Chương 2
“This is Cole Whitmore. Freeze Lauren Whitmore’s cards immediately and flag any transactions involving the children. I also need the location attached to her family account.”
There was a pause.
Cole straightened. “Did you hear me?”
The representative’s reply was calm. “Mr. Whitmore, you no longer have authority over either.”
“Over either what?”
“The family accounts or Mrs. Whitmore’s financial profile.”
“I am the primary account holder.”
“Not on the Bennett accounts.”
“I manage the trust.”
“That authority was suspended at eleven forty-two this evening.”
“By whom?”
“I’m not permitted to disclose internal authorization details.”
“You are speaking to the chief executive of Whitmore Bennett Holdings.”
“According to the notice received by our legal department, you no longer hold that title on an active basis.”
Cole’s face emptied.
Sierra shifted her weight. “Cole?”
He ended the call without saying goodbye.
His phone vibrated again. This time it was his chief financial officer. Then his board chair. Then the head of building security. He rejected all three calls and opened his location-sharing app.
Lauren’s name had disappeared.
He called her.
The call went directly to voicemail.
In the underground garage beneath the building, Lauren watched Cole’s name illuminate the screen of her phone. The twins were coughing softly in the rear seat of a black SUV, each secured in an infant car seat beneath a cream blanket. Their cheeks were pink with fever. Lily slept with her mouth slightly open. Noah made a thin unhappy sound, then settled when Lauren placed two fingers against the side of his face.
She did not answer.
Mr. Harris stood beside the rear passenger door, his silver hair bright under the garage lights. At sixty-two, he had the patient stillness of someone accustomed to letting angry people exhaust themselves. His charcoal overcoat was buttoned to the throat. A black document bag rested on the concrete between his shoes.
“You need to get in,” he said. “The driver has the hospital address.”
Lauren kept her hand on Noah’s cheek. “His fever was lower twenty minutes ago.”
“The pediatric nurse said to bring them in if the cough continued.”
“I know what she said.”
“You’re allowed to be frightened.”
“I’m not frightened.”
Mr. Harris looked at the fading finger-shaped bruises around her wrist.
Lauren pulled the sleeve of her cream sweatshirt down beneath her dark coat. “I’m functioning.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
The elevator indicator at the far end of the garage remained on fifty-eight.
Lauren imagined Cole discovering the nursery. She had recorded the message three times, deleting the first because her voice shook and the second because Noah coughed in the background. On the third, she had sounded almost cold. She had hated herself for being pleased by that.
“He’ll come down,” she said.
“Building security has instructions not to let him into this section.”
“He gives instructions to building security.”
“Not anymore.”
Lauren looked at the ceiling, toward the apartment above them. “He thought he owned the cage. He never checked who owned the building.”
Mr. Harris’s expression did not change, though something softened in his eyes. “That sounds like your mother.”
“My mother would have said it better.”
“Your mother would have said it louder.”
Lauren gripped the document bag, then climbed into the SUV beside the twins. Mr. Harris closed the door and walked around to the front.
As they pulled away, Cole’s name appeared on her phone again. This time it was followed by a text.
WHERE ARE MY CHILDREN?
A second message arrived.
YOU CANNOT TAKE THEM.
Then a third.
LAUREN, ANSWER ME BEFORE YOU MAKE THIS WORSE.
She turned the phone facedown.
Noah coughed.
The sound was faint, but it cut through her more sharply than Cole’s threats ever had.
Six hours earlier, Lauren had been sitting on the nursery floor with both babies crying when she saw the photograph.
The apartment had smelled of pine from the tree and of the onion soup she had forgotten on the stove. Noah had been feverish since morning. Lily had refused two bottles and then screamed from hunger when Lauren tried a third. Cole’s assistant had sent a message at seven fifteen saying he would be delayed at the office.
At eight forty-three, Sierra Lane posted a photograph from the Metropolitan Winter Benefit.
Cole stood beside her beneath a crystal chandelier, one hand at the small of her back. Sierra wore the red satin dress. Cole’s white shirt was open at the collar, his bow tie loose around his neck. In the image, he was looking down at her with an expression Lauren had not seen directed at herself in years—not love, exactly, but attention without impatience.
The caption read: Some gifts arrive before midnight.
Lauren stared until Noah’s crying changed pitch.
She picked him up and smelled sour milk in his hair. He pressed his hot forehead against her neck. On the monitor beside the glider, Lily kicked weakly beneath her blanket.
The photograph itself was humiliating. What followed was worse.
Lauren called Cole.
He declined the call.
She called again.
He sent a message.
IN A MEETING.
Lauren took a screenshot of Sierra’s post and sent it to him.
The three typing dots appeared, vanished, and returned.
DON’T START THIS TONIGHT.
Noah coughed against her collarbone.
Lauren typed, Both babies have fevers. The pediatric nurse wants them watched closely. Please come home.
Cole answered, You have staff.
The night nurse had gone home sick that morning. Cole knew that. Their housekeeper had left before six to catch the last train to her daughter’s apartment in Queens. The only staff in the penthouse were the same imaginary employees Cole invoked whenever he wanted Lauren’s needs to sound excessive.
She sent, There is no one here.
May you like
He did not respond.
At nine nineteen, another photograph appeared on a society account. Cole and Sierra stood on a private terrace. His mouth was against her temple. In the lower corner of the image, reflected in the glass, Lauren could see the man who had taken the picture: Dane Mercer, Cole’s communications director.
