Edward Under Oath
Chapter 09 - Edward Under Oath
Edward Whitmore aged ten years in the two weeks after the party.
Vivian enjoyed that less than she expected.
His hair was still carefully combed. His suit still expensive. But the silver at his temples looked less distinguished now, more like stress blooming through dye. He sat across from Vivian in a deposition room with his attorney on one side, Nora on the other, and a federal investigator at the end of the table.
A camera recorded everything.
Vivian had requested to attend.
Nora advised against it.
Vivian attended anyway.
Edward did not look at her when he swore to tell the truth.
That was wise.
Truth had never been his natural language.
Nora began.
“Mr. Whitmore, when did you first learn that a child had been born from genetic material belonging to you and Vivian Whitmore?”
Edward cleared his throat.
“In 2009.”
Vivian felt the answer enter her bones.
Not guessed.
Known.
Nora continued.
“Before or after the child’s birth?”
He hesitated.
His attorney touched his sleeve.
Edward said, “Before.”
Vivian did not move.
Nora asked, “Did Vivian Whitmore know?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Edward looked down.
“Because Malcolm said disclosure would create complications.”
“Dr. Malcolm Hayes?”
“Yes.”
“What complications?”
Edward’s jaw worked.
“The trust.”
Nora let the silence breathe.
Then: “Explain.”
Edward finally looked at Vivian.
Bad choice.
Whatever he saw in her face made him look away.
“If Vivian had given birth, certain Whitmore Fund protections would have become irrevocable. Grandmother’s rules were... old-fashioned.”
Vivian almost laughed.
Lydia Whitmore had tried to protect wives.
Edward called it old-fashioned.
Nora said, “So you authorized Dr. Hayes to transfer Vivian’s embryo to another woman?”
Edward’s attorney objected.
The investigator noted it.
Edward answered anyway.
“I authorized research disposition. Malcolm handled the rest.”
Vivian leaned forward.
“You knew there was a child.”
Nora touched her arm, but Vivian did not stop.
“You knew my baby lived.”
Edward’s face crumpled.
“I thought he would be better off.”
There it was.
The sentence kidnappers, liars, and cowards always reached for when theft needed perfume.
Better off.
Vivian’s voice stayed low.
“With Celeste?”
“I didn’t know at first.”
“At first.”
Edward swallowed.
“Later.”
“How much later?”
“When Noah was three.”
Vivian shut her eyes.
Three.
A toddler.
A little boy with dark hair and trains and a mother who thought he was a failed lab report.
“You saw him,” she said.
Edward whispered, “Once.”
The room disappeared.
Nora said sharply, “Vivian.”
She opened her eyes.
Edward was crying.
Again.
She wondered, distantly, how many tears men save by not using them when they could still prevent harm.
“What was he wearing?” she asked.
Nora did not stop her this time.
Edward blinked.
“What?”
“When you saw my son at three years old, what was he wearing?”
He covered his mouth.
Vivian waited.
The investigator waited.
The camera waited.
Edward whispered, “Blue pajamas. With moons.”
Vivian nodded slowly.
A detail.
Cruel, useless, precious.
Her son had owned blue pajamas with moons.
Nora resumed because someone had to keep the room from drowning in one small garment.
“Did Celeste Vale request money for Noah’s care?”
“Yes.”
“From you personally or from Whitmore entities?”
“Both.”
“Did those payments come from funds Vivian had marital interest in?”
Edward’s attorney objected again.
Nora smiled.
That meant yes.
The deposition lasted four hours.
By the end, Edward had admitted to knowing about the embryo transfer, concealing Noah’s existence, signing false medical disposition documents, working with Celeste to shield the boy from Vivian, and pursuing divorce terms designed to eliminate Vivian’s remaining rights before marrying Amber.
He framed much of it as fear.
Fear of trust litigation.
Fear of scandal.
Fear of Vivian “not surviving the truth.”
That last one made Vivian laugh aloud.
Everyone looked at her.
She said, “I survived you.”
No one objected.
Afterward, in the hallway, Edward approached her.
Nora stepped between them.
Vivian said, “Let him speak.”
Edward looked smaller up close.
Good.
“I loved you,” he said.
Vivian studied him.
“No,” she said. “You loved being loved by me.”
He flinched.
“I made terrible choices.”
“You made profitable ones.”
His face reddened.
That still got to him. Not being called cruel. Not being called monstrous. Being called cheap.
Good.
He said, “I want to see Noah.”
Vivian’s blood chilled.
“No.”
“He’s my son.”
“He is a child you hid.”
“I can make amends.”
Vivian stepped closer.
“For fourteen years, his mother was alive and grieving a child she was told never existed. For fourteen years, you let him be raised by the woman who helped steal him. Start your amends by staying where the court puts you.”
Edward’s eyes hardened then.
Briefly.
Enough to remind her who he was beneath regret.
“You can’t erase me from him.”
Vivian smiled.
Not the ballroom smile.
Colder.
“No. But I can tell the truth so clearly that your lies don’t get to raise him.”
She walked away before he could answer.
Outside, Nora asked, “Are you all right?”
“No.”
“Good answer.”
Vivian looked toward the street, where reporters waited behind barricades.
“When does it stop hurting?”
Nora sighed.
“When it becomes useful more often than it becomes pain.”
Vivian thought of Noah.
Amber.
Other women in St. Aurelia’s files.
May you like
The fund Lydia Whitmore created for wives who had not yet been born.
“Then we make it useful,” she said.
