Chapter 7: The Name Sophie Was Afraid to Say
Gerald Foss called at eight-fifteen the following morning.
I was in the kitchen making Leo's breakfast — soft-cooked oats, a little mashed banana — when my phone rang.
I set the spoon down and answered.
"I need you and Ethan in my office at ten," he said.
"Both of you.
Don't be late."
He hung up before I could ask why.
Mrs.
Patton arrived at nine to take over with Leo.
I changed out of my uniform for the first time in eleven months and put on the grey wool coat I had kept folded at the back of my wardrobe since the day I moved in.
Ethan was waiting in the entrance hall when I came downstairs.
He was in a dark jacket and no tie, and he looked like a man who had not slept.
We didn't speak much in the car.
The city moved past the windows in the grey November light.
Gerald's office was on the forty-second floor of a building on Michigan Avenue.
His paralegal met us at the elevator and walked us to a conference room where two other people were already seated — a woman in her fifties with a city prosecutor's badge clipped to her jacket, and a man I recognized from the news as a detective in the Chicago PD's financial crimes division.
I sat down.
Ethan sat beside me.
Gerald stood at the head of the table.
"Thank you both for coming," he said.
"I'll be direct.
The materials Clara provided yesterday, combined with the voicemail recordings from Sophie Vance, were enough to prompt a conversation with the State's Attorney's office last night.
What I'm about to share with you is the result of that conversation and some very fast work by Detective Raines's team."
The detective opened a folder.
"Victoria Harlow," he said, "has a history that predates her relationship with Ethan Vance by approximately four years.
During that period, she was named in a civil complaint in the state of Ohio — a complaint filed by the family of a man named Robert Ashby, who d*ed of a cardiac event at the age of thirty-four.
He was, at the time of his death, engaged to Victoria Harlow.
His estate, valued at approximately two-point-three million dollars, passed entirely to her under a will that was signed six weeks before he d*ed."
Ethan's hand, resting on the table, went completely still.
"The Ohio complaint was settled out of court," Detective Raines continued.
"The Harlow family's attorneys were very effective.
But the complaint alleged that Robert Ashby had been systematically given a compound — introduced into food or drink over a period of weeks — that causes cardiac irregularities in otherwise healthy individuals.
The compound is difficult to detect in a standard autopsy unless you are specifically looking for it."
"Sophie," Ethan said.
His voice was barely a sound.
"We have requested the exhumation of Sophie Vance's remains," the prosecutor said.
"Given the voicemail evidence and the Ohio precedent, the request was approved this morning."
The conference room was absolutely silent.
"Victoria was in this house before Sophie d*ed," I said.
"Sophie told me.
She described her.
She said Victoria had gone upstairs."
"We know," Gerald said.
"The voicemail is now part of a formal evidentiary record."
Ethan pushed back from the table and stood up.
He walked to the window and stood with his back to the room, looking out over the city.
His shoulders were rigid under his jacket.
Nobody spoke.
After a long moment, he turned around.
"Where is Victoria now?" he said.
"She was released on bail yesterday evening," Detective Raines said.
"The child endangerment charge from the nursery incident is the formal basis of her current arrest.
We expect additional charges to follow pending the exhumation results and the Ohio cross-referencing."
"And Mrs.
Harlow?" I asked.
"Her mother."
The detective and the prosecutor exchanged a brief look.
"Eleanor Harlow," Gerald said, "has been a person of interest in the Ohio matter for some time.
She was Robert Ashby's estate attorney.
She drafted the will." He paused.
"She is also, we discovered last night, a silent investor in the staffing agency that placed Clara in the Vance household."
I heard the words.
I understood them individually.
It took a moment for the shape of them to land.
"She set me up," I said slowly.
"She knew about my connection to Mercer.
She knew about my connection to Sophie.
She placed me in that house herself — so that if anything ever went wrong, I would be the one standing in the room."
"That is our current working theory," Gerald said.
I thought about the envelope.
The way Mrs.
Harlow had pulled it from her jacket with such precision.
The way she had looked at Ethan and said: *Read it.
Then decide who you really trust.*
She had been holding that envelope for months.
Waiting for the moment she needed it.
"She planned for this," I said.
"She planned for the possibility that Victoria would be caught."
"Yes," Gerald said.
"We believe so."
Ethan came back to the table.
He sat down and looked at Gerald directly.
"What do we do now?" he said.
"You go home," Gerald said.
"You take care of your son.
You let us work." He looked at me.
"Both of you."
On the drive back, Ethan stared out the passenger window for a long time.
I drove.
The city gave way to the quieter streets near the estate.
"She called me two days before," he said finally.
"Sophie.
She called me and said something felt off and I told her the window latch was loose." He pressed his fingers against his mouth for a moment.
"I told her she was being paranoid."
"You didn't know," I said.
"I should have listened."
"Yes," I said.
"You should have." I kept my eyes on the road.
"But you can't change that now.
What you can do is make sure Leo knows who his mother was.
And make sure the people who hurt her face what they did."
Ethan was quiet for the rest of the drive.
When we pulled through the estate gates, he said: "She would have liked you."
May you like
"I know," I said.
"She told me."
