Chapter 3 - The Hospital Call
Two police officers entered the nursery seven minutes later.
By then I had moved the twins to their bassinets.
Emily sat in an armchair with a clean towel wrapped around each wrist.
Victoria stood near the window.
Officer Ramirez took one look at the bloodied restraints and separated us.
Everything became procedural.
Names.
Times.
Photographs.
Statements.
Questions repeated in slightly different ways.
Had Emily been free to leave?
No.
Had Victoria intentionally restrained her?
According to Emily, yes.
According to Victoria, she had “temporarily prevented an unstable employee from abandoning two infants during an emotional episode.”
Had Victoria struck her?
Emily said twice.
Victoria said once.
“Once?” I repeated.
Victoria's attorney had already arrived.
He was a silver-haired man named Leonard Price whom I recognized from several charity dinners.
He touched Victoria’s elbow.
“Don't elaborate.”
But it was too late.
Officer Ramirez wrote something down.
Paramedics examined Emily.
One recommended stitches for her lip and treatment for her wrists.
She refused to leave until she knew what had happened to Lucas.
“My phone,” she said.
Victoria looked away.
Officer Ramirez asked, “Where is it?”
Victoria hesitated.
“In my purse.”
The officer retrieved it.
There were seventeen missed calls.
Eleven from St. Catherine’s Hospital.
Three from Emily’s sister Rachel.
Two from an unknown number.
One voicemail notification appeared every few minutes as the phone reconnected.
Emily’s hands shook so violently that I took the phone.
“Do you want me to play them?”
She nodded.
The first message came from a nurse.
“Ms. Parker, this is St. Catherine’s Pediatric Cardiology. Lucas experienced another episode. Please call immediately.”
The next was more urgent.
The fourth message made Emily stop breathing.
“Ms. Parker, Lucas has been transferred to intensive care.”
Emily stood too fast.
“I have to go.”
A paramedic steadied her.
“I'll take you,” I said.
Victoria looked at me.
“Nathan.”
I turned.
My wife was now standing beside Officer Ramirez.
The officer had just told her she was being placed under arrest on suspicion of assault and unlawful imprisonment pending further review.
Victoria looked smaller than she had fifteen minutes earlier.
Still immaculate.
Still beautiful.
But smaller.
“You're leaving with her?”
“Her son is in intensive care.”
“Our children need you.”
“My sister is coming.”
“Claire?”
“Yes.”
Victoria laughed bitterly.
“Of course.”
Claire and Victoria had disliked each other since our wedding.
I had spent twelve years blaming Claire.
That realization landed quietly.
“I need to go.”
Victoria stepped toward me.
The officer stopped her.
“Nathan.”
I paused.
“If you walk out with that woman, you are choosing her story over your wife.”
I looked at the bloody bedsheet.
“No.”
I met Victoria’s eyes.
“You did that for me.”
At St. Catherine’s, Emily ran.
A nurse tried to slow her because of her injuries, but she kept moving.
I followed at a distance.
Lucas was in pediatric intensive care.
Machines surrounded his bed.
He looked impossibly small.
Emily stopped at the doorway.
“Baby.”
Her knees gave out.
A nurse caught her.
Lucas opened his eyes.
“Mom?”
Emily reached him and pressed her forehead against his hand.
“I’m here.”
“You took forever.”
The words were weak.
Emily began sobbing.
“I know.”
“You said you'd always come.”
“I know.”
“Did work not let you?”
She closed her eyes.
I turned away.
That sentence was not mine to hear.
A cardiologist introduced herself as Dr. Priya Shah.
Lucas had experienced ventricular arrhythmia associated with his underlying cardiomyopathy.
He was now stable.
They were adjusting medication and evaluating him for another procedure.
He was not, as Emily had feared, dying that night.
But he had been frightened.
And alone longer than he should have been.
I offered to leave.
Emily stopped me.
“Mr. Cole.”
“Nathan.”
She looked exhausted.
“Nathan.”
“Yes?”
“There’s something you need to see.”
She asked Rachel, her sister, to retrieve a backpack from Lucas’s closet at home.
Rachel arrived an hour later carrying a faded green backpack.
Inside was an envelope wrapped in plastic.
On the front, written in black marker, were four words.
IF SOMETHING HAPPENS TO ME.
I looked at Emily.
“Jacob wrote that?”
She nodded.
“I found it after he died.”
“Why didn't you give it to investigators?”
“I tried.”
“What happened?”
“Someone from Cole Development’s legal department told me the contents could violate Jacob’s confidentiality agreement.”
“That's not how—”
“I know that now.”
“Who told you?”
She looked away.
“I only spoke to him once.”
“Who?”
“Martin Hale.”
My company’s chief operating officer.
The man who had worked beside my father for twenty-three years.
The man who had taught me how to read a balance sheet when I was sixteen.
I opened the envelope.
Inside were twelve photographs.
Scaffolding.
Bolts.
Support anchors.
Several close-ups showed corrosion.
One image showed a safety inspection form.
Across the bottom was a handwritten note.
INSPECTION FAILED. DO NOT CLEAR LEVEL 31.
The final photograph showed the same form after alterations.
The word FAILED had disappeared.
A signature had been added.
I knew the signature.
Martin Hale.
Beneath it were two initials.
V.C.
I looked at Emily.
“Victoria Cole?”
“I've spent five years trying to find out.”
At the bottom of the envelope was one more item.
A key.
Small.
Brass.
A number engraved into the metal.
Emily whispered, “Jacob told me that if anyone ever came asking about Riverside Crown, I should never trust Cole Development.”
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She paused.
“Not even the owner.”
