Chương 7
“Did she pay the debts?”
“Yes.”
“With company money?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then what did she ask you to do?”
“Small things. At first.”
Julian almost laughed at the phrase. Every disaster in his family seemed to begin with small things performed by people who considered themselves practical.
“Move calls,” Vanessa said. “Delay messages. Tell Rebecca you were traveling. Tell you Rebecca had canceled. Then she asked me to set the email rule. She gave me language for messages from the alternate address.”
“So you wrote them.”
“Some.”
He felt the blow physically, low in his chest.
“You wrote as my wife.”
Vanessa began crying again. “I told myself I was preventing a breakdown until the baby’s paternity could be confirmed.”
“Was it confirmed?”
“She got the prenatal report.”
“Who?”
“Your mother.”
“When?”
“Before Ivy was born.”
Julian stared at her.
Vanessa covered her mouth.
He understood then that whatever justification Eleanor had offered about uncertainty ended before the clinic photograph. His mother had known the child was his and still stood outside while Rebecca gave birth alone.
“What were you doing at the clinic?”
Vanessa glanced at her attorney.
He said, “Do not answer.”
She answered anyway.
“We went to obtain a release.”
“What release?”
“For the baby’s medical information and temporary guardianship if Rebecca was incapacitated.”
Julian felt cold.
“Guardianship to whom?”
“Your mother.”
He took one step backward.
Vanessa reached toward him, then stopped. “She said Rebecca might die.”
“Did you want her to?”
“No.”
“Did my mother?”
“I don’t know.”
He looked at Vanessa’s face and believed that she did not know. That ignorance was not innocence.
“Did you see Rebecca?”
“Through the glass doors. She was being taken upstairs. She looked—” Vanessa swallowed. “She looked scared.”
“And you stayed.”
“Yes.”
“Did you call me?”
“No.”
“Did you think about it?”
Her eyes closed.
“Yes.”
The answer was somehow worse than no.
Julian turned away.
Behind him, Vanessa said his name.
He did not stop.
At the clinic, Rebecca sat in an examination room wearing a paper gown beneath her open uniform jacket. The obstetrician pressed gently along the healing incision and asked whether she had been lifting anything heavier than the baby.
“No.”
Miriam, seated in the corner, raised an eyebrow.
Rebecca ignored her.
The doctor looked up. “Captain Hale.”
“I carried a stroller up six stairs.”
“With the baby in it?”
“No.”
“How heavy is the stroller?”
Rebecca considered lying, then sighed. “Too heavy.”
“Your body does not care that you are highly decorated.”
“It has always been unreasonably independent.”
The doctor did not smile. “You have mild separation at one edge of the incision. No infection, but you need rest.”
Rest. The word had followed Rebecca since Ivy’s birth like an impractical relative offering advice from the doorway.
The doctor continued. “Your blood pressure is elevated. Are you sleeping?”
“In sections.”
“Any headaches? Visual changes?”
“No.”
“Anxiety?”
Rebecca looked toward Miriam.
Miriam became fascinated by the wall dispenser.
“Yes,” Rebecca said.
“Do you feel unsafe?”
The question tightened something in her throat.
“Not physically.”
“Do you have somewhere secure to stay?”
“Yes.”
“Support?”
Rebecca hesitated.
Miriam answered, “She has me.”
The doctor nodded. “One attorney is not a support system.”
“I’m an excellent attorney,” Miriam said.
“I don’t doubt it.”
After the examination, Rebecca dressed slowly. Her uniform had been chosen for the boardroom because it reminded Eleanor that Rebecca belonged to an institution the Prescott family could not buy. Now the dark wool felt heavy and theatrical. She longed for the gray sweatpants folded in her overnight bag.
In the clinic hallway, a nurse stopped them.
“There’s a man in the waiting room asking for you.”
Rebecca’s body went rigid.
“Julian?” Miriam asked.
The nurse shook her head. “He says his name is Thomas Vale. He represents Mrs. Prescott.”
Miriam’s face hardened. “Did security check him?”
“He passed screening. He has a letter.”
Rebecca adjusted Ivy’s blanket. “We’re not meeting him.”
“He said it concerns the photographer outside.”
Miriam and Rebecca exchanged a look.
“Where is he?” Miriam asked.
The waiting room held two pregnant women, an elderly man reading a sports magazine, and Thomas Vale, a compact man in his fifties wearing a brown suit. He stood when Rebecca entered.
“Captain Hale.”
“You have thirty seconds,” Miriam said.
Vale held out a sealed note. “Mrs. Prescott asked me to deliver this personally.”
Rebecca did not take it.
“Why not send it through counsel?”
“Because she believes company counsel is compromised.”
“Company counsel is doing its job,” Miriam said.
Vale lowered his voice. “Photographs from this morning have been offered to two news organizations. Mrs. Prescott did not authorize that.”
“You expect us to believe her?” Rebecca asked.
“I expect you to consider that others now have incentives.”
“Who took the photographs?”
“We don’t know.”
“Then you have nothing useful.”
Vale looked at Ivy and immediately looked away.
“She wants to prevent the child’s image from being published.”
“By doing what?” Miriam asked.
“Coordinating a joint privacy request.”
Rebecca almost admired the maneuver. Eleanor had shifted from accused conspirator to concerned grandmother in under two hours.
“No joint statement,” Rebecca said.
Vale extended the envelope again. “At least read her proposal.”
Miriam took it. “We’ll respond through proper channels.”
Vale nodded, then added, “There is one more thing. Mrs. Prescott believes Vanessa may be cooperating with investigators.”
“Good,” Rebecca said.
“She may make claims that are not accurate.”
“Then Eleanor can answer them under oath.”
Vale’s expression remained neutral. “Litigation will expose private aspects of your marriage.”
“That threat worked better before today.”
“It is not a threat.”
“It is always interesting,” Miriam said, “how often powerful people describe consequences they intend to create as neutral facts.”
Vale glanced at her. “Counselor, you know discovery runs both ways.”
Rebecca stepped closer.
“Tell Eleanor something for me.”
Miriam touched her arm. “Rebecca.”
May you like
But Rebecca was tired of messages disappearing into other people’s hands.
“Tell her the next time she wants to warn me about embarrassment, she should remember I labored alone while she stood outside the building waiting to take my child.”
