Chapter 3 - The Room Christina Was Never Supposed to Leave
The familiar voice came through the conference-room door.
“Jonathan, open up.”
I knew that voice.
Everyone at Prescott Development knew that voice.
Richard Vale.
My chief financial officer.
My friend of twenty-three years.
The same name Rebecca had just whispered into my ear.
The same man Christina had apparently tried to warn me about before the hospital sedated her again.
Marcus raised one finger.
Stay quiet.
Richard knocked again.
“Jonathan?”
Leo tightened his arms around my neck.
David muted the laptop.
Nobody moved.
Richard continued.
“Florence is worried. Guests are asking questions.”
Marcus stepped close to the door but did not unlock it.
“How did you know Jonathan was in here?”
A pause.
Then Richard laughed softly.
“Marcus, I recognize your voice.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“David texted me earlier.”
David’s eyes narrowed.
He mouthed:
No, I didn’t.
Richard knocked once more.
“This is becoming ridiculous.”
I finally spoke.
“Richard.”
Silence.
Then:
“There you are.”
“What do you want?”
“To keep your wedding from collapsing.”
I stared at the door.
“You care that much about my wedding?”
“I care about you.”
“You always have?”
Another pause.
“Jonathan, what the hell is going on?”
His voice sounded exactly like the man I trusted.
That was the problem.
People imagine betrayal sounds different.
It doesn’t.
It sounds familiar.
It knows your birthday.
It remembers how you take your coffee.
It stands beside you at funerals.
It tells you to slow down when your blood pressure is too high.
Richard had done all of those things.
He had sat in the front row at Margaret’s funeral.
He had driven Christina home afterward because I could barely speak.
He had attended Leo’s baptism.
He had been one of the first people I told when I planned to propose to Florence.
And now Christina had named him.
I needed to know why.
“Go back to the ballroom,” I said.
“Not until you tell me what’s happening.”
“Do it, Richard.”
“Jonathan—”
“Now.”
The friendliness vanished from his voice.
Only for half a second.
But I heard it.
“Fine.”
Footsteps moved away.
Marcus waited.
Ten seconds.
Twenty.
Then he quietly opened the door two inches.
Empty hallway.
He shut it again.
“Camera?”
He pointed toward a black dome mounted near the ceiling.
“Hotel system.”
“Could Richard access it?”
“Anyone with hotel security credentials could.”
David looked at me.
“Or someone working with somebody who has them.”
Richard had arranged the venue contract.
Not because I asked him.
Because he volunteered.
Florence wanted the Grand Ellison Hotel because its ballroom could accommodate everyone without feeling crowded.
The hotel initially told us the date was unavailable.
Richard called someone.
Suddenly it became available.
At the time, I had considered it a favor.
Now every favor looked like a door I had allowed somebody to open.
Marcus checked the hallway again.
“We move.”
“To the hospital.”
“Yes.”
“What about Florence?”
David answered.
“You don’t tell her anything yet.”
“She’ll know something’s wrong.”
“She already knows.”
That silenced me.
Of course she did.
Someone had texted me about the USB.
Richard had somehow known which conference room I was in.
The man captured inside my house had entered the hotel service corridor minutes earlier.
Whatever this was, we were not ahead of it.
We were standing inside it.
Marcus arranged for two members of his security team to meet us at a private loading entrance.
We left through the hotel’s administrative corridor.
No ballroom.
No guests.
No Florence.
For the first time in my life, I abandoned an event bearing my name without explanation.
As we walked, I called Rebecca.
“Tell Christina I’m coming.”
“She’s asleep.”
“Stay with her.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“And Rebecca?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t tell anyone where her room is.”
She hesitated.
“Too late.”
My steps stopped.
“What do you mean?”
“The hospital has her under her real name.”
“Who knows she’s there?”
“Doctors. Nurses. Me. You.”
“Anyone else?”
Another hesitation.
“Florence called.”
My throat tightened.
“When?”
“About twenty minutes ago.”
“What did she ask?”
“She said she heard Christina had gotten sick.”
“How did she hear that?”
“I asked the same thing.”
“And?”
“She said you told her.”
“I never told Florence.”
Rebecca went silent.
Neither of us needed to say what that meant.
“What else did she ask?”
“She wanted the room number.”
“Did you give it to her?”
“Of course not.”
