Chapter 3: What Jessi Kept in the Safe
Ivan stared at the screen for three seconds.
Then he walked back into the hallway, pulled the door to Jessi's room shut behind him, and called Rachel.
She picked up on the first ring.
"Someone just texted me from an unknown number," he said.
"Four words.
Tell her to stay quiet."
A pause.
"Forward it to me right now."
"Already done."
"Is Jessi still talking?"
"Yes."
"Keep her talking.
And Ivan — don't tell her about the text yet."
He slipped the phone back into his coat pocket and returned to the room.
Jessi was sitting up slightly, both hands wrapped around a paper cup of water she hadn't drunk from.
"You said you found the messages three weeks ago," Ivan said.
"What did you do after that?"
She set the cup down.
"Nothing.
At first."
"And then?"
"I started making copies." She looked at him steadily.
"Of everything."
Ivan pulled his chair closer.
"What kind of copies?"
"Bank records.
His personal account, not the business one.
He'd been moving money every month since January.
Small amounts — never more than four thousand at a time.
Always to the same account." She paused.
"I have a friend who used to work in finance.
She helped me trace it."
"Where did the money go?"
"An account in her name.
The woman." Jessi's jaw tightened.
"But that's not the part that scared me."
Ivan waited.
"In April, he changed the beneficiary on his life insurance." She looked down at her hands.
"He took my name off.
He put hers on."
The room was very quiet.
"Jessi.
Where are these copies now?"
"In a fireproof safe.
At the house." She met his eyes.
"Behind the panel in the laundry room.
He doesn't know it's there.
I had it installed two years ago when I thought — when I thought things were just going wrong between us.
I didn't know how wrong."
Ivan nodded slowly.
"Is there anything else in that safe?"
She hesitated for just a moment.
"There's a voice recording.
From six weeks ago." Her voice dropped.
"He was on the phone in the garage.
He didn't know I was home.
I recorded forty minutes of it on my phone, then transferred it to a USB drive and locked it away."
"Who was he talking to?"
"I don't know.
He never used a name." She finally took a sip of water.
"But whoever it was, Luca told them that he just needed a little more time.
That everything was almost in place." She set the cup down again.
"And then he said — 'she won't be a problem much longer.'"
Ivan's chest went still.
He stood up.
"I need to make a call."
"Ivan." Her hand found his arm.
"The safe combination is my mother's birthday.
April third, 1947." Her grip tightened.
"Don't let him get to it first."
Ivan was already moving toward the door when his pager went off.
He glanced at it out of habit — then stopped.
It wasn't a medical page.
The message read: *Luca Vance is requesting formal access to patient records.
May you like
Administration has been contacted.*
He was already working the system from outside.
