Page 65 of Total Jane Wreck

I lean forward, curiosity momentarily quelling my anger. “Go on.”

He lowers his voice. “I started noticing inconsistencies—stories that didn’t add up.” He meets my eyes. “I was always a firm ‘believe women’ kinda guy. Still am. But it’s not uncommon for someone with Munchausen’s to invent tales of domestic abuse, even injure themselves to make the story believable. It’s part of the pathology. Creating drama, playing the victim.”

“So you think she lied about Mason abusing her?”

Chet nods, chest heaving. “Back then, I didn’t know she had Munchausen’s. Around the same time, Mason discovered I’d been secretly moving funds from our venture capital partners into my pet project—a program to help small business owners succeed online.”

“You embezzled money?” I can’t hide the shock in my voice.

“Yes, Jane. I embezzled from my own company.” His face flushes. “But first, I tried to talk it out with Mason. Things were tense. He insisted he ran the business side and I had no jurisdiction there. I argued that ShopSpot was meant to level the playing field so small businesses could compete in e-commerce. When Mason refused, I diverted money earmarked for other expenses into my project. I planned to pay it back, but I’d used company resources without authorization.” He sighs. “Mason threatened to expose me. We were at a standoff until Birdy suggested a solution—she’d keep quiet about the abuse if he stayed quiet about my ‘misappropriation of funds.’ I guess because Mason wanted to be free of me and the hole I’d created, he agreed to buy my shares and let me leave quietly.” Chet’s tone turns ironic. “You know, from the company that was my brainchild.”

“And that’s how you became a billionaire,” I say flatly.

“Yes.” He looks miserable. “Still, ShopSpot was worth sixteen billion by then, and I left with a fraction of that. I didn’t care. But Tom was disappointed—he believed whatever Mason told him without hearing my side. I couldn’t come between a father and son, so Birdy and I traveled the world, looking for good causes to support.” Chet looks out the window toward the stables. “After a while, I grew bored. Plus, Birdy was spending more and more time online. Whenever I mentioned it, she’d ‘get sick.’ There were sudden doctor visits for conditions that vanished overnight.” Sucking in a breath, he looks directly at me. “One day, I tried to end it with her. That’s when she broke down in tears and said she’d been diagnosed with lymphoma.

“I believed her,” Chet continues, his voice hollow. “How could I not? She showed me hospital bills, talked about her treatments. She even convinced me that buying a ranch and being around horses would help her heal. Funny thing is, while I fell in love with the horses and this land, Birdy couldn’t have cared less. She’d go through the motions, take a few photos, but she was always looking at her phone, checking her likes and reading the comments.”

He stands up and paces inside my tiny trailer, running his hands through his hair. “Then she got an offer to work with this wellness nonprofit in Florida. She said it would be a short-term thing, just a few weeks. While she was gone, I started going through her things. I hacked her online accounts and recovered her browsing history.”

“What did you find?” I whisper.

He shrugs. “Just that she’d visited personal blogs by people with lymphoma, joined Reddit groups, and bookmarked posts on Instagram. Reading it, it all sounded so familiar—like she’d been quoting, word for word, people who bravely shared their real struggles with cancer. Plus, she’d Googled things like ‘How to get admitted into the hospital’ and ‘How to get cancer treatment prescriptions.’ It forced me to face the truth. But I waited about twelve hours before I called to confront her.”

“When was that?” I ask.

He releases a humorless chuckle. “Right when you arrived at the ranch. Remember our conversation by the fire? How awkward I was? That was me trying to process everything she’d said.”

Of course I remember our conversation by the fire. I also remember something else. Chet, so angry and impatient on the day Miss Adele was delivered. That woman is intent on making my life miserable. Had Chet just discovered the truth about Birdy?

“And what did she say?” I press.

“That’s the thing. Birdy confessed.” He laughs bitterly. “She broke down crying. Said it started small, just wanting sympathy, but then it spiraled. She couldn’t stop herself. She’d even been to a shrink, had gotten the official Munchausen’s diagnosis.”

I fold my hands on the table and stare at the wall clock. It’s refashioned from an old plate, painted with red daisies and trimmed in orange bric-à-brac. The hands read a quarter past eight, and all I can think is, Once August hits, it sure starts getting dark early.

“So,” I say, “how did she end up back here? And why did you let her come?”

“A couple of weeks later, she called me,” he says. “Hysterical. Threatening to hurt herself.” Chet picks up a salt shaker from the counter and turns it over in his hands. “I knew it was over between us, but part of me still loved her. We’d had some good times—shared a lot. And I’d never have forgiven myself if she’d followed through and . . .” He sucks in a breath. “So I told her she could stay in the blue barn.”

“Which you turned into a hospital room.”

“That was her idea. She needed time to wind down the story for her followers.” He sets the salt shaker down. “My aunt Grace came to help. We figured Birdy would crack, being cooped up like that. Then the Fourth of July happened.”

I wait.

“She attacked Mason after overhearing him on the phone with his lawyer. Apparently, he was saying that Tom originally invested under false pretenses. Even though I’d paid Tom back—all of it plus interest—Mason claims he has grounds to take everything.” Chet exhales through his nose. “After that, I knew two things: Birdy is dangerous, and Mason cannot find out about any of this. Not yet. So I was determined to protect Birdy from herself, and the world from Birdy, and to protect Resilience Ranch from Mason. Otherwise, if his lawsuit worked, the horses would suffer.”

A sudden, sharp pain stabs my heart. “And where do I figure into all this?”

His face softens. “You don’t just figure in, Jane. Everything centers around you. This whole time, I was petrified you’d find out and hate me. Of course, I planned to tell you eventually, but I convinced myself that given time, Birdy would get better on her own, that she’d decide to leave, and then I could confess everything.”

“Come on, Chet. You’re too smart to believe such a thing.” A headache is forming behind my eyes. I try blinking it away, but no luck. “But to be fair, I thought I was too smart to believe such lies. You really got me, I’ll give you that.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Chet’s jaw tenses, his gaze flicking down. “That was never—” He rubs his face. “You just appeared, like some wish I hadn’t realized I’d made. And you were perfect—”

“Ha!” I cry. “Come on. We both know I’m far from perfect.”

“Perfect to me,” Chet states. “I was about to say that you were perfect to me.” He pauses, betraying nothing. “Even still, I tried to stay away, knowing that I couldn’t . . . that I shouldn’t . . .”