Chapter 3 - MY WIFE ACCUSED MEHelena refused to see me.
That was the first thing Detective Park told me.
The second was worse.
My wife believed I had ordered someone to kill her.
For eleven years, I had lived in rooms where accusations were weapons.
Boardrooms.
Depositions.
Negotiations.
Shareholder fights.
I knew how to hear an allegation without reacting.
But there is no training for hearing that the woman who sleeps beside you thinks you tried to murder her.
“What exactly did she say?”
Park closed the consultation-room door.
“She says she received messages from your number telling her to leave through the east service entrance because someone inside the house was trying to hurt Eli.”
“I sent nothing.”
“She followed the instructions.”
“And?”
“A black SUV was waiting outside.”
“That isn’t one of ours.”
“She says a man stepped out.”
“Who?”
“She couldn't see his face.”
“What happened?”
“He grabbed her. She fought him. She ran into the woods.”
“Why would she think I arranged it?”
“The messages came from your phone number.”
“My number can be spoofed.”
“Yes.”
“She knows that.”
“She was scared.”
I sat down.
“Let me see her.”
“No.”
“Lena.”
“No.”
It was the first time I used her first name.
She didn’t care.
“Your wife specifically requested not to have contact with you until police determine whether the messages were authentic.”
“She’s my wife.”
“And currently a potential victim.”
“She’s alone.”
“She has two officers with her.”
“She needs me.”
Park held my gaze.
“Maybe. But she doesn’t believe that right now.”
That hurt more than it should have.
At 5:42 a.m., Dr. Shah returned.
Eli had stabilized enough to remain in pediatric intensive care.
The toxicology results were preliminary, but doctors had identified exposure to a powerful prescription medication that had no legitimate reason to be anywhere near an infant.
They had removed it.
They were treating the effects.
His condition remained serious.
But he was alive.
I stood beside his crib at sunrise.
He looked impossibly small beneath the hospital lights.
His hand rested open beside his head.
I put my little finger against his palm.
After several seconds, his fingers curled weakly around it.
That nearly destroyed me.
“You stay,” I whispered.
“I don't care what anybody else does. You stay.”
Behind me, someone said, “He gets that stubbornness from you.”
Julian.
I turned.
He stood in the doorway with his hands visible.
A police officer waited behind him.
“Get out.”
“I need to talk to you.”
“Did you not hear me?”
“Helena asked me to come.”
“And somehow everyone knows more about my wife than I do.”
“She was afraid to tell you.”
“Why?”
Julian glanced at Eli.
“Not here.”
I stepped into the hallway.
The officer followed.
Julian rubbed his face.
He looked exhausted.
“When Helena called me, she said she had been tracking strange things around Eli for two weeks.”
“What strange things?”
“His bottles were moved. His blankets were changed. Nursery drawers she kept locked had been opened.”
“Why didn’t she tell me?”
“She tried.”
“She did not.”
“She sent you messages.”
“I never got them.”
“She showed me screenshots.”
That stopped me.
“What?”
“She sent you five messages over nine days.”
“I received none.”
“One said, ‘Adrian, someone is going into Eli’s room when we’re asleep.’ Another said she wanted to replace the household staff.”
“Sofia?”
“She trusted Sofia.”
“Then who?”
“She didn’t know.”
I took out my phone.
I searched Helena’s thread.
Nothing.
Julian continued.
“She also left you voicemails.”
“No.”
“Three.”
My stomach tightened.
“You're lying.”
“Why would I lie about that?”
“Because lying is what brought us here.”
His face hardened.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“You still think the entire universe revolves around the fight you and I had after Dad died.”
“You tried to leverage company debt to force me out.”
“Because Dad promised me a role.”
“Dad changed his mind.”
“After you spent six months whispering into his ear.”
“He was dying, Julian.”
“And you were collecting signatures.”
The officer shifted.
I lowered my voice.
“This is not about Dad.”
“No,” Julian said. “It’s about your son. Which is why I came even though I knew you’d treat me like this.”
“What else did Helena tell you?”
“She thought someone was deleting things from her phone.”
I stared at him.
“Deleting?”
“Messages. Photos. Notes.”
“Then why call you?”
“She bought a prepaid phone.”
Of course she had.
Helena was cautious when frightened.
Her father had been a federal prosecutor.
She grew up around people who documented everything.
“Where is it?”
“Police have it.”
“Did she say she suspected someone?”
Julian looked toward the ICU.
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“Your mother.”
I laughed once.
It sounded wrong.
“My mother can be cruel. She can be controlling. She is not murdering infants.”
“I didn’t say she was.”
“What did Helena think Margaret was doing?”
“She thought your mother was trying to prove she was unfit.”
That made more sense.
Margaret had never accepted Helena.
My mother came from three generations of old Boston money.
Helena came from a comfortable but ordinary family in Providence.
