Chapter 3 - THE BOY WHO REFUSED TO GET INTO THE BLACK SUVBy the time I reached the police station, I had called Oliver seventeen times.
Seventeen.
Every call went straight to voicemail.
The cake was still on the floor of Nathan's hotel suite.
The three anniversary gifts remained on the dresser.
And my husband had been taken into a separate interview room after refusing to explain why his supposed security contractors had demanded the envelope.
I sat beneath fluorescent lights, holding a paper cup of coffee I couldn't drink.
Across from me, Vanessa Reed kept twisting a silver ring around her finger.
It wasn't a wedding ring.
I noticed that because, after what I'd discovered, I seemed incapable of ignoring jewelry.
"Why did you tell me?" I finally asked.
Vanessa looked up.
"What?"
"Why tonight? Why now?"
Her eyes were red.
"Because I knew you were coming."
I stared at her.
"You knew?"
"Nathan got a message from the concierge. Someone had requested a surprise anniversary delivery to the room."
That was me.
I'd called the hotel earlier to ask whether they could arrange flowers.
Vanessa swallowed.
"He laughed when he saw the request."
The words struck harder than I expected.
"He laughed?"
"He said you'd probably brought homemade cookies or another sentimental gift."
I looked down.
The scrapbook.
The little silver key.
The cake.
Everything I'd prepared with so much love had been a joke to him.
Vanessa's voice softened.
"I'm sorry."
I shook my head.
"You don't get to apologize for that."
She lowered her eyes.
"I know."
"How long have you been involved with him?"
"Eight months."
"He said six."
"He lied."
"Apparently that's his favorite hobby."
Vanessa looked miserable.
Under different circumstances, I might have enjoyed watching her squirm.
But tonight there was no room left in me for the ordinary jealousy of a betrayed wife.
My son was missing.
My mother might be alive.
And millions of dollars had somehow disappeared into companies bearing my husband's name.
"Tell me everything," I said.
Vanessa nodded.
"I was hired as an executive assistant at Briarstone Capital. Nathan told me he managed acquisitions for a private investment group."
"What was your job?"
"Travel arrangements. Document preparation. Banking correspondence."
She hesitated.
"At first."
"Then?"
"He started asking me to organize payments through companies that didn't appear to have employees or real offices. He claimed they were legitimate holding companies."
"And you believed him?"
"I wanted to."
There was an uncomfortable honesty in her answer.
She looked toward the interview rooms.
"Nathan was charming. He bought me things. He told me his marriage was over."
A bitter laugh escaped me.
"Funny. He forgot to tell his wife."
Vanessa nodded.
"I know."
She took a shaky breath.
"Three weeks ago, I was reviewing a transfer agreement when I saw a name I recognized."
"Whose?"
"Margaret Whitmore."
My mother's name.
Hearing it spoken aloud made my heart ache.
"Why did you recognize it?"
"Because Nathan had taken me to a medical facility outside Indianapolis. He told me we were visiting an elderly relative of an investor."
I leaned forward.
"What facility?"
"Rosehaven Behavioral and Recovery Center."
"Did you see her?"
"Yes."
My fingers tightened around the coffee cup.
"What did she look like?"
Vanessa's eyes filled.
"She had gray hair. Her left hand shook a little. She was sitting near a window with a blue blanket across her knees."
I couldn't breathe.
My mother had always loved blue.
When I was little, she'd worn the same soft blue cardigan every Christmas morning.
Vanessa continued.
"She seemed confused at first. But when Nathan left the room to speak with a doctor, she grabbed my hand."
"What did she say?"
Vanessa looked directly at me.
"She asked whether Emily was safe."
My eyes burned.
"She said my name?"
"She said, 'My daughter Emily. Has he hurt her?'"
A sob rose in my throat.
I covered my mouth.
For eleven years, I'd visited a grave.
For eleven years, I'd placed flowers beneath a stone engraved with my mother's name.
For eleven years, I'd told Oliver stories about the grandmother he'd never met.
And somewhere, possibly only a few hours away, my mother had been asking whether I was safe.
"Why didn't you call me?"
Vanessa's face crumpled.
"I was afraid."
"Of Nathan?"
"Of what he could do."
She glanced around the station.
"Two days after I asked questions about that visit, a man followed me home. The next morning, someone left a photograph of my younger brother on my windshield."
I stared.
