.
After the gala, Alina returned to her regular rhythm—soft smiles, candlelit dinners, and polite concern. She no longer addressed the “incident,” except to gently imply Nathaniel was struggling emotionally, often within earshot of household staff.
Dominic didn’t confront Nathaniel. He didn’t bring up the documents or the photos. But Nathaniel noticed something:
His father started drinking more at night.
Started locking his office door.
Started looking at Alina with something like… suspicion.
It wasn’t much.
But it was something.
Nathaniel made a decision that morning.
He wouldn’t try to convince his father anymore.
He’d show him.
And he wouldn’t do it with photos or confrontations.
He’d do it from the inside—where Alina never expected him to go.
The first step was trust.
He stopped fighting at the dinner table. Started asking Alina polite questions. He helped Sophie finish her chores early and pretended to laugh when Alina told her polished, perfect stories about her “difficult childhood.”
He watched as she began to relax again.
And that’s when he struck.
He started in her office.
The door had always been locked. But Dominic had a master key—Nathaniel had found it months ago, tucked in the back of the guest bathroom drawer under a pile of old razors.
At 2 a.m., when the house slept, he slipped inside.
And that’s when the real world behind Alina’s curtain began to unravel.
There were two phones.
The second one—hidden beneath a false drawer—was password protected. But the post-it note behind the vanity mirror had four digits.
Sophie’s birthday.
It worked.
Inside: text threads, emails, bank transfers.
One message chilled him:
> “He’s almost where I need him. The kids are a problem. But not for long.”
Another:
> “Madrigal is waiting. I’ve kept him generous, but blind.”
And dozens of wire transfer screenshots. Fake charities. Offshore accounts.
This wasn’t just manipulation.
It was a heist.
He copied everything.
Downloaded files. Took photos of messages. Pulled names, times, transactions. Cross-checked dates with her public charity events. Everything lined up.
But one thing didn’t:
A string of messages from a contact labeled “R.”
> “Do not involve the boy. It’s messy. If the father folds, that’s enough.”
> “Handle the girl gently. Fear works better than force.”
> “Phase 3 begins in June.”
Phase 3?
Nathaniel didn’t know what it meant—but it sounded final.
Like an endgame.
He locked the office door behind him.
The next morning, he called in sick to school.
Dominic was away at a board meeting.
Alina had left early for a “brunch fundraiser.”
Sophie was home, painting in the backyard.
Nathaniel called an old friend—his mother’s lawyer, Mr. Shaw. A soft-spoken man with a sharp nose and sharper memory.
“You said once that if I ever needed to talk about... family things, you’d listen,” Nathaniel said over the phone.
There was a pause.
Then Mr. Shaw answered, “What did she take?”
“Everything,” Nathaniel replied. “But I’m taking it back.”
That evening, Nathaniel slid a USB into his coat pocket, zipped it tight, and tucked Sophie’s crayon note—“I believe you”—into his wallet beside it.
He’d begun the war on her terms.
Now, he was fighting on his.
And this time?
He had evidence.
And allies.
Not loud like his mother. Not charming like his father. But quietly sharp—like a blade hidden under cloth. And now, that sharpness was no longer a defense.
It was his weapon.
After the gala, Alina returned to her regular rhythm—soft smiles, candlelit dinners, and polite concern. She no longer addressed the “incident,” except to gently imply Nathaniel was struggling emotionally, often within earshot of household staff.
Dominic didn’t confront Nathaniel. He didn’t bring up the documents or the photos. But Nathaniel noticed something:
His father started drinking more at night.
Started locking his office door.
Started looking at Alina with something like… suspicion.
It wasn’t much.
But it was something.
Nathaniel made a decision that morning.
He wouldn’t try to convince his father anymore.
He’d show him.
And he wouldn’t do it with photos or confrontations.
He’d do it from the inside—where Alina never expected him to go.
The first step was trust.
He stopped fighting at the dinner table. Started asking Alina polite questions. He helped Sophie finish her chores early and pretended to laugh when Alina told her polished, perfect stories about her “difficult childhood.”
He watched as she began to relax again.
And that’s when he struck.
He started in her office.
The door had always been locked. But Dominic had a master key—Nathaniel had found it months ago, tucked in the back of the guest bathroom drawer under a pile of old razors.
At 2 a.m., when the house slept, he slipped inside.
And that’s when the real world behind Alina’s curtain began to unravel.
There were two phones.
The second one—hidden beneath a false drawer—was password protected. But the post-it note behind the vanity mirror had four digits.
Sophie’s birthday.
It worked.
Inside: text threads, emails, bank transfers.
One message chilled him:
> “He’s almost where I need him. The kids are a problem. But not for long.”
Another:
> “Madrigal is waiting. I’ve kept him generous, but blind.”
And dozens of wire transfer screenshots. Fake charities. Offshore accounts.
This wasn’t just manipulation.
It was a heist.
He copied everything.
Downloaded files. Took photos of messages. Pulled names, times, transactions. Cross-checked dates with her public charity events. Everything lined up.
But one thing didn’t:
A string of messages from a contact labeled “R.”
> “Do not involve the boy. It’s messy. If the father folds, that’s enough.”
> “Handle the girl gently. Fear works better than force.”
> “Phase 3 begins in June.”
Phase 3?
Nathaniel didn’t know what it meant—but it sounded final.
Like an endgame.
He locked the office door behind him.
The next morning, he called in sick to school.
Dominic was away at a board meeting.
Alina had left early for a “brunch fundraiser.”
Sophie was home, painting in the backyard.
Nathaniel called an old friend—his mother’s lawyer, Mr. Shaw. A soft-spoken man with a sharp nose and sharper memory.
“You said once that if I ever needed to talk about... family things, you’d listen,” Nathaniel said over the phone.
There was a pause.
Then Mr. Shaw answered, “What did she take?”
“Everything,” Nathaniel replied. “But I’m taking it back.”
That evening, Nathaniel slid a USB into his coat pocket, zipped it tight, and tucked Sophie’s crayon note—“I believe you”—into his wallet beside it.
He’d begun the war on her terms.
Now, he was fighting on his.
And this time?
He had evidence.
And allies.
End of THE LIE THAT WORE A RING Chapter 15. Continue reading Chapter 16 or return to THE LIE THAT WORE A RING book page.