Chapter 9 - The Envelope
The hospital moved me again.
Different floor.
Different staff.
No room number on the visitor board.
The nurse who’d brought dinner was detained before her shift ended.
I watched the hallway through a narrow window while a fetal monitor tapped out my daughter’s heartbeat.
Adrian stood beside the bed.
“Say something,” I told him.
“I’m trying to think of something that won’t sound like a promise I can’t keep.”
That was the most honest thing he’d said all day.
“Then sit down.”
He did.
At eleven, Emma asked to see me.
Ortiz came with her.
My sister’s face looked gray.
“I sent the envelope,” Emma said.
I stared at her.
“The appointment reminder?”
She nodded.
“I couldn’t stop what I’d started. I thought if he saw you—”
“You could have called me.”
“Lucia checked my phone.”
“You could have walked into a police station.”
“I was scared.”
“So was I.”
Emma pressed her lips together.
“I know.”
“No. You knew I was lonely. You knew I was broke. You watched me count diapers at a discount store, and you knew there were millions of dollars waiting to swallow my child.”
She began to cry.
I didn’t comfort her.
Ortiz gave her a tissue.
Emma reached into her coat.
The detective caught her wrist.
“Slowly.”
“It’s paper.”
A key card fell onto the blanket.
“Lucia’s apartment,” Emma said. “She kept a second phone in the pantry. Behind the flour.”
“Don’t go there,” Ortiz told Adrian.
He looked at the card.
Then at me.
“I won’t.”
Emma leaned forward.
“There’s one more thing.”
Of course there was.
“Victor was at her place last week. I heard them arguing.”
“About the baby?”
“About Adrian.”
He went still.
Emma swallowed.
“Victor said the trust wouldn’t matter if Adrian changed the trustee.”
Ruth had already started preparing exactly that paperwork.
“What did your mother say?” I asked.
Emma’s voice dropped.
“She said he wouldn’t live long enough to sign.”
The monitor kept beating.
A steady little sound.
Adrian didn’t look at his security chief.
He looked at me.
And I understood why.
The flight authorization wasn’t the end of their plan.
It was what came after.
At midnight, Marco received a call.
His face changed as he listened.
Then he looked at Adrian.
“Your driver is dead.”
Adrian stood.
“What happened?”
“Car fire. At the garage.”
I grabbed his sleeve.
May you like
Marco’s next words barely sounded human.
“He was getting your car ready.”
