Chapter 4
The detective ordered us not to go home.
I was grateful.
For the first time in four years, the Whitmore estate felt like the last place on earth I wanted to be.
Adrian arranged a private suite at a hotel downtown.
Not one owned by him.
Not one connected to his company.
The police recommended keeping the location quiet.
Only Adrian, Noah, me, his attorney Helen Grant, and two security officers knew where we were staying.
I almost refused to come.
Then Noah started crying when I stepped toward the elevator.
That decided it.
“I’ll stay tonight.”
Adrian nodded.
“Thank you.”
His voice sounded exhausted.
The baby slept in a portable crib beside Adrian’s bed.
I took the adjoining room.
But sleep never came.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Vanessa moving the iron toward the crib.
At two in the morning, I heard Noah crying.
I was through the connecting door before I even thought about it.
Adrian stood beside the crib.
He looked helpless.
“He won’t let me put him down.”
“May I?”
He handed Noah to me.
The baby pressed his face against my chest and slowly settled.
Adrian sat on the edge of the bed.
“I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“You’re his father.”
“That doesn’t mean I know what I’m doing.”
I almost smiled.
“Most parents don’t.”
He looked at me.
“You always make it look easy.”
“It isn’t.”
Noah grabbed a strand of my hair.
I gently freed it.
“Babies are tiny dictators with terrible communication skills.”
Adrian actually laughed.
It lasted half a second.
Then his face collapsed again.
“I missed it.”
I knew what he meant.
The bruises.
The fear.
The messages.
“Vanessa made sure you missed it.”
“I traveled because she told me she wanted time alone with him.”
That surprised me.
“She said that?”
“Constantly.”
He looked toward the floor.
“She said I hovered. She said she needed to bond with her son without staff watching.”
My stomach tightened.
“She also kept trying to send me home early.”
Adrian looked up.
“When?”
“Over the last two months.”
I thought back.
“She complained that I worked too much. Said you were paying me unnecessarily.”
His expression darkened.
“She was isolating him.”
The words hung between us.
Noah made a soft sound.
I held him tighter.
At eight the next morning, Helen arrived.
She was in her fifties, sharp-eyed, calm, and carrying three folders.
She looked at me.
“Rachel?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Helen Grant.”
“I know.”
She glanced at my bruised cheek.
“I’m sorry.”
Then she turned to Adrian.
“We have several problems.”
Adrian poured coffee.
“Start with the worst.”
Helen opened the first folder.
“Vanessa was released on bond at six this morning.”
I nearly dropped the bottle I was preparing.
“Already?”
“Her mother posted it.”
Adrian’s face went cold.
Celeste Hart.
Vanessa’s mother.
She had money of her own.
Not Whitmore money.
But enough.
Helen continued.
“There is a protective order. Vanessa cannot come within five hundred yards of Noah or Rachel.”
“Good.”
“She also cannot return to the estate while the investigation is active.”
Adrian nodded.
“What else?”
Helen opened the second folder.
“Someone accessed your estate-planning portal four times in the last month.”
Adrian frowned.
“Who?”
“We’re tracing it.”
“Was anything changed?”
“No final documents. But drafts were downloaded.”
My stomach dropped.
“What kind of drafts?” I asked.
Helen looked at me.
“The kind showing exactly how much Vanessa would receive under different scenarios.”
Adrian stood.
“She ran calculations?”
“It appears that way.”
Helen slid several pages across the table.
I saw columns.
Numbers.
Millions.
Trust distributions.
Insurance.
Adrian turned away.
“How much?”
Helen hesitated.
“If Noah survives you, Vanessa receives approximately twelve million in direct assets and income from a marital trust.”
I stared at the page.
That was already more money than most families would see in ten lifetimes.
Helen continued.
“If Noah predeceases you, Vanessa’s eventual control could exceed two hundred million.”
The room became silent.
Adrian turned around slowly.
“She wanted more.”
Helen nodded.
“Possibly.”
He laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
“Twelve million wasn’t enough.”
I looked at Noah.
He was chewing on the corner of his blanket.
Worth more than every dollar on those pages.
Helen opened the third folder.
“This may be worse.”
Adrian sat again.
“What?”
“A life insurance policy was taken out on Noah.”
I stared at her.
“You can insure a baby?”
“Yes, though large policies require justification and underwriting.”
Adrian looked confused.
“I never signed one.”
“That’s the problem.”
Helen placed a copy of a signature page in front of him.
His name was there.
He studied it.
“That’s not my signature.”
Helen nodded.
“We suspected that.”
“Who is the beneficiary?”
She looked directly at him.
“Vanessa.”
My hands went cold.
Adrian pushed the paper away.
“How much?”
“Five million dollars.”
I whispered, “Oh my God.”
Noah laughed suddenly at the bottle in my hand.
The sound made all three of us look at him.
A happy little baby laugh.
For one second, the numbers became even more obscene.
Five million dollars attached to his death.
Adrian stood and walked toward the window.
“I want every account frozen that can legally be frozen.”
Helen nodded.
“I’ve started.”
“I want Gavin found.”
“The police are working on it.”
“And Celeste?”
Helen’s eyes sharpened.
“There’s no evidence against Vanessa’s mother yet.”
Adrian turned.
“She raised her.”
“That is not evidence.”
He knew she was right.
I respected Helen for saying it.
My phone buzzed.
I flinched.
Unknown number.
I didn’t open the message.
I handed the phone to Helen.
She read it.
Her expression changed.
“What?”
She showed us.
A photograph.
Me.
Standing outside the hotel.
Taken less than an hour earlier when I had gone downstairs to meet the pediatric pharmacy delivery.
Under the picture were five words.
YOU CAN’T HIDE WITH HIM.
Adrian was already calling security.
Helen looked toward the closed curtains.
“Rachel, has anyone outside this room been told where you are?”
“No.”
“Family?”
“No.”
“Friends?”
“No.”
“Anyone at the estate?”
I shook my head.
Adrian ended the call.
“Security is checking cameras.”
Helen stared at the photograph again.
“This wasn’t random.”
“No,” I said.
My heart pounded.
“They followed us.”
Then Adrian’s phone rang.
He answered.
One of the security officers spoke.
Adrian’s eyes narrowed.
“What do you mean?”
He listened.
Then he looked at me.
“The person who took that picture wasn’t outside.”
I felt a chill move down my spine.
Adrian continued listening.
Then his face hardened.
When he ended the call, I asked the question I was suddenly afraid to hear answered.
“Where were they?”
He looked toward the hotel hallway.
“Inside.”
I hugged Noah closer.
“Who?”
Adrian swallowed.
“They don’t know.”
Then came a soft knock on the suite door.
Three slow taps.
Nobody moved.
Another three taps.
Adrian motioned for us to stay back.
Security had been told not to knock.
Helen reached for her phone.
May you like
The handle slowly moved.
And someone on the other side tried to open the door.
