Chapter 6 — The Empire Cracks

Rachel turned off the television when I opened my eyes.

I looked at the blank screen.

“Was that him?”

She set down the remote.

“Yes.”

“What happened?”

“He was taken in.”

“At the club?”

She nodded.

I adjusted the pillow beneath my arm.

The movement pulled at the soreness across my abdomen, and I waited for it to pass.

“Did they get the recording?”

“The detective has the original files.”

“And the messages?”

“Those too.”

I closed my eyes briefly.

That was the first thing I had needed to know.

Rachel sat beside me.

“Eleanor’s coming this afternoon.”

“Good.”

“There’s something else.”

I opened my eyes.

“What?”

“The story’s out.”

I had authorized Eleanor to help release material that showed what Vincent and Vivian had done.

I hadn’t wanted strangers watching my unconscious body.

The public clip stopped before anyone else approached the bed. My face was blurred. The audio carried the rest.

Vincent’s instructions.

Vivian’s questions.

Their plan to accuse me after the birth.

I had signed off on the edited version with my own finger against Eleanor’s laptop screen.

“This part,” I had said. “People need to hear this part.”

Now they had.

“How far?” I asked.

Rachel looked at the television again.

“Far.”

She handed me my phone.

The number of messages was so large I thought something had gone wrong with it.

People I hadn’t spoken to in years.

Neighbors.

Women from charity committees.

One of Vincent’s cousins.

Some messages were kind.

Some began kindly and ended with a question I didn’t owe anyone an answer to.

How long had I known?

Had I noticed anything?

Why had I stayed?

I put the phone facedown.

Rachel watched me.

“You don’t have to read them.”

“I know.”

“People are awful.”

“Some people.”

She nodded, grateful for the correction.

A nurse came in with my medication and asked whether I wanted breakfast.

I said yes.

After she left, Rachel moved the tray closer.

There was toast, a bowl of fruit, and a cup of tea.

Such ordinary things.

I couldn’t understand how they belonged in the same world as the night before.

I picked up a piece of toast.

Then put it down.

Rachel waited.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I said.

“Like what?”

“Like I’ll disappear if you blink.”

Her mouth trembled.

“I found you on a stretcher.”

“I’m still here.”

“I know.”

“No. I need you to know.”

She looked down and wiped her cheek.

“All right.”

I ate half the toast.

Then I asked her to find my hospital envelope.

The keepsakes were inside.

Not the duplicates I had sent Vincent.

Mine.

I touched the corner of the card bearing the footprints, then slid it back into the envelope.

“Put this in my bag,” I said.

Rachel did.

A little later, the detective returned with another officer.

They asked whether I could speak.

I could.

They went through the timeline again, slowly.

When I had found the medical records.

When I had installed the camera.

Who had access to the recording.

What I remembered at the club.

I told them about the guard at the side entrance.

The packed bag.

The message to Rachel.

The woman with the towels.

“I don’t know her name,” I said. “She called the ambulance.”

“We’re speaking with the staff.”

“She helped me.”

“We’ll find her.”

When they asked about Vincent outside the room, I repeated the conversation as closely as I could.

Lie down.

Keep your voice down.

Someone will check on you.

The detective wrote it down.

I watched the pen move.

Until then, those words had existed inside my head.

Seeing someone record them made them feel separate from me.

Something another person could carry.

Before they left, I asked a question.

“Has he asked to see me?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t want that.”

The detective nodded.

“We’ve made that clear.”

“And Vivian?”

“We’re still speaking with everyone involved.”

I wanted an answer that would make me feel safe.

She gave me an honest one instead.

I was learning to prefer those.

Eleanor arrived after lunch.

She put a folder on the small table and pulled up a chair.

“Before we talk about the marriage, how are you feeling?”

“Angry.”

“That’s an answer.”

“Tired too.”

“We can keep this short.”

“No. I want to know what I can do.”

She opened the folder.

“We start by separating your immediate safety, your divorce, and the criminal investigation. They overlap, but they aren’t one decision.”

