Chapter 4
I woke up to silence.
For one terrible second, I forgot where I was.
Then I remembered the operating room.
The contractions.
The monitors.
My baby.
I tried to sit up.
Pain tore across my abdomen.
A nurse hurried over.
“Sarah, don’t move.”
“My daughter.”
“She’s alive.”
Two words.
I broke.
I cried so hard I couldn’t breathe.
The nurse held my shoulder.
“She was delivered by emergency C-section. Two pounds, thirteen ounces. She’s in the NICU.”
“Can I see her?”
“As soon as you’re stable enough.”
“Is she okay?”
“She’s very premature, but she came out fighting.”
Fighting.
Of course she did.
She had already survived her father.
My mother was asleep in the chair by the window.
The nurse woke her gently.
Mom rushed to my bed.
“She’s beautiful.”
“You saw her?”
“Through the glass.”
“Does she have hair?”
Mom laughed through tears.
“A little.”
I cried again.
“What did you call her?”
“I didn’t.”
Daniel and I had argued about names for months.
Now there was no argument.
“Grace.”
Mom nodded.
“Grace.”
I closed my eyes.
Grace Carter.
Then immediately opened them.
“No.”
Mom frowned.
“What?”
“She’s not going to have his name.”
That decision came from somewhere deeper than thought.
My daughter would not carry the name of the man who tried to prevent her from being born.
“Grace Whitmore,” I whispered.
My mother squeezed my hand.
“Grace Whitmore.”
Three hours later, I saw her.
She was tiny.
Too tiny.
Tubes surrounded her.
A miniature hat covered her head.
Her chest rose and fell so quickly it scared me.
I slid my hand through the opening in the incubator.
Her fingers curled around the tip of mine.
I lost every defense I had left.
“Hi, baby.”
My voice broke.
“I’m your mom.”
Her fingers tightened.
“I’m sorry.”
A nurse standing beside me shook her head.
“You have nothing to apologize for.”
But I did.
I had brought Daniel into our lives.
I had ignored things.
Excused things.
Protected him from questions because that was what wives did, I had told myself.
Not anymore.
“I’m going to keep you safe.”
Grace’s tiny hand stayed wrapped around my finger.
“Whatever it takes.”
Detective Ruiz came to the hospital that afternoon.
This time she brought a prosecutor.
Assistant State Attorney Michael Grant introduced himself.
He had the calm voice of someone accustomed to terrible stories.
They asked Mom to remain because I requested it.
Ruiz began with Daniel.
“He was arrested this morning.”
My heart jumped.
“Charges?”
“Evidence tampering, fraud-related offenses, and conspiracy charges are being evaluated. Additional charges are likely.”
“Attempted murder?”
Grant answered.
“We’re building toward the strongest case supported by evidence.”
I hated the careful language.
But I understood.
“What did he burn?”
Ruiz placed photographs on the tray table.
Charred paper.
A metal file box.
Half-burned folders.
“We recovered fragments.”
One photograph showed part of a printed email.
I could read only a few words.
…transfer upon death…
Another showed an insurance document.
Another had my forged signature.
“There was also this.”
Ruiz showed me a photo of a handwritten list found under Daniel’s patio.
GROCERY STORE
SATURDAY 2–4
CAMERAS NORTH SIDE
CART RETURN BLOCKS VIEW
My stomach turned.
“He planned where she should hit me.”
“We believe so.”
Grant leaned forward.
“Sarah, we need to discuss Rachel Monroe.”
I nodded.
“She was married to Mark.”
Daniel’s accountant and business partner.
“What do you know about her disappearance?”
“Almost nothing. She left Mark six months ago.”
“That’s what Mark reported.”
“Wasn’t that true?”
Ruiz opened another file.
“Rachel was last confirmed on surveillance entering Daniel’s office building.”
My skin prickled.
“When?”
“The night she disappeared.”
“Did police know?”
“The footage wasn’t recovered until yesterday.”
“How?”
“Lauren.”
I stared at her.
Ruiz continued.
“Lauren told investigators Daniel kept a private storage drive hidden at his office. We obtained a warrant.”
“Why would Lauren know that?”
“Because Lauren worked for Daniel.”
I frowned.
“She told me she was a real estate assistant.”
“She was.”
“For his company?”
“Yes.”
I hadn’t known.
Daniel had described Lauren as someone he met at a networking event.
Lie after lie.
“What was Rachel doing at his office?”
“We don’t know.”
“Is she dead?”
Ruiz paused.
“We don’t know.”
“But Daniel had a plane ticket for her.”
“Yes.”
“For tomorrow.”
“Yes.”
“So she’s alive.”
“Possibly.”
“Or he wanted it to look like she was.”
The detective’s eyes sharpened.
“That possibility has occurred to us.”
My mother crossed her arms.
“What kind of man did my daughter marry?”
I didn’t answer.
I was starting to realize none of us knew.
Ruiz showed me another photograph.
A bank statement.
“Do you recognize this account?”
“No.”
“It’s in your name.”
My head snapped up.
“What?”
“Opened fourteen months ago.”
“I never opened that.”
