Chapter 6: Three Other Names
Elena kept her voice steady.
"How far back?"
"The earliest entry is four years ago," Ruiz said.
"One of the women miscarried.
She was told it was natural causes.
She still believes that."
Elena stood up slowly.
Daniel reached for her arm without thinking.
"Are you going to contact them?" she asked.
"We already have a team on it.
I wanted you to know before it became public." Ruiz paused.
"This changes the charge profile significantly.
We're no longer looking at a single incident."
"What does that mean for Vanessa?"
"It means the prosecutor will have a much stronger case.
And it means Pryce's cooperation becomes considerably more valuable." Another pause.
"It also means this will be in the news.
Possibly as early as tomorrow.
I wanted you to have tonight."
"Thank you," Elena said.
She ended the call.
Daniel was watching her.
"What is it?"
She told him.
He sat very still while she spoke.
When she finished, he said nothing for a long moment.
Then he stood up and walked out of the room again — but this time he came back in under a minute, carrying a glass of water for himself.
He sat down.
He drank half of it.
"Four years," he said.
"Yes."
"We've been married for three."
"Yes."
He set the glass down carefully on the side table.
"She was already doing this when I met her."
Elena didn't answer.
There was nothing to add.
Mrs.
Howard had gone pale.
"The woman who miscarried.
Does she have a name in the notebook?"
"Ruiz didn't say.
I didn't ask." Elena looked at the older woman.
"They'll find her."
Mrs.
Howard pressed her fingers to her lips.
"I introduced them," she said.
"Daniel and Vanessa.
I thought she was—" She stopped.
"I thought she was exactly right for this family."
"You couldn't have known," Elena said.
"I should have listened to you."
"Yes," Elena said.
"You should have.
But that's also a conversation for another day."
Mrs.
Howard looked at her sharply — and then, slowly, nodded.
It was the nod of a woman accepting something she had earned.
Daniel's phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
"It's our family lawyer."
"Answer it," Elena said.
He stepped into the hallway.
His voice was low, controlled, the voice of a man managing something very large very carefully.
Elena stood at the window.
The grey afternoon had deepened.
The garden outside looked the same as it always had — the same hedges, the same gravel path, the same stone bench near the far wall where she had sat alone many evenings when the house felt too full of Vanessa's arrangements and opinions and careful little cruelties.
She had sat on that bench and thought about leaving.
She had sat on that bench and thought about staying.
She had sat on that bench and decided, finally, that she would do neither — not leave, not simply endure.
She would build something instead.
Quietly.
Methodically.
One camera, one recording, one saved file at a time.
She pressed one hand flat against the cold glass.
"Elena."
She turned.
Mrs.
Howard was standing behind her.
"I owe you more than an apology," the older woman said.
"I know that.
I'm not going to pretend a few words fixes what I allowed to happen in this house." She stopped.
"But I want you to know — this child will be born into a family that knows the truth.
I will make sure of that.
Whatever it costs me."
Elena looked at her for a long moment.
"I'll hold you to that," she said.
Mrs.
Howard nodded.
"I expect you to."
Daniel came back into the room.
"The lawyer is coming tonight.
He says the family needs to make a formal statement to distance from Vanessa's actions before the press—" He stopped.
He looked between his mother and his wife.
"Am I interrupting?"
"No," Elena said.
"We're finished."
She moved back to her chair.
She sat down.
She picked up the glass of water Mrs.
Howard had brought her earlier and drank the rest of it.
"Tell me what the lawyer said," she told Daniel.
He sat.
He talked.
She listened.
Outside, the light faded.
The garden disappeared into dark.
And somewhere across the city, in a police interview room, Vanessa was still talking to her lawyer — trying, even now, to find an angle.
A version of events that worked.
A door that hadn't been closed yet.
May you like
She didn't know that Elena had already locked every one of them.
From the inside.
