Chương 6
Vanessa whispered, “That’s not fair.”
Rebecca stared at her.
For the first time all morning, something almost like anger sharpened her features.
“My eight-year-old daughter was cremated Saturday morning.”
Vanessa’s eyes filled.
“Do not speak to me about fair.”
Reese touched Vanessa’s elbow.
“We’re leaving.”
Vanessa let him guide her toward the door.
Near the memorial, she stopped.
Her gaze fell on Ava’s photograph.
Daniel saw the grief on her face and hated that it appeared genuine.
Vanessa had known Ava.
She had attended two birthday parties, a school fundraiser, Christmas dinner three years earlier before the affair began. She had helped Ava learn to braid a friendship bracelet on a flight to Aspen. Ava had once insisted Vanessa join them for miniature golf because “grown-ups are supposed to be in teams.”
Vanessa began crying silently.
Rebecca watched her.
“You don’t get to make her comfort you now,” Rebecca said.
Vanessa wiped her face.
“I loved her.”
Daniel’s stomach turned.
Rebecca answered before he could.
“I believe you.”
Vanessa looked startled.
Rebecca’s voice remained quiet.
“And you still did this.”
Vanessa left.
The detectives stayed another hour.
Daniel moved through it as if paperwork were a form of anesthesia.
He gave Hale written consent to secure his phone and laptop pending the warrant. He answered basic questions about travel, hotel rooms, devices, passwords, and Vanessa’s role at Mercer Rowan. He learned that a tablet Ava used at home had once been configured by Vanessa during a family ski trip after Daniel complained it would not sync properly. The device itself was still in Ava’s bedroom, but investigators believed account credentials had remained accessible on one of Vanessa’s computers.
No one claimed the technical evidence was complete.
That mattered to Hale.
“We have indicators,” he said. “Not magic. Digital records get interpreted like anything else. We verify them.”
Daniel nodded without caring.
Hale seemed to notice.
“You should care later.”
“Later.”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“I don’t know.”
Hale closed the folder.
“That’s probably the most accurate answer anyone can give you today.”
By early afternoon the house emptied of uniforms, attorneys, and whispered voices.
Daniel’s mother called.
He could not answer.
Claire called twice.
He could not answer her either.
Rebecca went upstairs.
Daniel remained in the foyer.
At some point he picked up the birthday gift.
The paper had torn along the corner.
He sat at the dining table and slowly removed the wrapping.
Inside was a wooden case containing forty-eight watercolor pencils, three brushes, a mixing palette, and a pad of thick paper. Ava had sent him a screenshot six weeks earlier with the words NOT THE BABY ONE.
He opened the case.
Each pencil had a color printed in gold near the end.
Cerulean Blue.
Burnt Sienna.
Rose Carmine.
He ran one finger along them.
Then he closed the lid.
That night Daniel slept in the guest room.
Sleep came in pieces.
At 2:17 a.m. he woke because he heard Ava laugh.
He sat upright before understanding that the house was silent.
He walked into the hallway.
Her bedroom door was open.
Rebecca had always hated open bedroom doors at night. She claimed hallways looked untidy. Now every door upstairs stood open except theirs.
Daniel entered Ava’s room.
Nothing had been cleaned.
A sock lay on the carpet beside the bed. A glass containing an inch of cloudy water stood on the desk. There were two library books stacked beside the lamp and a third under the pillow, where Ava had hidden books after bedtime as if both parents had not known.
Her tablet was gone, presumably with police.
Daniel sat on the edge of the mattress.
The blanket smelled faintly of strawberry shampoo.
He lasted less than a minute.
In the hallway he found Rebecca leaning against the wall.
She wore one of his old college sweatshirts over leggings.
For some reason the sight of it hurt.
“I heard you,” she said.
“I’m sorry.”
“You keep saying that.”
“I don’t know what else to say.”
“Then don’t say anything.”
He nodded.
She looked toward Ava’s room.
“Did you touch anything?”
“The bed.”
“That’s fine.”
“I opened the pencil case.”
Rebecca frowned.
He realized she did not know what he meant.
“The gift.”
“Oh.”
“I bought the wrong paper.”
Rebecca stared at him.
“What?”
“The paper in the kit. It’s six by nine. She wanted the bigger one.”
A tiny, involuntary laugh escaped Rebecca.
It disappeared immediately.
Daniel looked at her.
“I knew that.”
“She probably would have told you.”
“She absolutely would have told me.”
Rebecca’s face crumpled.
She turned away quickly and went into the bathroom.
Daniel heard the lock click.
He stood alone in the hallway.
In the morning, his company’s board requested an emergency call.
Daniel almost refused.
Then Rebecca came into the kitchen, poured coffee, saw him staring at the incoming messages on a borrowed phone, and said, “Take it.”
He looked up.
“I don’t care about work.”
“You cared on Thursday.”
The words landed without volume.
Daniel set the phone down.
Rebecca rubbed her forehead.
“I’m not trying to be cruel every minute.”
“You can be.”
“That sounds generous until you have to live with it.”
He said nothing.
She poured a second cup, forgot whether she had added milk, added more, and swore under her breath.
Daniel watched her.
She stared at the pale coffee.
“I haven’t slept.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
Then she closed her eyes.
“Sorry.”
Daniel almost laughed at the symmetry.
Instead he picked up the phone.
The board call lasted twenty-eight minutes.
Mercer Rowan’s lead independent director, Thomas Greer, spoke first. Their general counsel joined. So did the head of human resources and the chair of the audit committee.
Nobody used the word affair initially.
They talked about Vanessa’s access privileges.
Corporate devices.
Possible misuse of authentication credentials.
Potential obstruction of a police investigation.
May you like
Reputational exposure.
Daniel listened until Greer said, “We also need clarity about your personal relationship with Ms. Cole because it may implicate disclosure obligations under company policy.”
