Chapter 5 FINAL RECKONING

# CHAPTER 5: "FINAL RECKONING"

Three weeks after Louie's plane crash, I stood at the back of St. Patrick's Cathedral, watching Haven play the role of grieving widow to perfection. She wore Chanel black, a delicate veil hiding her face—my face—as she accepted condolences from New York's elite. The memorial service had drawn hundreds, not out of love for Louie Wagner, but out of respect for his power and wealth.

"She's good," Victor murmured beside me. "Almost makes you believe she's heartbroken."

"She's had a lifetime of practice," I replied softly. "Pretending to be someone she's not."

We'd spent the weeks since the crash preparing for this moment. Victor had obtained the flight data recordings, which showed no mechanical failures. The plane had simply been directed into the ocean—either by a suicidal pilot or by remote interference. Given that the pilot had three children and had just purchased a vacation home in Tuscany, suicide seemed unlikely.

"The judge is here," Victor nodded toward an elderly man entering the cathedral. "Judge Harmon—the one who'll be presiding over the emergency board meeting tomorrow."

Tomorrow. After three weeks of legal maneuvering, I'd secured an extraordinary hearing before Wagner Industries' board of directors, with court oversight to ensure fairness. Haven had fought it viciously, but the DNA evidence proving Alexander's paternity had forced her hand. Even her allies on the board couldn't ignore the existence of Louie's biological son.

"Is Alexander ready?" Victor asked.

"As ready as a five-year-old can be," I said, glancing toward the car where my son waited with our security team. "He understands what's at stake."

The memorial service dragged on, eulogies painting Louie Wagner as a visionary, a philanthropist, a loving husband. No mention of his cruelty, his manipulation, his willingness to let an innocent woman drown to protect his secrets. I felt nothing as they lowered his empty casket into the Wagner family mausoleum—no grief, no closure, not even satisfaction. My revenge against Louie had been stolen from me by his death.

But Haven remained. Haven, who had orchestrated my mother's murder. Haven, who had stolen my birthright and my identity. Haven, who even now was positioning herself to take control of the Wagner empire that should rightfully belong to Alexander.

As the mourners dispersed, I caught Haven watching me from across the cemetery. Our eyes met, and a small, knowing smile curved her lips. She knew I was coming for her, and she was ready.

Game on.

---

The Wagner Industries boardroom buzzed with tension the next morning. Fourteen board members sat around the massive mahogany table, with Judge Harmon at the head. Haven sat to his right, looking confident in another black designer suit. I was positioned at the opposite end, Alexander beside me in a perfectly tailored suit that echoed his father's style.

"This emergency session of the Wagner Industries board will now come to order," Judge Harmon announced, bringing the room to silence. "We are here to address the matter of succession following the untimely death of Louie Wagner, and to evaluate the claim that the minor Alexander Reynolds is his biological son and therefore entitled to consideration as heir."

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Haven leaned forward. "With all due respect, Judge Harmon, we're entertaining the claims of a woman who has provided no credible evidence of her identity. She claims to be Scarlett Lipsey, yet Scarlett Lipsey died five years ago. The DNA test she's provided could easily be fabricated."

"The DNA test was conducted by three independent laboratories," I countered smoothly. "All confirmed Alexander is Louie Wagner's son with 99.9% certainty."

"A child born out of wedlock has no automatic claim to the Wagner estate," Haven's attorney interjected. "Mrs. Wagner is the legal heir to her husband's fortune and company."

Judge Harmon raised a hand. "We're getting ahead of ourselves. First, let's establish the identity of the claimants. Mrs. Wagner has questioned whether you are indeed Scarlett Lipsey. Can you provide evidence of your identity?"

This was the moment I'd been preparing for. I opened a folder and removed the DNA report I'd found in my mother's grave.

"I'd like to submit this document for the court's consideration," I said, passing copies to the judge and board members. "It's a paternity test conducted thirty years ago at Manhattan General Hospital."

Haven's face drained of color as she received her copy.

"This report," I continued, "shows that Haven Matthews and I were switched at birth. I was born Catherine Matthews, biological daughter of Richard and Catherine Matthews. Haven was born Eleanor Lipsey, biological daughter of Eleanor and James Lipsey."

