Chương 8
I hated that too.
My phone buzzed.
A message from Claire.
The video file had arrived.
Below it was another text.
I’m sorry I stood there.
I read it twice.
Then I opened the video.
Dominic glanced over.
“You don’t have to watch that now.”
“I know.”
Vanessa’s voice filled the car.
Tinny through the speaker.
Cold.
There I was on the marble floor.
Cake in my hands.
Guests around me.
Elliot’s camera angle was unsteady.
At one point, he zoomed in.
I stopped the video.
My chest tightened.
Dominic reached toward the volume.
I slapped his hand away.
“Don’t.”
He withdrew immediately.
“I wasn’t taking it.”
“I know.”
I pressed play again.
Vanessa’s words sounded worse recorded.
Not louder.
Smaller.
Petty.
Deliberate.
Then came the moment she mentioned Mom.
Dominic’s jaw tightened.
The slap followed.
The phone jerked slightly in Elliot’s hand.
A woman said, “What the hell?”
Then the video captured Vanessa raising her hand again.
Captured me catching her wrist.
Captured everything.
I stopped it.
“It proves what happened.”
“Yes.”
“It also proves sixty people watched.”
Dominic did not answer.
I looked out the window.
“Why did nobody stop her?”
He took several seconds before speaking.
“Because people calculate.”
I turned back.
“Calculate what?”
“Who has power.”
“Whether helping me was worth irritating her.”
“Yes.”
The honesty hit harder than comfort would have.
“And you?”
He looked at the road.
“What about me?”
“Would you have stopped her if there wasn’t a camera?”
“Yes.”
“Because you’re better than them?”
“No.”
His hands tightened on the wheel.
“Because she was in my house.”
I stared at him.
He heard how that sounded.
“That came out wrong.”
“It came out accurate.”
“I would have stopped her anywhere.”
“But you didn’t until the end.”
His jaw moved.
“I wasn’t in the room.”
“You were hosting the party.”
“I was on a call.”
“Convenient.”
He looked at me.
“You think I arranged this?”
“I think rich men are always shocked by what happens inside systems that benefit them.”
His expression changed.
Not anger.
Something quieter.
“That sounds rehearsed.”
“It isn’t.”
“It sounds like something your father might have said.”
My whole body went still.
Dominic noticed.
“What?”
I looked at him.
“Why would you say that?”
He frowned.
“It was just an observation.”
“You didn’t know him.”
“No.”
“You keep talking like you did.”
“I don’t.”
“You knew his work involved that warehouse.”
“After Vanessa said it.”
“You knew the property.”
“Yes.”
“You knew your uncle was involved.”
“Yes.”
“You knew enough to be afraid of the name.”
His face hardened.
“I wasn’t afraid.”
“Then what?”
He did not answer.
I waited.
Rain drummed against the roof.
Finally he said, “Ashamed.”
I looked at him.
He exhaled slowly.
“My uncle did things everyone in the family pretended not to understand.”
“That’s convenient too.”
“It was cowardly.”
That stopped me.
He continued.
“Vincent had companies inside companies.”
“Money lending?”
“Among other things.”
“Drugs?”
“I don’t know.”
“Trafficking?”
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
I studied him.
He glanced at me.
“Believe whatever you need to until there’s proof.”
“That’s generous.”
“It isn’t generosity.”
His voice grew flatter.
“It’s what I should have done years ago.”
I looked forward again.
That sentence stayed with me.
We reached Cicero twenty-three minutes later.
The rain had softened to a cold mist.
Dominic parked half a block from our building because a delivery truck blocked the curb.
I was out before he killed the engine.
He followed.
The front door to the building was propped open with a paint can.
Of course it was.
Mrs. Alvarez on the first floor had been complaining about the broken closer for three months.
I took the stairs two at a time.
Dominic kept pace behind me.
At the second-floor landing, I turned.
“You stay here.”
He stopped.
“You said no one comes into the apartment.”
“I also said don’t scare her.”
“I can wait outside.”
“Outside means downstairs.”
He looked at the stairwell.
“This building doesn’t exactly inspire confidence.”
“It inspires affordable rent.”
“Avery.”
“Stay.”
He held up both hands.
“Fine.”
I continued upstairs.
The hall light outside 3B flickered.
My door was closed.
Chain shadow visible beneath the frame.
I knocked twice.
“Mom?”
Nothing.
My heartbeat jumped.
“Mom.”
I knocked harder.
The lock turned.
The door opened three inches against the chain.
Mom’s left eye appeared through the gap.
She stared at me.
Then at my cheek.
“What happened to your face?”
“Let me in.”
She closed the door, unhooked the chain, then opened it again.
I stepped inside.
The apartment smelled like peppermint tea and laundry detergent.
The television was on low.
A heating pad lay across Mom’s recliner.
Everything looked normal.
That almost broke me.
Mom wore her blue robe and one slipper.
The other foot was bare.
I stared at it.
“Where’s your slipper?”
She looked down.
“I was looking for it.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s somewhere.”
“You’re dizzy and wandering around barefoot?”
“One foot is medically acceptable.”
I locked the door behind me.
Then I hugged her.
Too hard.
She grunted.
“Avery.”
“Sorry.”
“You’re crushing the dialysis patient.”
I loosened my arms but did not let go.
Her hands settled against my back.
For a few seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then she said quietly, “Whatever happened, you’re shaking.”
“I’m cold.”
“You lie badly when you’re scared.”
I stepped back.
She touched my cheek.
Her fingers were cool.
“Who hit you?”
“No one important.”
“That doesn’t answer me.”
“I know.”
She studied my face.
Then her expression sharpened.
“What did you do back?”
“Nothing.”
“Avery.”
“Almost nothing.”
“That sounds more like you.”
I took her wrist gently.
“Sit down.”
She allowed me to guide her toward the kitchen chair.
That worried me.
Normally she would argue for another thirty seconds on principle.
I poured her tea.
Her hands trembled when she took the mug.
“Did you eat?”
“Toast.”
“When?”
“Before Jeopardy.”
“That was hours ago.”
“I wasn’t hungry.”
May you like
“You need something.”
“I need you to stop hovering.”
