Chapter 9 - LENA ORTIZ
Lena Ortiz lived in Queens and worked at a neighborhood clinic. Alexander found her number through an old payroll record.
She agreed to meet us the next morning at a café near the clinic.
“You look like your mother,” she told Noah.
He stayed close to me but managed a small smile. Alexander had brought him because Lena asked to see him, and because Noah wanted to know who she was.
When he left with Marcus to buy a cookie, Lena’s face hardened.
“Bell sent someone to my apartment last night,” she said. “That’s why I finally answered your call.”
“What did you see?” Alexander asked.
“Your wife found transfers out of Noah’s trust. She thought someone was taking money. I saw Bell putting a folder in her car the day she died.”
“Did you report it?”
“I told your mother. She fired me.”
Eleanor had said Lena quit.
Lena took out an old phone. “I kept a voice memo. Hannah was going to meet a lawyer. She recorded the account numbers while I drove her.”
The recording contained dates, amounts, and the name North Star Holdings. Hannah said she had copied the authorization and would take it to a lawyer that afternoon.
She never reached the lawyer.
“Do you think Bell caused the accident?” I asked.
“I don’t know.” Lena looked directly at Alexander. “I know Hannah was scared of her.”
Alexander’s phone rang. It was his attorney.
The bank had released its records. Mrs. Bell controlled North Star Holdings through her brother, who had died the year before. The signatures from Alexander and Hannah were forgeries.
There was more. A transfer from North Star had gone to New Start, the agency that placed me in Sterling House.
“When?” I asked.
“Eight months ago,” Alexander answered.
Lena’s eyes narrowed. “Bell chose you?”
“She recommended the agency,” he said.
“Then ask why.”
On the way home, I called New Start myself. The recruiter who had interviewed me no longer worked there. A manager said my application had come through a referral.
“From whom?” I asked.
She checked the file.
“Hannah Sterling.”
I stopped walking.
Alexander took the phone and asked her to repeat it.
The manager did. The referral had been entered eight months ago, years after Hannah’s death.
When we reached Sterling House, Eleanor was waiting at the front steps.
“I found Bell’s private file,” she said.
May you like
She looked at me.
“Emma, there’s a photograph of your mother inside.”
