Chapter 4 - THE FIANCÉE'S PERFECT LIE
Audrey's first instinct was not remorse.
It was calculation.
Victor watched her eyes move toward the windows, the library door, and the telephone on the desk.
He knew that expression.
He'd seen it on men negotiating their way out of impossible situations.
“Victor,” she whispered, “you don't understand.”
“Then explain.”
She began crying.
Real tears.
Beautifully timed.
“Your mother hates me.”
Victor said nothing.
“She never accepted me. She thought I wasn't good enough.”
“She trusted you with her medicine.”
Audrey wiped her cheeks.
“Because I begged her to let me help.”
Victor looked at her.
“Did you?”
She hesitated.
He continued.
“Or did you fire the nurses because they would have noticed?”
Audrey's expression flickered.
Then hardened.
“You have no idea what caring for someone like Sylvia is like.”
Victor felt his jaw tighten.
“Someone like Sylvia?”
“Someone who can't speak, can't move, can't even—”
She stopped.
Too late.
Victor stared at her.
“My mother,” he said quietly, “is still a person.”
Audrey looked away.
Rebecca entered with two uniformed officers and an investigator.
Audrey spun around.
“What is this?”
Victor stepped back.
“The police need to ask you questions.”
Audrey stared at him.
“You called the police?”
“Yes.”
“On me?”
“Yes.”
She laughed hysterically.
“Victor, you're Victor Moretti. You don't call the police.”
He looked at her.
“Today I did.”
Audrey's expression changed.
For the first time, she seemed genuinely afraid.
The officers explained that they were investigating suspected abuse and medication tampering.
Audrey refused to answer questions without counsel.
That was her right.
Victor didn't interfere.
He watched as she removed the engagement ring and placed it on the library table.
“You'll regret humiliating me,” she whispered.
Victor looked at the ring.
Then at her.
“I regret trusting you.”
By midnight, Audrey had left the estate under instructions not to contact Sylvia or Marta while investigators reviewed the evidence.
Victor sat alone in the library.
The ring remained on the table.
A diamond worth more than Marta earned in several years.
He remembered choosing it.
He'd believed Audrey's family name would help legitimize his business.
He'd believed a federal judge's daughter would understand loyalty.
He'd mistaken social standing for character.
At one in the morning, Dominic entered.
“Gerald Bell has disappeared.”
Victor looked up.
“When?”
“About an hour ago.”
“Where?”
“We don't know yet. His phone is off.”
Victor stood.
Dominic continued.
“And someone accessed the estate's financial server before leaving.”
Victor stared.
“What did they take?”
“Copies of several accounts.”
“Which accounts?”
Dominic hesitated.
“The ones connected to Aster Health.”
Victor felt cold.
The following morning, Rebecca arrived with a new discovery.
“Aster Health has another owner.”
Victor looked up.
“Who?”
“Not publicly listed. The ownership passes through two holding companies.”
“Can you trace them?”
“We're working on it.”
Rebecca placed a photograph on his desk.
It showed Gerald Bell standing outside a courthouse beside an older man in a dark suit.
Victor recognized him immediately.
Judge Harrison Whitcomb.
Audrey's father.
Victor stared.
Rebecca spoke quietly.
“Victor, I think this is bigger than Audrey.”
At the hospital, Sylvia was awake when Victor arrived.
He sat beside her.
“Mom.”
Her eyes followed him.
“I know I've failed you.”
A tear slipped down her cheek.
He took her hand.
“But I'm going to find out what happened.”
Sylvia moved her fingers.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Victor leaned closer.
She tapped his palm three times.
Then twice.
Then three again.
He frowned.
“Mom?”
She repeated the pattern.
Three.
Two.
Three.
Victor stared.
He remembered something from childhood.
When he was eight, Sylvia had taught him a simple code for communicating through the wall between their bedrooms.
Three taps meant danger.
Two meant look.
Three again meant behind.
Victor looked toward the wall.
Then back at his mother.
“Behind what?”
Sylvia's eyes moved toward the bedside cabinet.
Victor opened it.
Inside was a small framed photograph of Sylvia and his late father.
He lifted the frame.
Something rattled inside.
Victor turned it over.
The backing had been loosened.
He removed it carefully.
A folded piece of paper fell into his hand.
May you like
On it, written in Sylvia's shaky handwriting, were six words.
AUDREY DID NOT ACT ALONE.
