My Doctor Told Me I’m Infertile… But My Wife Just Announced She’s Pregnant… What I Discovered…
The Plot for the Final Payday
I met with my lawyer, Gordon Fairfield, the next morning.
I’d known Gordon for 30 years; he’d handled the purchase of every property Chen Properties had ever developed.
“Robert, my God, are you certain about all this?”
“I wish I wasn’t.”
Gordon drew up a new will within hours, leaving everything to Michael and establishing a trust for any legitimate children of mine with strict DNA verification required.
Jessica would receive nothing.
“I’m also going to recommend we review all the documents you’ve signed since your marriage: power of attorney, any changes to business structures, anything she had access to.”
What we discovered made my blood run cold.
Over the four months of our marriage, Jessica had slowly, systematically been positioning herself to access everything.
She’d convinced me to add her to the deed of the house for estate planning purposes.
She’d been added as a signatory on several Chen Properties accounts to help with bookkeeping while I focused on the development projects.
She’d even convinced me to take out an additional life insurance policy.
“We’re married now. We should protect each other.”
The policy was for $5 million with Jessica as the sole beneficiary.
“Gordon, can you tell if she’s forged my signature on anything?”
We spent hours comparing documents.
Some signatures looked right; others showed subtle differences, hesitation marks, or incorrect pressure patterns.
“I think she practiced,” Gordon said grimly.
“Look at these documents from December versus these from February. The February ones are nearly perfect replicas of your signature.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means she’s been planning this for months, possibly since before you even met.”
Detective Wong brought in a forensic accountant named Patricia Reynolds.
Patricia had salt and pepper hair and the calm demeanor of someone who’d seen every financial crime imaginable.
“Mr. Chen, I’ve reviewed your accounts. May I ask, did you authorize a wire transfer of $320,000 to an investment firm called Pacific Horizon Capital on February 8th?”
“No. What is Pacific Horizon Capital?”
“It doesn’t exist. It’s a shell company registered in the Cayman Islands.”
“The money went there, was immediately transferred to six different accounts, and then withdrawn as cash from ATMs across the Lower Mainland over three days.”
“Jessica stole $300,000. That’s the transfer we found so far.”
“I’m seeing a pattern of smaller withdrawals as well: 5,000 here, 7,000 there. Always just under the threshold that would trigger automatic bank reviews.”
“Over four months, I estimate she’s taken approximately $450,000 from your accounts.”
I felt rage building in my chest, hot and acidic.
“There’s something else,” Patricia continued.
“She’s been using your identity to establish credit lines. I found three credit cards in your name with a combined limit of $200,000.”
“They’re all maxed out. Bills are going to an address in Surrey, presumably where the brother lives.”
“Can I cancel them?”
“Not without alerting her. Detective Wong needs you to maintain the appearance that nothing has changed.”
This was torture.
Every morning I woke up next to a woman who was systematically destroying my life.
Every night I sat across the dinner table from her making conversation, pretending everything was fine.
Jessica talked constantly about the baby.
She’d started showing me paint samples for the nursery.
She’d ordered furniture—expensive furniture—using the joint credit card.
She talked about names: for a boy she liked Sebastian, for a girl Charlotte.
“What do you think, darling?” she’d ask, her hand resting on her fake belly.
“Whatever makes you happy,” I’d say, and excuse myself to my study.
Michael came by twice a week, always with plausible reasons: dropping off documents for me to review or asking business advice.
He’d hug me and whisper updates.
“Tom’s team is tracking her every move. They’ve identified 12 separate identities she’s used over the past 10 years.”
“Dad, this woman is a ghost.”
Detective Wong called me on a Wednesday afternoon.
“Mr. Chen, we’ve had a breakthrough. The Greek authorities are reopening David Hartwell’s case.”
“They’ve reviewed the original investigation and found irregularities.”
“He’d taken out a large insurance policy two weeks before his death. Sarah was the beneficiary, and she was the only witness to him falling overboard.”
“Can they charge her?”
“Possibly, but it’s complicated by jurisdiction. What’s more important is that Thomas Bradford’s daughter, Jennifer, has been trying to reach you.”
“She saw a society page photo of your wedding online. She recognized Sarah. She knew her as Sophia Bradford.”
Jennifer Bradford flew out from Calgary that weekend.
She was 36, a lawyer, and she’d been fighting to prove her father’s death wasn’t an accident for three years.
We met at Detective Wong’s office: me, Jennifer, Detective Wong, Thomas Riley, and another investigator from Calgary.
Jennifer showed me photographs: Sarah at Jennifer’s father’s funeral, dressed in black, crying convincingly.
Sarah at the reading of the will. Sarah cleaning out the house in Calgary.
“She was with my father for 14 months,” Jennifer said, her voice tight with controlled anger.
“Married him in October 2020. By Christmas, she had access to everything.”
“She told everyone she was pregnant, just like she’s told you. There was no baby.”
“She claimed she had a miscarriage after my father died. Blamed it on the trauma.”
“I’m sorry,” I said inadequately.
“My father never drank and drove. Never. But that night his blood alcohol was .12.”
“The police found an empty whiskey bottle in the car. But Sarah had poured the drinks at dinner.”
“I couldn’t prove it, but I knew. I knew she’d drugged him somehow, made him seem drunk, then sent him off in the car.”
“How did she make the car crash?”
Jennifer pulled out a file.
“This is what I’ve spent three years and $50,000 investigating.”
“The crash happened on a winding mountain road near Banff. My father’s car went through a guardrail and down an embankment.”
“The investigation found brake failure. The brake lines had corroded and ruptured.”
“Couldn’t that happen naturally on a two-year-old Mercedes that had been meticulously maintained?”
“No. I had an independent mechanic review the wreckage.”
“He found evidence of tampering. Someone had deliberately weakened the brake lines with acid.”
“Not enough to cause immediate failure, but enough that under heavy braking on a mountain road, they’d give out.”
Detective Wong leaned forward.
“Jennifer, would you be willing to testify about all this?”
“Absolutely. I want that woman in prison.”
The Calgary investigator, a man named Robert Duncan, added,
“We’ve been building a circumstantial case for three years. With Mister Chen’s situation added to the pattern, we finally have enough to convince a prosecutor.”
“But we need to catch her in the act of something we can prove beyond doubt.”
“What do you suggest?” I asked.
Detective Wong pulled out a folder.
“We wait for her to make a mistake, and we believe she will soon.”
“Mr. Chen, you’re scheduled for that foundation gala in three weeks, correct?”
“Yes, the Vancouver General Hospital Foundation benefit. It’s one of the biggest charity events of the year.”
“Jessica has been very involved in planning, hasn’t she?”
I nodded.
She’d volunteered for the planning committee, spent hours on phone calls and meetings.
“We think that’s her endgame,” Detective Wong said.
“A public venue, lots of people, opportunities for accidents, wealthy donors, prestige, witnesses to how devoted she’s been as your wife.”
“If something happens to you there, everyone will remember her as the grieving pregnant widow.”
“What kind of accident?”
“We don’t know yet, but Thomas’s team has been monitoring communications between Sarah and her brother.”
“They’ve been researching several possibilities: severe allergic reactions, cardiac events that could be triggered by drugs, even staged assaults.”
I felt cold.
“So I’m bait?”
“You’re the only way we catch her. And Mr. Chen, I promise you, we’ll have officers everywhere. Nothing will happen to you.”
