Chương 4
Celia sat beside him in the back of the car, reading updates from three phones. Marcus drove. The city passed in wet reflections outside the windows, restaurants closing, delivery riders bending into the cold, people laughing beneath awnings with no idea Daniel Hart’s private history had become public property.
“The board wants an emergency call at eleven,” Celia said.
“No.”
“They want to know whether the allegation has merit.”
“So do I.”
“They are not asking from curiosity. Hart Properties has municipal bids under review, an active bond offering, and a pending acquisition. Nora Bell’s name connects the paternity claim to an unresolved fraud case involving the company.”
“Unresolved? She was charged.”
“She was never tried.”
Daniel looked at her.
Celia lowered one phone. “The warrant remained active because she failed to appear. The state will say she ran.”
“She did run.”
“You sound as if that proves guilt.”
“I don’t know what it proves.”
Marcus glanced at Daniel in the mirror but said nothing.
Celia continued. “Your father’s statement at the time called her theft an unforgivable betrayal of vulnerable families.”
Daniel remembered standing beside Silas Hart at the press conference. He had worn a charcoal suit and no tie because someone had told him open collars conveyed concern. He had not spoken. His silence had been interpreted as grief, then dignity.
Nora had called him three times the night before the press conference.
He had watched the phone vibrate on his desk.
His father had stood by the window and said, “If you answer, she will drag you into it.”
Daniel had let the third call stop.
“What exactly do you remember?” Celia asked.
“That she told me there were problems with the relocation accounts.”
“What kind of problems?”
“She said payments were going to people who did not exist. I told her to report it through compliance.”
“And?”
“She said compliance was involved.”
Celia waited.
“I told her she was frightened and overreacting.”
“Were you qualified to determine that?”
“No.”
The word came out harder than he intended.
At central booking, Daniel’s name got him past the first desk but not through the locked door. Nora’s appointed attorney had not arrived. The desk sergeant refused to allow a personal visit during processing.
“You can wait,” she told him. “That’s the option available.”
So Daniel waited.
The public seats were molded plastic, bolted to the floor. A vending machine hummed beneath fluorescent lights. A man in paint-stained pants slept with his chin on his chest. Across the room, a teenage girl argued softly with her grandmother about a missed curfew.
Celia made the board call without Daniel. Marcus spoke with the arresting precinct about preserving body-camera footage. Daniel bought coffee from the vending machine and discovered, after the first mouthful, that it contained enough sugar to make his teeth ache.
At twelve-thirty, a public defender named Priya Shah arrived carrying a bicycle helmet and a paper file.
“You’re Daniel Hart,” she said.
“Yes.”
“I’m Nora Bell’s attorney for tonight. That does not make me your attorney, your investigator, or your source.”
“I understand.”
“I doubt it, but we can continue.”
She sat across from him.
“Ms. Bell does not want to see you.”
Daniel’s hands remained around the paper coffee cup.
“Did she say why?”
“She said you would know.”
“I need to tell her Eli is safe.”
“I told her he is in county care.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“No. It is the accurate thing.”
“Can you tell her I’ll cooperate with a paternity test?”
Priya studied him. “She laughed when I mentioned testing.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means she does not share your uncertainty.”
Daniel looked toward the secured door.
“Why did she come back?”
“That is privileged.”
“Is she in danger?”
“Everyone in jail is in some degree of danger. If you’re asking whether someone engineered her arrest, she believes your company did.”
“Who?”
“She gave me a name. I am not giving it to you until I know what you intend to do with it.”
“Help her.”
“You had nine years.”
The vending machine compressor clicked off. In the sudden quiet, the grandmother across the room began to cry.
Daniel said, “I did.”
Priya’s expression did not change.
“What?”
“I had nine years.”
He had expected the admission to feel important. It did not. It was simply true.
Priya closed the file. “The warrant concerns the relocation-fund theft. Bail will be addressed tomorrow afternoon. The state may argue flight risk because she lived under an assumed name and crossed state lines.”
“She had a child.”
“That may explain her choices. It does not erase them.”
“Can I retain you?”
“I work for the public defender’s office.”
“Can I hire outside counsel for her?”
“Not without her consent.”
“Can I pay bail?”
“If bail is granted, anyone can post it. She can still refuse every other form of help you offer.”
Daniel nodded.
Priya stood.
“She asked me to tell you one thing.”
He waited.
“She said the locket was never evidence. It was only the last object she believed you might recognize.”
Daniel’s grip tightened around the coffee cup.
“What evidence is there?”
Priya put on her coat. “That depends on whether your company kept the truth.”
She went through the locked door.
At two in the morning, Daniel returned to his penthouse and found Sophie awake on the living-room sofa.
Camille sat beside her with a mug of tea. Neither looked pleased to see him.
“You were supposed to be asleep,” Daniel said.
“I tried,” Sophie replied. “The building people kept whispering outside.”
The lobby had likely filled with reporters.
Camille stood. “She saw the video on a class group chat.”
“I didn’t mean to,” Sophie said. “Tessa sent it.”
Daniel loosened his tie. “What did it say?”
Sophie looked down at the sofa cushion. “That you have a secret son.”
May you like
Camille picked up her bag.
“We need rules,” she said. “No press around Sophie. No using her in a statement. No photographs with the boy, if he is yours. She does not become proof that everyone is a happy family.”