"Did you report it?"
"No. Nathan told me it was a misunderstanding."
"And you believed him?"
"Not after I found the financial records."
I wanted to hate Vanessa.
Part of me did.
But another part recognized that the woman sitting across from me was frightened in a way I understood.
We'd both believed the wrong man.
The difference was that I'd believed him for twelve years.
A door opened.
Detective Laura Bennett entered, holding a folder.
She had been the officer at the hotel.
"Mrs. Cole?"
I stood so quickly the coffee spilled.
"Oliver?"
She nodded.
"He's safe."
My legs nearly gave out.
"Where?"
"At the county sheriff's office in Wisconsin. Your friend Detective Dawson is with him."
I pressed both hands over my face.
"Oh, thank God."
"His aunt Denise brought him there."
"Denise?"
"Apparently someone came to your house claiming you'd been involved in a serious accident."
My heart pounded.
"They wanted Oliver?"
"Yes."
"Who?"
"A man matching Marcus Vale's description."
I gripped the edge of the table.
"What happened?"
Detective Bennett sat down.
"Your son refused to leave."
I blinked.
"He what?"
"According to Denise, the man said you were in the hospital and needed Oliver brought to Chicago immediately."
Tears ran down my cheeks.
"Oliver called him a liar."
"Why?"
The detective's expression softened.
"Because your son knew your emergency family password."
I froze.
Our password.
Blueberry pancakes.
I'd created it when Oliver was seven, after a stranger approached children outside his elementary school.
I had told him that no adult, not even someone claiming to be a police officer, should persuade him to leave with them without appropriate verification.
If someone said I'd sent them, he was to ask for the password.
Only Oliver, Denise, Rachel, Nathan, and I knew it.
"What did the man say?" I whispered.
"He didn't know the password. Oliver ran back inside and locked the door."
I burst into tears.
My brave little boy.
My sweet, thoughtful son, who still slept with the battered stuffed elephant I'd bought before he was born.
He had protected himself when his own father had failed him.
Detective Bennett waited until I could breathe again.
Then she opened the folder.
"Mrs. Cole, there's something you need to understand."
I wiped my face.
"What?"
"Your husband has retained an attorney. He claims the men outside the hotel room were private security responding to a theft."
"A theft?"
"He alleges Vanessa stole confidential business documents."
Vanessa sat up.
"Those documents prove financial crimes!"
"That may be true," the detective said. "But we need to establish where the records came from and whether their contents are authentic."
I looked at her.
"Can you arrest him?"
"We're investigating. We can't base an arrest solely on these accusations."
The careful wording frustrated me.
"But he sent someone after my child."
"We're working with Wisconsin authorities to determine who arranged that attempted pickup."
She paused.
"There's another issue."
My stomach tightened.
"What now?"
"Mr. Cole has produced paperwork indicating he's Oliver's primary legal guardian."
I stared at her.
"That's impossible."
She slid a photocopy across the table.
At the top was a custody agreement.
My name appeared on the signature line.
Emily Cole.
The date was six months earlier.
I shook my head.
"I've never signed this."
Detective Bennett nodded.
"That's what we suspected you might say."
I examined the handwriting.
It looked almost perfect.
Almost.
But the last stroke of the E was wrong.
And beneath my signature was the name of a notary public I'd never met.
Suddenly I remembered something.
Six months earlier, Nathan had insisted I sign several forms related to our mortgage refinancing.
He'd brought them to the kitchen table after Oliver went to bed.
"Just routine paperwork," he'd said.
I had trusted him.
Without reading every page.
My stomach turned.
"What else did he make me sign?" I whispered.
The detective looked at Vanessa.
Vanessa began to cry.
Then she said something that made the room fall silent.
"Emily, the custody agreement isn't the only document."
I slowly turned.
"What do you mean?"
Vanessa covered her mouth.
"There was another one."
"What document?"
She looked at the detective.
Then at me.
"A life insurance policy."
My breathing stopped.
"On who?"
Vanessa whispered the answer.
"On you."
The detective immediately leaned forward.
"How much?"
Vanessa's voice was barely audible.
"Ten million dollars."
I stared at her.
"And when does it become active?"
She shook her head.
"It already is."
May you like
Then she added the detail that turned my blood to ice.
"Nathan asked the insurance broker about the waiting period for accidental death claims last Tuesday."
Related Stories