“It received almost nine hundred thousand dollars in transfers from shell companies connected to Daniel’s business.”
I stared at her.
“He put stolen money in my name?”
“That’s one possibility.”
“Why?”
Grant answered quietly.
“To make you responsible if it was discovered.”
My mother stood so quickly her chair scraped the floor.
“That son of a—”
“Mom.”
“No. I’m done being polite about this man.”
Grant almost smiled.
I didn’t.
Because suddenly I understood a message Lauren had mentioned.
Evidence that could send Daniel to prison.
Maybe Daniel wasn’t afraid of what I knew.
Maybe he was afraid investigators would discover what he had put in my name.
If I died, he could blame everything on me.
Dead people couldn’t defend themselves.
“He was setting me up.”
Ruiz nodded.
“That’s our working theory.”
“For how long?”
“At least a year.”
A year.
Before I knew about Lauren.
Before the pregnancy.
Maybe before Grace was conceived.
I turned toward the NICU wall as though I could see my daughter through it.
“Was my pregnancy an accident to him?”
No one answered.
A knock sounded.
A nurse entered.
“There’s an attorney asking to see you.”
“Daniel’s?”
“No. She says she represents the Whitmore Family Trust.”
My mother stood.
“That must be Margaret.”
The woman who entered looked to be in her late fifties.
Gray suit.
Leather briefcase.
Sharp eyes.
“Sarah Whitmore?”
I hadn’t used that name since my wedding.
“Yes.”
“I’m Margaret Cole.”
She turned toward my mother.
“Evelyn.”
My mother looked uncomfortable.
“Margaret.”
The attorney sat.
“I heard what happened.”
“How?”
“Your mother called me.”
I looked at Mom.
She nodded.
Margaret opened her briefcase.
“There are things you need to know about your grandfather’s trust immediately.”
“How much is the land worth?”
“That depends on pending offers.”
“What offers?”
She placed a folder in front of me.
“Your grandfather’s property sits beside land purchased for a major logistics and technology corridor.”
I opened the folder.
The first offer was thirty-eight million dollars.
The second was forty-four million.
The third?
Fifty-one million.
My hands went numb.
“Fifty-one million dollars?”
“That was submitted three weeks ago.”
My mother stared at the number.
“Henry bought that property for ninety thousand.”
Margaret nodded.
“Your grandfather was patient.”
I looked at her.
“Who knows about the offers?”
“My office. The trust’s financial adviser. Your mother.”
“Daniel?”
“He contacted me eight weeks ago.”
Everything stopped.
“He did what?”
“He claimed you had authorized him to discuss the trust.”
“I never did.”
“I suspected that.”
“What did you tell him?”
“Almost nothing.”
“Almost?”
“I confirmed the trust existed.”
My mother closed her eyes.
Margaret continued.
“He asked what would happen if you died before taking control.”
The room went silent.
“What did you say?”
“I told him the trust agreement controlled succession.”
“Did you tell him he gets it?”
“No.”
I blinked.
“But Mom said—”
“Your mother has not seen the amended trust.”
Mom looked confused.
“Amended?”
Margaret nodded.
“Your father changed it three months before his death.”
She turned to me.
“If you die before thirty-five, your husband does not inherit the property.”
I felt relief so suddenly I nearly laughed.
Then Margaret added, “But Daniel had no way of knowing that unless someone showed him the amendment.”
“So he thought killing me would make him rich.”
“Yes.”
“What actually happens if I die?”
Margaret’s gaze softened.
“Your surviving children inherit.”
My eyes filled.
Grace.
Everything would go to Grace.
Margaret looked at the prosecutor.
“And that creates a second problem.”
Grant sat straighter.
“What?”
“If Sarah dies, Daniel would ordinarily become guardian of his daughter.”
I stopped breathing.
Meaning he might not inherit directly.
But he could control the child who did.
My mother whispered, “He knew she was having a girl.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
“You told me you didn’t tell anyone.”
“We didn’t.”
“Daniel knew.”
“How?”
Mom’s face changed.
“I saw a pink bracelet in his desk drawer two months ago. I thought it was from the doctor.”
My heart started pounding.
He had attended one appointment alone.
He told me the clinic had called him to correct an insurance form.
What if he had asked?
What if he had already known Grace was the beneficiary he needed?
Ruiz’s phone rang.
She stepped into the hallway.
Thirty seconds later, she returned.
Her expression was different.
Urgent.
“We have a problem.”
“What?”
“Daniel made a phone call from jail.”
Grant frowned.
“To whom?”
“His attorney, technically.”
“Technically?”
Ruiz looked at me.
“The conversation was protected until Daniel asked his lawyer to relay a message to someone else.”
My skin went cold.
“What message?”
Ruiz glanced toward the NICU.
“He said, ‘The mother survived. Take care of the daughter before she signs anything.’”
I was already trying to get out of bed.
Pain ripped through my incision.
“Grace.”
“Sarah, stop.”
“My baby!”
Ruiz grabbed her radio.
The hospital alarm sounded.
Then another nurse burst into the room.
May you like
Her face was white with fear.
“Someone just tried to enter the NICU using a stolen staff badge.”