“Did she sound surprised?”
“No.”
That answer frightened me most.
I ended the call.
Marcus had heard enough.
“We need hospital security involved.”
He made the call.
We reached the loading dock.
A black SUV waited.
I strapped Leo into the car seat that had been moved from Christina’s vehicle earlier that week.
His little hands rested in his lap.
He looked exhausted.
“Grandpa?”
“Yes?”
“Are you getting married?”
I looked at him.
“No.”
The word came easily.
Too easily.
Maybe some part of me had already made the decision the second Leo pointed toward Florence.
“Florence gonna be mad?”
“That’s not your job to worry about.”
“Mommy was mad.”
“At Florence?”
He nodded.
“What were they fighting about?”
Leo stared out the window.
“She wanted Mommy to give her the paper.”
“What paper?”
He shrugged.
“Blue paper.”
My heart skipped.
David heard it too.
“The trust folder?”
“I don’t know.”
I showed Leo a photograph on my phone.
The blue leather trust binder.
“Like this?”
He studied it.
Then shook his head.
“No. Little blue paper.”
“Did Mommy have it?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“In her bag.”
“What did Florence do?”
“She said, ‘Give me that.’”
“And Mommy?”
“She said no.”
“What happened next?”
Leo’s mouth tightened.
“She grabbed Mommy.”
My chest constricted.
“Where?”
He touched his upper arm.
Exactly where the hospital found bruising.
“Then Mommy pushed her.”
“And then?”
“Mommy told me go room.”
“Your bedroom?”
He nodded.
“What did you hear?”
He looked down.
“A glass broke.”
David turned toward me from the passenger seat.
“Last night?”
Leo nodded.
“And then?”
“Mommy got sleepy.”
I had to look away.
Children should not have vocabulary for watching their mothers lose consciousness.
Marcus drove faster.
When we arrived at St. Matthew’s, two uniformed hospital security officers met us at the emergency entrance.
One escorted Leo with David to a private family room.
The other took Marcus and me upstairs.
Rebecca was waiting outside Christina’s room.
She looked like she had aged ten years since breakfast.
She wrapped her arms around me.
I held her.
Then stepped back.
“What happened?”
“I found her at six-thirty this morning.”
“Why were you there?”
“She called me at two.”
“Christina?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
“Not much. She sounded strange.”
“Drugged?”
“I didn’t realize it then.”
Rebecca rubbed her hands together.
“She asked me to come get Leo.”
“Why?”
“She said she had proof.”
“Of Florence?”
“And somebody else.”
“Richard?”
Rebecca’s eyes lifted.
“Yes.”
There it was again.
“Why Richard?”
“She wouldn’t tell me over the phone.”
“What did she say exactly?”
Rebecca closed her eyes, remembering.
“She said, ‘Aunt Rebecca, Dad isn’t marrying one liar. He’s marrying into a plan Richard helped build.’”
My stomach dropped.
“Helped build what?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then what?”
“I drove over. Her apartment door was partly open.”
“Open?”
“Yes.”
“When I walked in, Florence wasn’t there.”
“And Christina?”
“Bedroom floor.”
I looked through the glass panel in the hospital door.
My daughter lay beneath a white blanket.
IV line in her hand.
Bruising near her shoulder.
The sight did something anger could not.
It removed doubt.
Not legal doubt.
Not investigative doubt.
But the part of me that still wanted someone to explain this away.
I entered.
Christina looked small.
She had always hated hospitals.
Even as a child.
Margaret used to sit beside her during every vaccination because Christina could tolerate pain better than the anticipation of it.
Now tubes surrounded her.
I sat beside the bed.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
Her eyelids moved.
Then opened.
Slowly.
“Dad?”
“I’m here.”
She tried to sit.
“Don’t.”
“Leo?”
“Safe.”
Her entire body relaxed.
“You have him?”
“Yes.”
She closed her eyes.
“Thank God.”
I took her hand.
“Christina, I need you to tell me what happened.”
She swallowed.
“Did he give you the drive?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes opened immediately.
“You watched it?”
“Some.”
“Not all?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“Why?”
Fear crossed her face.
“Because the last file isn’t only evidence.”
“What does that mean?”
She glanced toward the door.
“Who came with you?”
“Marcus. David.”
“Richard?”
“No.”
Her fingers tightened around mine.
“Don’t trust Richard.”
