Chương 6
Especially Reynolds.
Ethan stared at him.
“I said move.”
Reynolds looked down at Claire, then toward the staircase.
His eyes settled on the broken phone above.
“What happened?”
“She fell.”
Claire laughed once.
It hurt.
Margaret spoke before Ethan could.
“There was a struggle over stolen materials. Ms. Morgan lost her footing.”
Claire raised her hand.
“He pushed me.”
The gray-haired donor was still watching.
His phone was now clearly pointed toward them.
Margaret saw it.
Her entire posture changed.
“Please don’t record an injured woman.”
The donor lowered the device slightly.
Claire said, “Keep recording.”
Margaret looked at her.
“Claire.”
“Keep recording.”
The donor lifted the phone again.
Ethan turned on him.
“Howard, put that away.”
Howard.
A name.
Claire would remember that too.
Howard did not lower it.
“I think we wait for the police.”
Ethan gave him a look that probably worked on many people.
It did not work now.
Howard was old enough, rich enough, or simply annoyed enough not to care.
“Your guest is bleeding on the floor, Ethan.”
“She’s not a guest.”
“No,” Howard said. “I gathered that.”
The paramedics arrived before the police.
Two came through the front entrance carrying gear while a third rolled a stretcher behind them.
Their presence broke the strange social paralysis.
People began talking again.
Questions.
Instructions.
Someone from the foundation staff tried to usher onlookers away.
Claire was fitted with a cervical collar despite her protests.
“My neck is fine.”
One paramedic, a woman with tired eyes, said, “That’s lovely. Hold still.”
“My shoulder hurts more.”
“Shoulder can wait.”
“I hate this thing.”
“So does everybody.”
The normal irritation of her voice almost made Claire cry.
Not because she was kind.
Because she was ordinary.
Claire had spent weeks inside a world where every sentence seemed to contain leverage. The paramedic simply wanted her not to move.
“Do you know what day it is?”
“August ninth.”
“Where are you?”
“At the Vale residence.”
“Who’s the president?”
Claire stared at her.
The paramedic smiled slightly.
“I have to ask.”
Claire answered.
Then two uniformed officers entered.
Ethan immediately moved toward them.
Margaret caught his sleeve.
He stopped.
That tiny gesture told Claire their balance had changed again.
Margaret wanted lawyers before explanations.
One officer approached Claire.
“We’ll talk after medical clears you.”
“I have evidence.”
“I understand.”
“No, you don’t.”
The paramedic pressed two fingers gently against Claire’s wrist.
“Ma’am.”
Claire closed her eyes.
Right.
Not everything needed to happen immediately.
That lesson had been offered to her repeatedly.
She had mostly ignored it.
The micro-drive was still in her hand.
“Can you put this somewhere safe?”
The officer looked at it.
“What is it?”
“Digital evidence.”
Margaret said from behind him, “It contains stolen corporate records.”
Claire opened her eyes.
“Then everybody agrees it’s important.”
Howard made a sound that might have been a laugh.
Margaret looked at him.
He became interested in his phone.
The officer pulled an evidence bag from his kit.
Claire hesitated.
Chain of custody.
Barbara’s voice came back to her.
Possession creates decisions.
“Your name?”
“Officer Aaron Mills.”
Claire looked at his badge.
The number matched what he said.
She placed the drive into the bag.
Ethan watched it disappear.
For the first time since Claire had met him, he looked afraid.
Not panicked.
Not ruined.
Afraid.
The paramedics lifted Claire onto the stretcher.
As they rolled her toward the door, she saw the shattered phone still lying upstairs.
A useless black rectangle surrounded by glittering glass.
She had imagined she would feel triumphant if the backup ever mattered.
She felt nothing like triumph.
She felt nauseated.
At the hospital they diagnosed a fractured clavicle, two cracked ribs, a concussion, a deep bruise along her hip, and a cut on her cheek that did not require stitches.
“No brain bleed,” the emergency physician said.
Claire was lying under a thin hospital blanket and trying not to vomit.
“That sounds positive.”
“It is.”
“You don’t sound excited.”
“I’ve learned not to celebrate people falling down marble staircases.”
“Professional policy?”
“Personal.”
He told her someone would need to stay with her overnight.
Claire said she lived alone.
“Then call someone.”
“I can manage.”
“No.”
“I’ve had concussions.”
“That is not persuasive.”
Eventually Claire called Molly.
Her sister answered on the second ring.
“Hey.”
“Molly.”
Silence.
“What happened?”
Claire had intended to say she was fine first.
She did not.
“I’m at Northwestern.”
“What happened?”
“I fell.”
“You fell where?”
Claire closed her eyes.
“At a house.”
“What house?”
“It’s complicated.”
Molly’s voice changed.
“I’m coming.”
“You’re in Milwaukee.”
“I know where Milwaukee is.”
“It’s late.”
“I also know what time is.”
“Molly.”
“What hospital?”
Claire told her.
After the call, she lay staring at the ceiling tiles.
A nurse came in to check her blood pressure.
“Family coming?”
“My sister.”
“Good.”
“She’s going to be mad.”
“Probably.”
“That was fast.”
The nurse shrugged.
“Sisters are consistent.”
Claire almost smiled.
Two detectives interviewed her at 1:30 in the morning.
Barbara arrived first.
She wore jeans, running shoes, and an old Northwestern sweatshirt.
“You look terrible,” she said.
“Thank you.”
“I’m not your mother.”
“My mother would say I look tired.”
“She sounds more diplomatic.”
Barbara listened while Claire described the night.
She stopped her several times.
“Only what you saw.”
“I know.”
“No theories.”
“I know.”
“Then stop giving me theories.”
The detectives arrived ten minutes later.
Detective Lena Brooks did most of the questioning.
Her partner, Mark Hsu, took notes and occasionally asked for times.
Claire explained the anonymous messages, the library, the documents, Ethan taking the phone, the balcony, the shove.
Brooks asked whether Claire had consumed alcohol.
“No.”
“Medication?”
“No.”
“Any prior relationship with Ethan Vale?”
“Professional.”
“Personal?”
“No.”
“Any romantic history?”
Claire stared at her.
Barbara touched Claire’s arm before she answered.
“No.”
Brooks nodded as though the question had been no more interesting than asking the weather.
“Any physical confrontation before the staircase?”
May you like
“He grabbed my wrist.”
“Did you strike him?”
