Chapter 2 - THE WOMAN DOWNSTAIRS
“Call her mother.”
Judith reached for the photograph.
“Cameron, children confuse things.”
He moved it out of her reach.
“I said call her mother.”
Sofie watched their faces.
“Did I do something bad?”
Cameron turned immediately.
“No.”
He placed the photograph on the table.
“You helped me.”
Judith called downstairs.
Three minutes later, a woman entered with a cleaning cart still visible behind her in the hallway.
She wore a gray uniform.
Her hair was pulled into a tight bun.
The moment she saw the hospital bracelet, she stopped.
“Sofie.”
The little girl ran to her.
“I found the sad man, Mommy.”
The woman gathered Sofie against her legs.
Cameron stood.
“Who are you?”
“Nia Brooks.”
“Were you a nurse in Boston ten years ago?”
“Yes.”
“Then tell me why my daughter is alive in this photograph.”
Nia looked at Judith.
“I need to speak to you alone.”
Judith folded her arms.
“That is completely inappropriate.”
Cameron didn’t raise his voice.
“Leave.”
“I’ve been with your family for sixteen years.”
“Then you know where the door is.”
Judith walked out.
Cameron called his assistant, Elena, and asked her to sit with Sofie in the adjoining kitchen.
When the child was out of earshot, Nia opened her bag.
“I came here because my agency offered this shift,” she said.
“I recognized the address.
I brought Sofie because her daycare closed unexpectedly.”
“You gave a three-year-old evidence?”
“I put it in her pocket when Judith searched my bag downstairs.
I thought she might take it from me.”
Cameron stared at her.
Nia’s voice shook.
“I told Sofie to give it to the man in the picture if she saw him.
I shouldn’t have put that responsibility on her.”
“Where is Lily?”
“I don’t know where she is now.”
His expression hardened.
“Now?”
“She survived surgery.
I helped move her to pediatric recovery.
The next morning, her chart was gone.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I tried.”
Nia placed an envelope on the table.
Inside were copies of letters addressed to Hale Capital.
“All returned.
Every one.”
Cameron recognized the handwriting on the rejection slips.
Not his assistant’s.
His younger brother’s.
Then Nia took out one final photograph.
May you like
Lily in a wheelchair outside a rehabilitation center.
The date on the back was three weeks after her funeral.