Murmurs erupted around the table. Haven's attorney whispered urgently in her ear.

"That document is clearly a forgery," Haven snapped, but her voice lacked conviction.

"The hospital still has the original records," I replied calmly. "I've petitioned for them to be released, and Judge Harmon has already signed the order. They should be arriving momentarily."

As if on cue, an assistant entered with a sealed envelope bearing the hospital's logo.

Judge Harmon opened it, reviewed the contents, then looked up gravely. "These records confirm Ms. Lipsey's claim. The infants were indeed switched at birth."

The boardroom erupted in chaos. Board members whispered furiously among themselves while Haven's attorney demanded to examine the hospital records. Through it all, Alexander sat silently beside me, his young face a mask of perfect composure—so like his father's it was unnerving.

When order was restored, I played my next card. "I'd also like to present evidence that Haven Matthews—or rather, Eleanor Lipsey—was involved in the murder of my biological mother, Catherine Matthews, seven years ago."

I nodded to Victor, who started a recording on the boardroom's audio system. Haven's voice filled the room:

"Twenty million was the agreed price. I need that kidney, Daddy, and she won't stop asking questions. It's the perfect solution."

The recording continued, detailing the plan to kidnap Catherine Matthews and harvest her organs, with Haven's explicit approval and participation in the planning.

Haven shot to her feet. "That recording is fabricated! I demand it be stricken from the record!"

"The recording has been authenticated by forensic audio experts," Victor stated calmly. "It was recovered from Richard Matthews' private server after his death last year."

Haven's eyes darted around the room like a cornered animal's. The board members were staring at her with horror and disgust.

"This is absurd," she hissed. "You're all believing the word of a woman who abandoned her child and disappeared for five years! For all you know, she killed Louie!"

"I was running from you," I replied evenly. "After you tried to have me killed on my wedding day."

Judge Harmon raised his hands for silence. "These are serious criminal allegations that go beyond the scope of this hearing. I'm going to contact the district attorney's office immediately."

That was when Haven made her move. With the practiced ease of someone who'd planned for this contingency, she reached into her purse and pressed a button. Instantly, the boardroom doors burst open, and three armed men entered.

"Nobody moves," Haven commanded, standing. "This farce ends now."

The board members froze in terror. Judge Harmon reached slowly for the panic button under the table, but one of the gunmen shook his head in warning.

"Haven," I said carefully, "think about what you're doing. There's no walking back from this."

She laughed, a brittle sound that echoed in the silent room. "Walking back? I've been planning this for years. Louie was never supposed to live this long anyway—just long enough to secure my position. And you—" she pointed at me "—you were supposed to die in that ocean five years ago. I've been cleaning up my father's messes my entire life."

She moved around the table, the gunmen parting to let her through. When she reached Alexander, she stopped.

"Come with me, child," she said with chilling sweetness. "After all, I'm the closest thing to family you have left."

Alexander looked up at her with Louie's eyes. "You're not my family."

"I'm your aunt by blood," Haven smiled coldly. "And soon to be your legal guardian once your mother meets with an unfortunate accident."

I moved to shield him, but one of the gunmen trained his weapon on me. "Don't," he warned.

Haven took Alexander's arm. "You're a clever boy. You'll understand eventually that I'm doing you a favor. Your mother has filled your head with vengeance and hatred. I can give you the world."

"Let him go," I said, my voice deadly calm despite the terror gripping my heart. "He's a child."

"He's a Wagner," Haven corrected. "The last one. And that makes him very, very valuable."

As she pulled Alexander toward the door, something changed in his expression. The fear vanished, replaced by a calculated look I recognized all too well.

"Aunt Haven," he said, his voice suddenly small and childlike, "I don't feel good."

Haven paused. "What?"

"My stomach hurts," he whimpered convincingly. "I think I'm going to—"

He doubled over as if in pain, and when Haven instinctively bent to check on him, he moved with lightning speed. His small hand plunged into his pocket and emerged with what looked like an EpiPen, which he jammed into Haven's thigh before she could react.

Haven screamed, more in surprise than pain, staggering backward. The gunmen turned toward the commotion, momentarily distracted from the board members. It was all the opening Victor needed. He launched himself at the nearest gunman, tackling him to the ground. Judge Harmon hit the panic button, and alarms blared throughout the building.