“Can he stop me divorcing him?”

“He can make the process harder. He cannot make you stay married forever because he dislikes the result.”

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

“He’ll threaten my money.”

“Then we need a clear picture of it.”

I told her what I knew.

The house.

The accounts Vincent had opened for me.

The properties he had put in my name when the family’s finances became strained.

The documents I had signed without being given copies.

Eleanor’s expression sharpened.

“What kind of documents?”

“I don’t know all of them.”

“Do you remember which attorney prepared them?”

“Yes.”

I gave her the name.

She wrote it down.

“Don’t agree to anything new without showing me.”

“I won’t.”

“And don’t let anyone tell you signing divorce papers can make this investigation disappear. That isn’t something he gets to bargain away.”

I looked at her.

“Good.”

She studied me for a moment.

“I’m going to need your marriage agreement, bank records, and any property documents you can access.”

“My bag is at the house.”

“Your passport too?”

“Yes.”

“We’ll arrange to recover your belongings. You won’t go back alone.”

Rachel stood by the window.

For the first time that day, she seemed to relax.

Eleanor took out a second folder.

“There are already calls from his business partners.”

“To me?”

“To my office, after the statement identified me as your attorney.”

“What do they want?”

“To distance themselves. Some also want to know whether you hold interests they need to account for.”

I remembered Vincent telling me not to worry about the papers.

Just sign here, sweetheart.

I’ll take care of it.

“What did you tell them?”

“That we’re reviewing everything.”

“And Vincent?”

“His attorney contacted me this morning.”

My stomach tightened.

“What did he say?”

“That your husband is devastated.”

I looked at the envelope in my bag.

“Then he’s finally paying attention.”

Eleanor didn’t smile.

“He wants to speak with you.”

“Not yet.”

“All right.”

“I’ll tell you when.”

She closed that folder without trying to persuade me.

After she left, Rachel went downstairs to get coffee.

I asked her to bring me another tea.

When she returned, she looked furious.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Rachel.”

“Two women in the lobby were talking.”

“About me?”

She set the drinks down.

“One said she couldn’t understand why you’d let the recording become public.”

I looked at the curtains.

They were open now, and I wanted them to stay that way.

“What did you say?”

“That she should be wondering why he did it.”

I picked up the tea.

“It’s easier to ask what a woman should have done.”

Rachel sat.

“You don’t regret it?”

“No.”

She looked toward my bag.

“Even with everyone knowing?”

“They don’t know me.”

“They know what happened.”

“Some of it.”

I set the cup down.

“And none of it makes me guilty.”

Rachel nodded.

I needed to say it again, so I did.

“I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I know.”

This time, I believed that she did.

That evening, Eleanor called.

The estate records were accessible. Some assets were already registered in my name. Others would require careful work.

She would bring the documents the next morning.

Then she hesitated.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Vincent has asked again.”

“To see me?”

“Yes. His attorney says he’ll cooperate with the financial disclosure if you agree to a meeting.”

I looked at Rachel.

She was folding a cardigan over the back of the chair.

I thought about the medical folder hidden in my overnight bag.

The schedule.

The tiny footprints.

Vincent knew I had evidence now.

He knew the world had heard him.

But he still believed he understood what he had lost.

“Tell his attorney I’ll consider it,” I said.

“Under what conditions?”

“You’ll be there. I decide when the conversation ends.”

“Of course.”

“And bring every document he needs to sign.”

Eleanor was quiet for a moment.

Then she said, “I’ll prepare them.”

After the call, Rachel came closer.

“Are you really going to sit across from him?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t owe him that.”

“I’m not doing it for him.”

I reached for a clean sheet of paper from the bedside table.

At the top, I wrote everything Vincent believed he still controlled.

Our marriage.

The house.

The money.

The story he would tell about me.

Then I drew a line beneath the list.

Rachel watched me set down the pen.

“What are you going to say?”

I looked at the closed envelope beside my bag.

“Something he won’t be able to stop hearing.”