When I proposed, Margaret smiled at dinner and later asked whether I was “quite certain we needed to dilute the family.”
I didn’t speak to her for six months.
After Eli was born, the hostility softened.
Or I believed it had.
“She thought Margaret was moving things in the nursery to make her question herself,” Julian continued.
“That sounds like Mother.”
“She also believed Dr. Cole was involved.”
I stopped.
“Why?”
“Because Nathan kept telling her she was exhausted.”
“She was exhausted.”
“He suggested postpartum anxiety.”
“That isn’t an insult.”
“No, but Helena thought he was using it to make you dismiss her.”
I looked through the glass at Eli.
A memory surfaced.
Helena standing beside our bed three weeks earlier.
“Adrian, somebody moved the monitor.”
I had barely looked up from my laptop.
“Housekeeping probably cleaned it.”
“I told them not to touch it.”
“Then ask Mrs. Dalca tomorrow.”
“You’re not listening.”
“I am listening.”
“No. You’re solving.”
At the time, I had considered that sentence unfair.
Now I understood it perfectly.
My phone buzzed.
Park.
“Come downstairs.”
We found her near hospital security.
Helena sat in a private room behind her.
She had scratches along one cheek and dried blood beneath her nose.
When she saw me through the window, she flinched.
Actually flinched.
I stopped moving.
Park noticed.
“She agreed to speak with you for five minutes.”
I walked in slowly.
Helena stood.
She wore hospital scrubs.
Her bare feet were wrapped in temporary slippers.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
She laughed.
It wasn't humor.
“Is Eli alive?”
“Yes.”
“Can I see him?”
“As soon as police finish.”
Tears filled her eyes.
I moved toward her.
She stepped back.
I stopped.
“Helena.”
“Did you send those messages?”
“No.”
“Do you swear?”
“Yes.”
“On Eli?”
The question angered me.
Then I saw her face.
“On Eli.”
Her shoulders dropped slightly.
“I thought…”
“I know.”
“No. You don’t.”
She reached into a clear evidence bag sitting on the table.
Park had apparently allowed her to show me something.
A printed screenshot.
My name at the top.
Adrian
Below it:
Take the east stairs. Don't tell anyone. Eli isn't safe. I'll explain outside.
Then:
Leave your regular phone upstairs. They’re tracking it.
Then:
Trust me for once.
I stared.
Helena whispered, “That last sentence is what convinced me.”
“Why?”
“Because you say it when you're angry.”
She was right.
I hated that.
“Whoever sent this knew us.”
“Yes.”
“Did you see the man?”
“Only for a second.”
“Anything?”
“Tall. Broad shoulders. Gloves.”
“What kind of SUV?”
“Black. Maybe a Range Rover.”
Half of Boston owned black SUVs.
“Why did you call Julian?”
Her eyes shifted.
“Because I had nobody else.”
“You had me.”
“I tried you.”
“I never received—”
“I know that now!”
Her voice cracked.
“I tried you over and over, Adrian. You were never there.”
The room went quiet.
Then she said the sentence that hurt worse than the accusation.
“You live in the same house, and somehow I’ve been alone for six months.”
I had no defense.
So I gave none.
“What did you think my mother was doing?”
Helena wiped her cheek.
“Trying to make me look unstable.”
“And Nathan?”
“He backed her.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
She looked toward the door.
“And there’s something else.”
“What?”
“Two weeks ago, I caught Nathan in the nursery.”
“At what time?”
“Almost midnight.”
“What did he say?”
“That he heard Eli crying.”
“Did you believe him?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because Eli wasn’t crying.”
My blood chilled.
“He was asleep.”
Helena nodded.
“And Nathan was standing over his crib.”
Before I could respond, Detective Park opened the door.
“We’ve got a development.”
“What?”
She looked at Helena.
“Mrs. Vale, the vehicle you described was found.”
Helena gripped the table.
“Where?”
“Abandoned near Route 127.”
“And the driver?”
“Gone.”
“Registered to?”
Park looked at me.
“Vale Meridian Group.”
I stared at her.
“One of my corporate vehicles?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then what?”
“It was retired from your fleet fourteen months ago and sold at auction.”
“To whom?”
“A holding company.”
“Which one?”
“Bellweather Holdings.”
I knew the name.
Julian did too.
Because Bellweather Holdings had once belonged to our father.
It was supposed to have been dissolved after his death.
Park continued.
“We also recovered blood from the back seat.”
Helena went pale.
“Mine?”
“Probably.”
“And something else.”
Park placed a photograph on the table.
A black leather wallet.
Inside was an identification card.
The face belonged to a man I knew.
Thomas Reed.
Former Vale Meridian security.
Fired two years ago for assaulting an employee.
And hired originally by one person.
My brother.
I turned toward the hallway.
Julian stood behind the glass.
May you like
He could not hear us.
But when he saw the photo in my hand, all the color vanished from his face.
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