Chương 2 - CHRISTMAS MORNING
Roman did not sit.
“Where is she?”
“I’m not telling you.”
Margaret had worked for the Carter family twenty-two years.
She had known Roman when he was sixteen.
That probably explained why she was still alive after saying things nobody else would.
“Margaret.”
“No.”
His face became cold.
“My wife is thirty-seven weeks pregnant.”
“And you left her alone.”
“I know.”
“With another woman waiting downtown.”
Roman said nothing.
Margaret looked at him.
“I know about the picture.”
His face changed.
“Savannah showed me.”
“Where is she?”
“She said she’s safe.”
“That isn't enough.”
“For you.”
“It should not be enough for you either.”
Margaret approached.
“You still think this is about danger.”
Roman stared.
“It’s about your wife finally realizing you have made every decision in this marriage and called it protection.”
He looked toward the ring.
“She left.”
“Yes.”
“Did you help her?”
“Yes.”
Rage flickered.
Then disappeared.
Margaret saw both.
“You want to fire me?”
“No.”
“Threaten me?”
“No.”
“Send men after her?”
Roman looked toward the note.
His jaw tightened.
“No.”
That answer cost him something.
Good.
He picked up the ring.
“What exactly did she see?”
Margaret laughed once.
“You mean other than you holding Claire Bennett?”
Roman closed his hand around the ring.
“It isn't what—”
“Don't.”
His eyes lifted.
“Please don’t embarrass yourself further.”
Roman Carter had made judges nervous.
Margaret turned toward the kitchen.
“Your dinner is in the refrigerator.”
He almost looked offended.
“I’m not hungry.”
“I didn't ask.”
She left.
Roman remained beside the tree until sunrise.
At 7:12 a.m., he sent me one message.
I’m sorry. I won’t send anyone. Please tell me you and the baby are medically safe. Nothing else.
I turned my phone back on at eight.
Read it.
Waited.
Then replied:
We are safe. Do not come here.
His response arrived immediately.
Okay.
That surprised me.
Roman rarely heard no without searching for an alternative route.
At ten, my attorney called.
I already had one.
Not a divorce attorney.
A woman named Dana Kline who had reviewed our prenuptial agreement before I married Roman.
I had not spoken to her in years.
Now I said:
“I need to understand what happens if I leave.”
Dana did not ask whether I was sure.
Good lawyer.
She asked:
“Is there immediate danger?”
“No.”
“Physical abuse?”
“No.”
“Financial access?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have independent money?”
“Some.”
“Joint accounts?”
“Yes.”
“Do not move large amounts without advice.”
“Okay.”
“Are you planning to keep your husband from the baby?”
“No.”
That answer came immediately.
I hated Roman.
At least in that moment.
But our daughter was not a weapon.
Dana continued:
“Then we start with information.”
Margaret’s philosophy apparently infected everyone sensible.
By afternoon, I downloaded records.
Joint accounts.
Insurance.
Mortgage.
Credit cards.
Corporate benefits connected to me.
Everything legally accessible.
The first discovery came quickly.
A furnished apartment downtown.
$11,500 monthly.
Paid by Carter Strategic Communications.
Occupant:
Claire Bennett.
My hands went cold.
Corporate apartment.
Could be legitimate.
Then furniture purchases.
Wine.
Jewelry.
A weekend hotel in Wisconsin.
Private dining.
Flowers.
One handwritten reimbursement description:
C.B. personal — R.C. approved.
Roman.
Total over eight months:
$187,420.
I stopped counting.
Then Dana found something worse.
“Savannah.”
“What?”
“Did Roman ever discuss a family security agreement?”
“No.”
“I want to send you something.”
PDF.
Prepared six weeks earlier.
CARTER FAMILY POST-BIRTH SECURITY PROTOCOL.
My stomach tightened.
The document was not yet signed.
But it had been drafted.
Our daughter’s primary residence:
Cook County, Illinois.
Travel outside Illinois exceeding seventy-two hours required security approval.
Security personnel selected by Carter Protective Services.
Medical providers screened by Carter security.
Residential changes subject to threat assessment.
It read like a hostage agreement written by lawyers.
“Is this enforceable?”
“Not automatically.”
“Did Roman order it?”
“The attorney notes say ‘per RC protective planning request.’”
My chest tightened.
Roman knew.
Maybe not every line.
Enough.
Dana continued:
“There’s another document.”
A proposed separation framework.
My heart stopped.
“Separation?”
Drafted three weeks ago.
Before Christmas.
Before the photograph.
Before I asked him to stay.
Roman had already been planning the end.
The proposed timing section read:
No filing or public announcement prior to delivery and initial postpartum stabilization.
I stared.
“He was going to wait until after I gave birth.”
Dana said nothing.
There was nothing useful to say.
I read the financial section.
Generous.
Very generous.
House.
Support.
Medical costs.
Trust for the baby.
Roman had designed the perfect abandonment package.
He had planned to break my heart efficiently.
My phone rang.
Roman.
For the first time, I answered.
Silence.
Then:
“Savannah.”
“Were you going to leave me after the baby came?”
Nothing.
That was the answer.
I closed my eyes.
“How long?”
His voice dropped.
“We need to speak in person.”
“No.”
“Savannah—”
“How long?”
A pause.
“October.”
Same month Claire began appearing everywhere.
My daughter kicked.
I pressed my hand against my stomach.
“Did you sleep with her?”
Silence.
“Roman.”
“Yes.”
One word.
Six years collapsing.
I swallowed.
“How many times?”
“That won't help.”
“Do not decide what helps me.”
He stopped.
Then:
“More than once.”
I almost laughed.
“Thank you for the precision.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No.”
My voice became calm.
“You're sorry I found out before your schedule allowed it.”
“That isn't fair.”
“Christmas Eve.”
Silence.
“You looked at your watch.”
He stopped breathing for a second.
I continued:
“I asked you to stay.”
“I know.”
“And you checked the time.”
“I know.”
“You already knew the marriage was ending.”
“Yes.”
That honesty finally arrived when it was useless.
“Then here's one more thing you can know.”
May you like
My voice did not shake.
“I am filing for divorce.”
