Chương 4
“But could he?”
“Yes.”
Ortiz’s pen began moving again.
Naomi continued.
“I need you not to confront him.”
“I’m not going back there.”
“Good.”
The word came too quickly.
Claire noticed.
“You sound relieved.”
“I am.”
Naomi was quiet for a beat.
“You’ve spent three years explaining Ryan to me.”
Claire looked toward the window.
Fireworks were still blooming beyond the buildings, smaller now and scattered.
“I didn’t know I was doing that.”
“You did.”
The nurse entered before Claire could answer.
Elena checked the monitor, adjusted one of the straps, and glanced politely toward the phone.
Claire lowered her voice.
“I’ll call the bank when we’re done here.”
“I’ll stay available.”
“Naomi.”
“Yes?”
“Don’t tell me I should have seen this.”
Naomi’s answer came softer.
“I wasn’t going to.”
Claire ended the call.
Elena smoothed the edge of the monitor belt.
“Baby’s looking good.”
Claire nodded because speaking felt dangerous.
The nurse pointed at the paper cup of water Claire had barely touched.
“Drink.”
Claire obeyed.
It was such a small instruction that she nearly cried.
Ortiz waited until Elena left.
“Do you believe your husband may have taken money from you?”
Claire stared at the cup.
“I believe I don’t know my husband.”
“That’s different.”
“I’m starting to think it isn’t.”
Ortiz asked for Naomi’s contact information and the name of the financial institution.
She made no promises about whether the transfers would become part of a criminal investigation.
Fraud cases, she explained, required records, access logs, authorization history, and sometimes subpoenas.
Claire appreciated the lack of drama.
It made the situation worse in a strangely stabilizing way.
This was not a nightmare.
It was paperwork.
It was evidence.
It was going to have dates and signatures.
By one thirty in the morning, the physician told Claire there was no immediate sign of fetal distress and recommended that she remain for observation a little longer.
Claire called the bank from the hospital bed.
She answered security questions, repeated herself to three people, and finally reached a fraud specialist who locked digital access to the Meridian account.
When the representative asked whether anyone else might know her login credentials, Claire looked at the red marks on her wrists.
“Yes.”
The answer scraped on the way out.
She changed passwords to her email, cloud storage, banking portal, brokerage account, payroll system, and the password manager she should have been using more carefully.
At two seventeen, Ryan called.
Claire watched his name vibrate across the screen until it stopped.
He called again.
Then came a message.
Please answer.
Another followed.
Dad went too far and I know you’re upset.
Claire read it twice.
Not I went too far.
Dad.
Another message appeared.
We need to talk before you do something that hurts all of us.
Claire took a screenshot.
Ortiz, who had returned after speaking with another officer, read the messages without commenting.
Then Ryan sent a fourth.
You have no idea what you’re doing.
Claire’s hands went cold.
“What does that sound like to you?” she asked.
Ortiz gave the phone back.
“It sounds like something you should save.”
Ryan called again.
Claire declined it.
For the first time since leaving the penthouse, she pictured him upstairs without her.
Grant angry.
Diane cleaning.
Brooke whispering.
Ryan pacing through rooms he called his own while discovering that Claire was no longer available to absorb the consequences.
The picture should have pleased her.
Instead she felt homesick.
That humiliation surprised her.
She missed her own bed.
She missed the ugly blue mug Ryan had chipped and refused to throw away.
She missed the quiet way he sometimes placed a hand on her stomach before falling asleep.
Her body had not caught up with the facts yet.
It still expected comfort from the person who had held her down.
At three, Claire was discharged with written instructions for the burn, warning signs to watch for, and directions to follow up with her obstetrician.
Marcus had arranged for a car from the building, but Claire refused it when she learned Ryan could potentially see transportation logs through the resident portal.
Ortiz called a cab from a company the department regularly used.
Claire gave the driver Naomi’s address.
The streets were littered with the remains of midnight.
Silver streamers clung to wet sidewalks.
A man in a sequined jacket argued with a woman outside a closed bar.
Two sanitation workers were already clearing plastic cups from an intersection.
Denver looked tired of celebrating.
Naomi lived in a narrow brick townhouse in Highland with her wife, Celeste, and an elderly terrier named Franklin who hated everyone except delivery drivers.
Celeste opened the door before Claire reached the second step.
She was wearing plaid pajama pants and one of Naomi’s law-school sweatshirts.
Her eyes dropped to Claire’s suitcase.
Then to her stomach.
Then to the damaged sweater.
“Oh, Claire.”
That was all.
Claire stepped inside.
The house smelled faintly of coffee even at three thirty in the morning.
Franklin appeared in the hallway, examined Claire with suspicion, and returned to his bed.
Naomi came down the stairs carrying her laptop.
She had pulled her dark hair into a loose knot and put on glasses Claire had never seen her wear in public.
“You should sleep.”
Claire looked at the laptop.
“You brought that down because you want me to sleep?”
Naomi almost smiled.
“Fair.”
Celeste took Claire’s suitcase.
“The guest room is ready.”
“I’m not tired.”
“You look terrible.”
“Thank you.”
“I mean medically terrible, not aesthetically.”
“That’s much better.”
For the first time all night, Claire laughed.
It lasted about two seconds and ended in something dangerously close to a sob.
Celeste did not hug her.
She simply touched Claire’s shoulder and went upstairs with the suitcase.
Naomi set the laptop on the dining table.
“I downloaded what I could before the bank restricted access.”
Claire sat.
Naomi turned the screen toward her.
May you like
The spreadsheet showed dates, amounts, destination labels, and reference numbers.
Claire scanned the first few lines.