I lunged forward, grabbing Alexander and pulling him behind the heavy boardroom table as the remaining gunmen opened fire. Bullets splintered wood and shattered glass. Board members dove for cover, screaming.

Through the chaos, I kept my eyes on Haven. She was clutching her thigh where Alexander had injected her, her face contorted in confusion.

"What did you do to me?" she gasped.

Alexander peered over the table edge. "Just a little something I developed," he called out, his voice steady despite the gunfire. "Mom always says people who steal kidneys should pay the price."

Haven's eyes widened as understanding dawned. "You poisoned me? You little monster!"

"Not poison," Alexander corrected. "Just a compound that will make your transplanted kidney shut down within hours. The same one we used on Father, but modified."

Security forces burst into the boardroom, quickly disarming and subduing Haven's gunmen. As they secured the room, Haven collapsed to her knees, her breathing becoming labored.

"You need to get to a hospital," I told her, emerging from behind the table with Alexander. "Tell them you've been injected with a nephrotoxic compound."

Haven glared at me with pure hatred. "You won't get away with this. I still have allies. I still have power."

"What you have," I said, kneeling beside her as paramedics rushed in, "is about forty-eight hours to live unless you receive proper treatment. And only Alexander knows the exact formula of what he gave you."

Her face paled further. "You're bluffing."

Alexander stepped forward, his small face solemn. "The compound targets transplanted tissue specifically. It's quite ingenious, really—it identifies the foreign protein markers and—"

"Enough," Haven spat. "What do you want?"

I smiled coldly. "A full confession. To everything. The baby swap, my mother's murder, Louie's plane crash—all of it."

"Never," she hissed.

"Then I hope you've made peace with your God," I replied, standing. "Because the kidney you murdered my mother for is about to fail completely."

As the paramedics loaded Haven onto a stretcher, she looked at Alexander with newfound fear. "He's a monster," she whispered. "Just like his father."

"No," I corrected her. "He's a survivor. Like his mother."

After Haven was taken away, Judge Harmon approached us, visibly shaken. "I've never seen anything like this in all my years on the bench."

"I apologize for the drama," I said. "I didn't anticipate Haven would go to such extremes."

He shook his head in disbelief. "And the boy? Did he really poison her?"

I placed a protective hand on Alexander's shoulder. "My son is a prodigy in biochemistry. The compound he developed will indeed cause discomfort, but it's not lethal. It mimics the symptoms of organ rejection without causing permanent damage. We needed Haven to believe she was dying to get her confession."

"And if she had called your bluff?"

Alexander looked up. "It wasn't entirely a bluff, Your Honor. The compound would have made her very sick for several days. Just not fatally so."

Judge Harmon stared at the child with a mixture of awe and unease. "Mrs. Wagner—or Ms. Lipsey, or whichever name you prefer—I'm adjourning this hearing until the criminal matters can be sorted out. But given what I've witnessed today, I'm inclined to grant temporary custody of Wagner Industries to you as trustee for your son."

As we left the boardroom, surrounded by security, Alexander tugged at my hand. "Mom? Did I do well?"

I knelt down to his level, searching his young face. In that moment, he looked less like Louie and more like the little boy he should have been allowed to be—curious, vulnerable, seeking approval.

"You were perfect," I assured him, pulling him into a tight embrace. "But remember what I told you—we use our intelligence to protect ourselves, not to harm others unnecessarily."

He nodded against my shoulder. "Haven hurt a lot of people."

"Yes, she did. And now she'll face justice for it." I pulled back to look into his eyes. "But we won't become like her. Promise me."

"I promise," he said solemnly.

As we walked through the Wagner Building lobby, reporters clamored outside the glass doors, alerted by the police activity. Soon the world would know everything—the baby swap, Haven's crimes, Alexander's paternity. There would be no going back to the shadows.

My phone vibrated with a message from the hospital where Haven had been taken:

"She's asking for paper and pen. Says she wants to make a statement."

I showed it to Victor, who smiled grimly. "Looks like your gambit worked. She's going to confess."

"Let's hope so," I replied. "For her sake."

But as we reached our car, another message came through—this one from Louie's private physician:

"He left a note for you. Written before the crash. Come alone."