Part 4
His mouth tightened. “You don’t get to apologize and repeat the accusation in the same breath.”
“That’s usually how apologies work when two things are true.”
He almost smiled. It vanished before it fully formed.
The next morning, Amelia was discharged with instructions to rest and return immediately if she experienced bleeding, contractions, dizziness, reduced fetal movement, or worsening pain. Daniel drove as though every pothole had been placed to harm them personally.
At home, the nursery door stood open. They had painted the walls pale green because they did not know the baby’s sex. A half-assembled crib occupied the center of the room, surrounded by screws, packaging, and an instruction booklet Daniel had accused of being translated from another language by a person who disliked furniture.
Amelia stopped in the doorway.
“We know now,” she said.
Daniel set down her bag. “We do.”
“A girl.”
“I heard.”
They stood there without moving.
On the changing table sat three pairs of socks Amelia’s sister had mailed from Oregon. One pair had yellow ducks. One had strawberries. One said TAX DEDUCTION.
Daniel picked up the last pair.
“Your sister thinks she’s funnier than she is.”
“She thinks everyone is less funny than she is.”
“That too.”
It was the first ordinary exchange they had managed since the fall.
Amelia sat in the nursery chair. Her hip hurt. Her shoulder ached beneath the bruise. She watched Daniel sort crib pieces into piles he had already sorted twice.
“Did Nia say what we should do?”
“She said not to contact the museum until she reviews everything.”
“She represents us?”
“She can. I said we’d decide together.”
Amelia nodded.
He held up two nearly identical screws. “These are apparently different.”
“They are different.”
“How?”
“One is longer.”
“They’re the same length.”
She leaned forward, then winced.
Daniel crossed the room immediately. “Don’t.”
“I was going to show you.”
“You were told to rest.”
“I was told not to climb stairs. No one said I couldn’t identify hardware.”
He crouched in front of her. The irritation left his face.
“Are you in pain?”
“A little.”
“Contraction?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
He looked at her belly as if he expected the baby to answer independently.
Amelia touched his cheek. “I’m here.”
Daniel closed his eyes.
For several seconds, neither of them spoke.
Then he said, “I don’t know what I would have done if—”
“I know.”
“No. I don’t think you do.”
His voice broke on the last word. He lowered his head until his forehead rested against her knee.
Amelia placed one hand on his hair.
“I was scared before I fell,” she said.
“Of Vanessa?”
“Of the report.”
He looked up.
“I found the first altered record in February. A customs form for a sixth-century reliquary. The scanned copy in our database showed it entering Switzerland in 1971. The paper copy in off-site storage had 1981 typed over a correction strip.”
“Why does ten years matter?”
“Because the source country changed its export law in 1974. If the earlier date is real, the object might have left legally. If the later date is real, it probably didn’t.”
“And someone changed the date.”
“Someone changed one of them. Then I found two more objects with the same dealer and the same shipping agent.”
“The foundation donated all three?”
“Yes.”
“Victor?”
“His father. But Victor signed later transfer documents and insurance renewals. He knew there were questions.”
“Did Vanessa?”
“I didn’t think so.”
“Until the gala.”
Amelia looked toward the half-built crib.
“She quoted a sentence from the report that I had never said aloud.”
Daniel sat back on his heels.
“Which sentence?”
“‘The pattern suggests deliberate laundering of provenance through charitable transfer.’”
“That sounds hard to misremember.”
“It was on page twenty-seven.”
“And she knew it.”
“Yes.”
The doorbell rang.
Daniel stood.
“Are you expecting anyone?”
“No.”
He checked the security camera on his phone.
Vanessa stood on their porch.
She wore a camel coat over black trousers, not the burgundy dress from the gala. Her dark hair was tied back. Without evening makeup and museum lighting, she looked younger and more exhausted.
Daniel’s face closed.
“She doesn’t come inside.”
Amelia struggled to her feet.
“You’re not talking to her.”
“She came here.”
“That’s not a reason.”
“It is to me.”
Daniel stepped between her and the hallway. “Amelia.”
“I need to hear what she says.”
“We have a lawyer now.”
“Then call Nia.”
Vanessa rang again.
Daniel called Nia.
Seven minutes later, with Nia listening by speakerphone, Vanessa entered the living room. Daniel remained standing. Amelia sat on the sofa with a cushion behind her hip.
Vanessa did not remove her coat.
Her eyes moved over Amelia’s bruised wrist, the edge of the abdominal support band beneath her sweater, and the hospital discharge papers on the coffee table.
“I’m sorry,” Vanessa said.
Daniel gave a short laugh.
Nia’s voice came from the phone. “Ms. Hale, before you continue, Amelia and Daniel are not agreeing to confidentiality. They are not waiving any claims. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Are you represented by counsel?”
“My brother’s counsel is not my counsel.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“No. I’m not.”
Nia paused. “Then be careful.”
Vanessa looked at Amelia. “I did not push you.”
“Why did you grab me?”
“You were trying to walk away.”
“That usually means the conversation is over.”
“I panicked.”
Daniel said, “So you put your hands on a pregnant woman at the top of a staircase.”
Vanessa’s gaze shifted to him. “Yes.”
He seemed almost disappointed by the lack of denial.
Amelia asked, “How did you know what was in my report?”
Vanessa sat in the chair across from her.
“Victor showed me twelve pages.”
“Why?”
“He wanted me to convince you to delay it.”
“Why would he think you could?”
“Because you trusted me.”
May you like
The answer landed more cleanly than an excuse would have.
Amelia had worked with Vanessa for five years on educational grants, donor tours, and restoration campaigns. Vanessa remembered the names of junior staff. She sent handwritten notes when employees had babies or lost parents. Once, during a winter fundraiser, she had spent twenty minutes helping a caterer collect broken champagne flutes after a tray collapsed.
