Chapter 9
The next seven days were the longest of Abigail's life.
Every morning, she went to the hospital. Sat with Spencer. Held his hand. Listened to him lie. Watched Brenda and Henderson perform their roles.
Every evening, she went to Cole's office. Reviewed the evidence Green was collecting. Listened to the recordings. Saw the photographs.
And every night, she lay in Naomi's guest room and stared at the ceiling. Waiting.
Green was everywhere.
He photographed Henderson meeting a known drug dealer behind a bar on Tuesday night.
He recorded Brenda transferring ten thousand dollars from Abigail's old medical payments to her sister's account in Florida.
He documented Spencer sneaking out of the hospital at 2 AM on Wednesday. Driving to a casino an hour away. Losing twelve thousand dollars at the blackjack table. Returning to his hospital bed at 5:30 AM. Just in time for the morning shift.
And on Thursday—three days before the deadline—Green hit the jackpot.
“Got him,” he said, bursting into Cole's office. Breathless. Holding a laptop. “I got everything.”
He opened the computer. Hit play.
A video.
Night-vision. Grainy. But clear enough.
It was Spencer's hospital room. 1:47 AM.
Spencer was sitting up in bed. Fully dressed. No IV. No oxygen. Looking healthy as a horse.
He was on the phone.
“—everything is on schedule,” he was saying. “She brings the money tomorrow at ten. We do the transfer. I tell her the clinic confirmed it. Then next week, we do the pill swap. Her heart medication with something a little stronger. The coroner will call it natural causes. We'll be in Costa Rica by the end of the month.”
A pause. The person on the other end spoke. Henderson.
“Are you sure about the pill swap? What if she doesn't take them that night?”
“Then we do it the night after. Or the night after that. She trusts me completely. She leaves her pills on the kitchen counter every morning. I swap the bottle while she's making coffee. One pill. That's all it takes. Quick. Painless. And nobody will ever suspect a thing.”
Another pause.
“Spencer… what about the body? If they do an autopsy—”
“They won't. She's sixty years old with a history of hypertension. Her husband died of heart issues. It's the most natural death in the world. The DA won't waste the money. Trust me. We've done this before, remember?”
The camera zoomed in.
Spencer's face.
Clear as day. Smiling. As he planned his own mother's murder.
“One more thing,” he said. “After she's gone, I want you to handle the body. Make sure the death certificate is clean. No loose ends. And Marcus?”
“Yeah?”
“Double your fee. You've earned it. After tomorrow, we're rich men. Untouchable. We'll never have to work again.”
The video ended.
The room was silent.
Cole let out a long breath.
“That's it,” he said. “That's the whole thing. Conspiracy to commit murder. Solicitation. Fraud. Forgery. Everything. We don't even need the exhumation now. This video is enough to put them away for life.”
He looked at Abigail.
“Green—you already sent this to the DA?”
“Sent it an hour ago. They're drafting warrants as we speak. Arrest teams are standing by. They'll move tomorrow morning at nine. Thirty minutes before Abigail is supposed to hand over the rest of the money. We catch them red-handed with the fifty thousand already in their possession. Henderson in his office. Brenda at the nurses' station. Spencer in his bed. All three at once. No chance to warn each other.”
Abigail stared at the frozen image of her son on the screen.
He looked so young. So ordinary.
And he was planning to kill her for money.
“Tomorrow,” she said. “It all ends tomorrow.”
---
That night, Abigail couldn't sleep.
She went into the kitchen. Found Naomi sitting at the table. Drinking tea. Reading a book.
“Can't sleep either?” Naomi asked.
“Too much on my mind.”
Abigail sat down.
“Naomi… when this is over. What happens to you? You'll lose your job at the hospital. They'll blacklist you. You'll never work in health care again.”
Naomi smiled. It was a small, sad smile.
“Eleanor always told me I should go to law school. Said I had a knack for seeing when people were lying. Maybe now I'll finally take her advice. Cole already offered me a job as a paralegal. Said with my eye for detail, I'd be wasted anywhere else.”
“Really?”
“Really. And besides—where else would I go? You're family now, Abigail. Whether you like it or not. We're bonded. By blood spilled and money stolen and the worst men either of us ever knew.”
Abigail laughed. A real laugh. The first in a long time.
“Family,” she repeated. “I like the sound of that.”
---
Nine o'clock Friday morning.
Abigail stood outside the hospital.
Green was in the van across the street. Cole was in his car at the end of the block. Uniformed officers were positioned at every exit. Plainclothes detectives were already inside.
All they needed was the signal.
Abigail checked her watch.
9:02.
Time to go to work.
She walked inside.
The elevator was slow this morning. Or maybe it was just her heart beating so fast it made time feel wrong.
Third floor.
She walked down the hallway.
Past the nurses' station. Brenda was there. Smiling. Nodding.
Past Room 10. Room 11.
Room 12.
The door was slightly ajar. Just like it had been ten days earlier.
She paused outside.
Took a breath.
And walked in.
Spencer was sitting up. Henderson was there. Both of them were smiling. Greedy. Hungry.
“Right on time,” Henderson said. “The clinic just emailed. They're holding the slot. All we need is the transfer.”
Abigail set her purse on the table by the bed.
“Before we do that,” she said. Her voice steady. Strong. Nothing like the weak, grieving mother they were used to. “I have something I want you to see.”
She pulled out her phone.
Hit play.
The video from the night before.
Spencer's voice filled the room.
*“One pill. That's all it takes. Quick. Painless. And nobody will ever suspect a thing.”*
Spencer went white.
Henderson's face turned to stone.
“What is this?” Spencer whispered. “Mom, what is this?”
“This is the end, Spencer.”
Abigail backed toward the door.
“I knew everything. From the moment I stood outside this room ten days ago and heard you tell Brenda how to scam me out of every penny I had. I knew about the fake tests. The forged deed. The seventy-five thousand for the clinic that never existed. I knew you killed your father. And I knew you were planning to kill me.”
She pulled out the lottery ticket. Held it up.
“This is what you wanted. Twenty million dollars. You were right. I did win. But you were wrong about one thing.”
She smiled.
“You'll never touch a dime of it.”
The door burst open.
Four police officers. Guns drawn.
“Spencer Riley! Marcus Henderson! You're under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder, fraud, forgery, and a host of other charges. Turn around. Hands behind your backs.”
It happened fast.
Henderson didn't fight. Just put his hands up. Stared at Abigail with pure hatred in his eyes.
Spencer screamed.
“Mom! What are you doing? These are lies! She set me up! I'm sick! Can't you see I'm dying?”
He fell back against the pillows. Coughing. Gasping. The performance of a lifetime.
One of the officers ripped the IV from his arm. Pulled the oxygen tubes from his nose.
“Save it, kid. We have it all on tape. The casino trips. The bar tabs. The planning sessions. You're not dying. You're going to prison. For a very long time.”
They cuffed him. Pulled him from the bed.
As they dragged him past Abigail, he stopped fighting.
Looked her dead in the eye.
And the mask was gone. Completely.
“You'll regret this,” he said. Quietly. Only for her to hear. “You should have given me the money. Now you have nothing. No son. No husband. Just money. And you'll die alone with it. Just like you deserve.”
They took him away.
Henderson followed.
And from the nurses' station down the hall, Abigail heard Brenda screaming as they led her out in cuffs too.
It was over.
Ten days.
A lifetime of lies.
And it was all over.
May you like
Abigail sank into the hard plastic chair beside the bed.
And for the first time in ten days—maybe the first time in thirty-four years—she cried for herself.
