Chapter 7: The Third Person
I stared at the message.
*There is a third.*
I typed back: *Who is this?*
Three dots appeared.
Then: *Someone who should have spoken sooner.
The doctor who sourced the medication — he isn't a doctor.
Check the name Phillip Crane.
He has a history.
Your mother found him through Marcus's old university contacts.
He was paid in cash.
I have the bank transfer records.*
I typed: *Who are you?*
The dots appeared again.
Then stopped.
The number went silent.
I stood on the step for another moment, then went back inside.
Mother was on her phone.
She ended the call the instant she saw me.
"Phillip Crane," I said.
The name hit her the way I needed it to.
Her chin lifted slightly — the micro-adjustment of someone recalibrating.
"I don't know anyone by that name," she said.
"He sourced the medication.
He's not a licensed physician.
And someone has his bank transfer records."
Marcus was on his feet now, standing near the fireplace.
"That's not — we were told he was qualified.
We were told—"
"Marcus." Mother's voice.
"No." Marcus turned on her.
"No.
You told me he was a private physician.
You told me it was safe.
You told me it was just a sedative, that it would slow things down enough that by the time Daniel got home it would all be settled.
You said nobody would be hurt."
"Marcus, stop talking."
"She could have d*ed." His voice cracked.
"The baby could have d*ed.
That wasn't — I didn't agree to that.
I agreed to the documents.
I agreed to the account.
I didn't agree to—" He pressed his hand over his mouth.
The room was completely silent.
Mother set her phone down on the table very carefully, like she was placing a chess piece.
"You're being emotional," she said to Marcus.
"You're saying things that aren't accurate."
"I'm saying things that are true." He looked at me.
"Daniel.
I'm sorry.
I know that doesn't — I know it means nothing.
But I need you to know I didn't understand what she was going to do.
She told me Elena would sleep through the night and wake up fine.
She told me by the time you arrived, the documents would be transferred and it would already be legally done and there would be nothing to contest."
"And you believed that was acceptable?" I said.
He didn't answer.
"You believed it was acceptable to forge my signature, redirect my grandfather's inheritance away from my wife and unborn child, and sedate Elena without her knowledge — as long as she woke up afterward?"
His jaw worked.
"I know how it sounds."
"Tell me how it sounds to you."
"It sounds like I let her convince me that the end result was all that mattered." He sat down heavily on the sofa.
"She's been saying that my whole life.
That the family comes first.
That outsiders — that people who marry in — they don't understand what we built.
She said your grandfather was manipulated.
She said Elena had planned it from the beginning."
"And you believed her."
"I wanted to believe her." He looked up.
"That's different.
And I know it is."
I heard a car outside.
Two cars.
I looked through the front window.
Two police officers were walking up the front path.
Mother saw them too.
She stood very straight, smoothed her jacket, and looked at me with an expression I recognized from childhood — the expression she wore when she had decided that whatever was happening, she would manage it, shape it, survive it.
"I want you to know," she said quietly, "that I did what I did because I love this family."
"You did what you did because of four hundred thousand pounds and a will that didn't go the way you wanted."
The knock at the door came.
She held my gaze for one more second.
May you like
"You'll regret this," she said.
I opened the door.
