Chapter 8 - What Fear Costs
I called Lydia immediately.
No answer.
Nora called next.
Still nothing.
Then a message arrived from an unfamiliar number.
A photograph of Lydia’s signed statement.
It said she had misunderstood the papers.
It said she had copied private documents without permission.
It said I had offered her money.
I stared until the words blurred.
“I didn’t.”
“I know,” Nora said.
“But she signed.”
“People sign things when they’re afraid.”
I wanted to be generous.
I also wanted to scream.
My baby was asleep against me.
So I did neither.
I handed Nora the phone.
“What now?”
“We preserve both versions.”
Across the room, Rosa adjusted the blinds.
The afternoon sunlight striped the blanket over Owen’s feet.
I had imagined this day so many times.
A photograph.
A ridiculous little hat.
Maybe a visitor who brought a sandwich and asked how I felt.
Instead, I was defending my right to leave with my own child.
Dr. Mercer returned near evening.
His eyes were swollen.
“I found my old lawyer’s file,” he said.
“Your lawyer still has it?”
“His daughter took over the practice.”
He handed Nora a scanned letter.
The supposed death certificate had been issued by a private agency abroad.
Not a government office.
A letter attached to it advised against further contact because Eleanor was “emotionally fragile.”
The lawyer who sent it had later worked for Robert Vance.
Nora read twice.
“That doesn’t prove the certificate was false.”
“No,” Gabriel said.
“But it gives us somewhere to start.”
I liked that answer.
Certainty was what Julian sold.
Facts were slower.
Facts stayed.
Gabriel placed another page on the table.
A photocopy of a baby’s hospital bracelet.
DANIEL MERCER.
And a birth date.
I knew Julian’s birthday.
I had baked three cakes for it.
Same day.
Same year.
A nurse called Gabriel into the hallway.
When he returned, he looked at me with sudden alarm.
“What?”
“Eleanor called the patient information desk.”
“Of course she did.”
“She asked whether Owen had been moved to the nursery.”
I pulled him closer.
“Why?”
Rosa’s pager sounded.
She checked it.
Then she went very still.
“What is it?” I asked.
She turned toward the door.
“Someone just requested a transport for your baby.”
My breath stopped.
“Who?”
“The order uses my staff number.”
May you like
Rosa looked directly at me.
“I didn’t place it.”
