Chương 10
Courtney heard the silence.
“What?”
“Nothing,” I said.
“No, say it.”
“It sounds convenient.”
“Oh, screw you.”
The words came fast and hot.
“I am standing in your stupid driveway with two deputies watching me like I’m going to steal the mailbox, and I am trying to tell you what I found.”
“You notarized my forged signature.”
“I know.”
“You laughed when my water broke.”
“I know.”
“You wore my dead husband’s clothes.”
“I said I know.”
Her voice cracked on the last word.
The anger went out of me so quickly it left me tired.
Courtney sniffed.
“He told me you were weak.”
I closed my eyes.
“He said you never handled any of the real business stuff and that Lucas kept you protected because you couldn’t deal with pressure.”
Samantha’s mouth tightened.
“He told me the house would have to be sold anyway.”
Courtney swallowed audibly.
“He said the company was about to collapse because Lucas had hidden debts and that if we didn’t move fast, everybody would lose everything.”
I stared at the ceiling.
“So you believed him.”
“I wanted to.”
That answer was better than an excuse.
“Why?”
Another pause.
“Because if he was lying, then I married exactly the man everybody warned me about.”
No one spoke.
A contraction started before I could answer.
Kayla came closer and coached me through it.
This one was different.
Lower.
Heavier.
By the time it ended, I was shaking.
Kayla checked me again.
“Seven centimeters.”
“That was fast.”
“Your daughter has plans.”
I looked toward Samantha.
“She gets that from Lucas.”
The sentence hurt after I said it.
Samantha looked away.
Courtney was still on the line.
“I should give the phone to the deputy.”
“Yes,” Samantha said immediately.
“Which one?”
“Harrison.”
“He left.”
“Then Morales.”
“She’s talking to someone inside.”
“Wait for her.”
Courtney sighed.
“Fine.”
Before I could hang up, she said my name.
“What?”
“I’m sorry.”
I did not answer.
Not because I wanted to punish her.
Because I had no idea what an apology was supposed to accomplish yet.
She ended the call.
Samantha picked up Lucas’s memorandum again.
“You don’t have to keep reading.”
“Yes, I do.”
“You are in active labor.”
“I am also apparently married to a man who was secretly meeting my father in airport parking lots.”
Samantha said nothing.
“Read.”
The next pages were not dramatic.
That made them worse.
Lucas had documented meeting dates, invoice numbers, discrepancies, and questions he had not answered.
He wrote like a man building a bridge one board at a time.
On one page, he noted that Charles denied authorizing specific North Harbor invoices but refused to explain why his credentials were used.
On another, Lucas recorded that Charles asked him to stop investigating until after the Rochester refinancing closed.
Then came a paragraph that made Samantha slow down.
Lucas believed Charles was protecting someone.
Not himself.
Someone with access to both his credentials and internal acquisition files.
“Who?”
I asked.
“He doesn’t name anyone.”
“He must have suspected somebody.”
“He lists access groups.”
“How many?”
“Four people had practical access to Charles’s office during the relevant period.”
I looked at her.
“Who?”
“Charles.”
“Obviously.”
“His executive assistant, Marlene Shaw.”
I knew Marlene.
She had worked for my father for twelve years and hated Courtney with the endurance of a woman who considered smiling an unnecessary workplace expense.
“Who else?”
“Daniel.”
That caught me.
“Daniel had access?”
“He had master administrative access after the finance system migration.”
“And the fourth?”
Samantha turned the page.
Her expression changed.
“What?”
She did not answer immediately.
“Samantha.”
“Lucas.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“Lucas had administrative access to Charles’s machine.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“No.”
“Say that again.”
“It does not mean anything by itself.”
I watched her face, searching for something I could accuse her of.
Suspicion.
Pity.
Knowledge.
She gave me none.
My father’s text glowed in memory.
He was protecting himself.
“What if Dad was right?”
“About what?”
“What if Lucas did something?”
“Then we find out.”
The calmness made me angry.
“That is my husband you’re talking about.”
“I know.”
“He is dead.”
“I know.”
“He cannot explain anything.”
“I know that too.”
I turned my face away.
Outside the window, the man with the cigarette had gone.
A woman in green scrubs pushed an empty wheelchair across the parking lot, one hand holding her phone to her ear.
The world continued with insulting efficiency.
“I hate him a little right now.”
Samantha did not ask which man I meant.
“Lucas?”
“Yes.”
“For not telling you?”
“For dying before I could yell at him.”
My voice broke.
“He always did that.”
“Died?”
I looked at her.
She blinked.
“Bad choice of wording.”
Despite myself, I laughed.
It turned into a sob so abruptly I covered my face.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“I’m furious with a dead person.”
“That seems allowed.”
“I want him here.”
“I know.”
“And if he were here, I would throw something at him.”
“Also seems allowed.”
Another contraction came.
This time I cried out before I could stop myself.
Kayla pressed the call button.
Dr. Patel returned within minutes.
She checked me and announced I was nearly eight centimeters.
The room became busier.
Equipment rolled in.
A neonatal nurse introduced herself.
Someone asked again about pain medication.
I finally said yes.
Then they told me it was probably too late for an epidural.
“Of course it is.”
Dr. Patel smiled.
“We can still help with other options.”
“I would like the option where she simply appears.”
“That one has not made it through FDA approval.”
Samantha laughed once.
I glared at both of them.
“That was not funny.”
“It was a little funny,” Samantha said.
My phone buzzed again.
This time it was Daniel.
I answered on speaker because Samantha was standing beside me.
“I found something,” he said.
“Please tell me it’s a normal invoice for office chairs.”
“No.”
“Worth a try.”
May you like
He sounded distracted.
“I pulled archive authentication logs from the old server.”