“I know.”
“You don’t.”
“I know enough.”
“No, Dad.”
She tried to push herself upright again.
The monitor beeped faster.
“Christina.”
“He knew about Florence before you met her.”
Everything stopped.
“What?”
“He knew her.”
“How?”
“I found emails.”
“Between them?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then what?”
“Richard was on the board of a company she worked for.”
“What company?”
Her breathing quickened.
I pressed the nurse button.
Christina grabbed my wrist.
“No.”
“You need to rest.”
“No, you need to listen.”
I leaned closer.
She whispered a name.
“Havenport.”
I knew it.
Havenport Capital.
An investment management company that collapsed eight years earlier after a fraud investigation.
Investors lost hundreds of millions.
Two executives went to prison.
Richard had always claimed he had no involvement.
“What does Florence have to do with Havenport?”
Christina answered.
“She wasn’t Florence Fairmont then.”
My hand froze.
“What was her name?”
Christina shook her head weakly.
“I put it on the drive.”
“Why didn’t you just tell me?”
“Because you wouldn’t believe me.”
That hurt because it was true.
She had tried.
Again and again.
And I had made Florence’s feelings more important than Christina’s warnings.
“I believe you now.”
Tears formed at the corners of her eyes.
“Too late.”
“No.”
“I almost didn’t wake up.”
My throat closed.
“But you did.”
“Because Rebecca came.”
“I’m sorry.”
She turned her face away.
“For what?”
“For making you feel like you had to investigate the woman I was marrying instead of being able to talk to me.”
Her eyes closed.
“When Mom died, you stopped listening whenever the truth hurt too much.”
I had no defense.
The nurse entered.
She checked Christina’s vitals.
“She needs rest.”
“Two minutes.”
“One.”
When the nurse left, Christina whispered:
“Florence came to my apartment at eleven.”
“Leo told me.”
“She wanted something.”
“The blue paper.”
Christina looked startled.
“He remembered?”
“Yes.”
She almost smiled.
“Smart kid.”
“What was it?”
“A bank access record.”
“Whose?”
“Richard’s.”
I leaned forward.
“What did it show?”
“He transferred money.”
“To Florence?”
“No.”
“Then where?”
“To someone who changed her identity.”
My skin went cold.
“How much?”
“Forty thousand.”
“When?”
“Two months before you met Florence.”
The room tilted.
Richard had not simply known Florence.
He may have helped create her.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did Florence tell you?”
“She said I’d never get the chance to show you.”
“Then she hit you?”
Christina looked away.
“She grabbed me. I pushed her back.”
“What happened after that?”
“There was someone else in the apartment.”
My voice dropped.
“Who?”
“I didn’t see his face.”
“The man from the video?”
“Maybe.”
“What did he do?”
“He came up behind me.”
Her hand moved toward the bruise on her shoulder.
“I felt something sharp.”
“Injection?”
“I think so.”
My stomach turned.
“Then?”
“I got to my bedroom.”
“How?”
“I locked myself in.”
“Leo?”
“With me.”
“Florence got in?”
“No.”
That did not make sense.
“Then how did they leave you drugged?”
“They didn’t.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
Christina looked toward the door.
“The person who injected me was already inside the bedroom.”
Cold spread through my chest.
Someone had been waiting in her room.
Someone who knew the apartment.
Someone who knew Christina would retreat there.
“Who?”
Her mouth opened.
Then the hospital intercom crackled.
A calm female voice announced:
“Code Silver. Fourth floor. Secure all patient rooms.”
Marcus appeared in the doorway immediately.
His hand was inside his jacket.
“What happened?” I asked.
“Someone used a stolen physician badge to access this wing.”
Rebecca stood behind him.
White-faced.
“Jonathan.”
“What?”
She held up her phone.
A new message had arrived from Christina’s apartment security system.
BEDROOM MOTION DETECTED.
Christina stared at the screen.
“That’s impossible.”
“Why?”
“My apartment is supposed to be empty.”
Then another alert appeared.
BEDROOM CAMERA ONLINE.
I looked at Christina.
“You have a bedroom camera?”
“No.”
A live image loaded.
Dark room.
Unmade bed.
Open closet.
Then a figure stepped slowly into frame.
Christina stopped breathing.
May you like
The person moved closer to the hidden camera.
And lifted his face.
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