Chapter 2 - The Uncle Who Brought Flowers
I had Elena moved into the small study behind my office.
Prescott stationed a guard outside and told the staff we were discussing an employment matter.
Then I went to meet my uncle.
Conrad stood in the entrance hall carrying white lilies.
He had brought lilies to Genevieve’s funeral, too.
I noticed that now.
At sixty-two, he looked like the kind of man banks trusted automatically. Silver hair. Expensive overcoat. A face carefully arranged around concern.
“Lawson.”
He embraced me.
I let him.
It took more self-control than any threat I had ever survived.
“How are they?” he asked.
“The same.”
“And you?”
“What do you think?”
He lowered his eyes.
“Franklin called. He said we should prepare.”
I studied him.
“When?”
“This afternoon.”
“Before or after he spoke to me?”
Conrad paused.
“I don’t remember.”
I remembered everything.
That was going to become a problem for him.
We walked toward the sitting room. He glanced toward the stairs.
“I’d like to see them.”
“They’re sleeping.”
“I won’t disturb them.”
“Not now.”
His eyes sharpened for half a second.
Then the concerned uncle returned.
“Of course.”
He set the flowers down.
“I heard someone came asking about work.”
I poured water into a glass.
“People ask for work every day.”
“This woman was apparently persistent.”
“Who told you?”
“Someone on the household staff. They worry about opportunists taking advantage of you.”
I looked at him over the rim of the glass.
“Do they?”
“Lawson, grief attracts people.”
“So does money.”
His expression softened deliberately.
“You’re exhausted.”
It was a useful response. The kind that made every question sound like a symptom.
For most of my life, Conrad had been the reasonable man in the room.
When my father died, he had helped me take control of the company.
When business turned ugly, he handled the paperwork.
When Genevieve died, he handled almost everything.
I had thanked him.
God help me, I had thanked him.
“I’ve asked for an independent review,” I said.
His hand stopped above the glass.
“Of what?”
“The twins’ treatment.”
“Franklin assembled an excellent team.”
“Then another team will agree.”
“Moving them could be dangerous.”
“I haven’t said anything about moving them.”
Conrad smiled.
A small correction. Easily repaired.
“Of course.”
We sat in silence for a moment.
Then he said, “Be careful about strangers offering hope.”
I leaned forward.
“I’m becoming careful about everyone.”
He left ten minutes later.
From the window, I watched his car reach the gate.
Only then did I return to Elena.
She was standing beside a bookshelf, staring at a photograph of Genevieve holding the twins as newborns.
“Did he see you?”
“No.”
“Tell me about prison.”
She sat down slowly.
“When Genevieve died, I tried to get the records to an investigator. Before I reached him, Bellwether reported missing equipment and unauthorized account access.”
“Had you accessed the accounts?”
“Yes. To copy the records. They used that truth to support other accusations.”
“You were convicted?”
“I accepted a plea after my public defender told me what I risked at trial. I had no money. The clinic had statements from people I barely knew.”
Her voice remained flat.
That frightened me more than tears.
“I served eighteen months. Then I spent months trying to retrieve the evidence I had hidden.”
“Where?”
“A storage locker rented under my sister’s name. She died while I was inside. Everything became complicated.”
I rubbed a hand over my face.
“You could have written to me.”
“I did.”
The room went still.
“Twice. From prison. I don’t know whether the letters reached your office.”
Prescott, standing near the door, looked up.
“Conrad’s office screened personal correspondence after Mrs. Mercer died,” he said.
I remembered authorizing it.
I had signed so many things without reading them.
“Find the letters,” I told him.
Then I looked at Elena.
“How did you learn the children were sick?”
“A former hospital billing clerk recognized their names. We used to work together. She knew I had tried to reach Genevieve’s family.”
“Why not send the evidence?”
“Because every time I trusted a chain of people, it ended with someone warning the wrong person.”
I nodded.
Outside, evening settled against the windows.
Upstairs, my children were still sleeping beneath blankets covered in tiny stars.
May you like
I had spent years paying men to watch the walls.
I had never thought to question who was already inside them.
