Chapter 7 - The Blanket
“Good,” I said.
Lucia glanced at the security officer behind her.
Then at Detective Ortiz, who had returned to collect Emma’s statement.
Her smile stayed in place.
“There seems to be a terrible misunderstanding.”
Ortiz stepped closer.
“Then you can help clear it up.”
“I’d be happy to speak with counsel present.”
“Of course.”
Lucia looked back at me.
“I’ve only ever wanted this family protected.”
“From me?”
“From what happens when private matters become public.”
Adrian appeared at the far end of the hall.
For the first time, Lucia looked uncertain.
“Darling.”
“Don’t come into her room.”
“I’m your mother.”
“I heard you.”
She lowered her voice.
“You’re making a mistake.”
“Then I’ll make it myself.”
For a second, she looked at him as if he were a stranger.
Then she straightened her coat.
“I’ll see you in court.”
After she left, a nurse asked whether I wanted the gift removed.
“Wait.”
I pulled out the blanket.
White cotton.
A pink stitched border.
In one corner were three initials.
E.M.M.
I hadn’t told anyone the name I’d chosen.
Except Emma.
Evelyn Mae Moretti.
My mother’s first name.
My grandmother’s middle name.
I pressed the cloth between my fingers.
Someone had ordered this.
Someone had imagined wrapping my living daughter in it after telling me she was dead.
Adrian stood outside the doorway.
He didn’t enter.
“Claire?”
I looked up.
“There’s something else.”
I almost laughed.
There was always something else.
He held out a tablet.
“Ruth got the trust documents.”
His father had left money to Adrian’s future children.
I remembered hearing about it during our marriage.
Lucia had called it a family matter.
Now Ruth had found the amendment she’d added while acting as trustee.
“Your mother controls the money,” I said.
“Until I have a child.”
I read the next paragraph.
If Adrian’s child survived him, control would pass to an independent trustee appointed in advance.
Not Lucia.
“How much?”
“Forty-six million.”
I looked toward the hallway where she’d disappeared.
“She wants the baby and the money.”
Adrian’s expression hardened.
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
He showed me the next page.
A successor trustee had already been named.
Victor Sanz.
Adrian’s chief financial officer.
The man who’d hired the divorce lawyer.
The man who’d delivered my belongings in trash bags.
Ruth called while I was still reading.
Adrian put her on speaker.
“I found the payment authorization,” she said.
“For what?” I asked.
“A private aircraft.”
Something cold moved through me.
“Whose name?”
There was a pause.
May you like
Then Ruth answered.
“Your daughter’s.”
