Chapter 5
I did not sleep that night.
Lucy did.
Barely.
She curled against my side in the hospital bed, one hand gripping the repaired halves of Elena’s locket inside a plastic evidence bag.
The nurses had offered her stuffed animals.
She chose my sleeve.
Every time I tried to shift, her fingers tightened.
So I stayed still.
At dawn, Detective Collins came into the room with coffee and bad news.
“The photo from the school fence was taken yesterday,” she said.
I looked down at Lucy.
Yesterday, I was in Boston.
Bianca was supposed to pick her up.
Emma had insisted on going instead.
I remembered Bianca rolling her eyes that morning on FaceTime.
“Your housekeeper thinks she’s Lucy’s mother now,” she had said.
I had laughed it off.
I had told Emma not to worry.
I wanted to go back in time and punch myself.
“Who took it?” I asked.
“We are checking street cameras,” Collins said. “But there’s more.”
Adrian stood from the chair near the window.
“What?”
Detective Collins opened a folder.
“Marcus Hale was released at four-thirty this morning.”
The room went silent.
My blood went cold.
“How?”
“Bail,” she said. “Posted by a shell company.”
Adrian cursed under his breath.
I stood carefully so I would not wake Lucy.
“Find him.”
“We are trying.”
“No,” I said. “You misunderstand me. I am not requesting effort. I am asking who in this city is still protecting him.”
Detective Collins met my eyes.
“I know.”
That was why I trusted her.
She did not pretend the system was clean.
She just kept working anyway.
Emma entered then with a paper bag of Lucy’s clothes.
She had changed into jeans and a sweater, but her face looked older than yesterday.
“Mr. DeLuca,” she said quietly, “there’s something I didn’t put on the flash drive.”
I stepped into the hallway with her.
Vincent followed at a distance.
Emma handed me a folded envelope.
“I found this in Miss Bianca’s trash two weeks ago.”
Inside was a printed email.
No subject line.
Just a list of instructions.
Stage two begins after wedding.
Petition within thirty days.
Use therapist report.
Push father toward residential school option.
My hands shook.
Residential school.
My daughter.
Sent away so Bianca could own my life without Lucy interrupting the fantasy.
At the bottom of the page was a name.
Dr. Howard Lyle.
I knew that name.
Family therapist.
Recommended by Bianca.
We had one appointment scheduled for the week after the wedding because Bianca said Lucy needed help accepting a new mother.
I leaned against the wall.
“Emma, why didn’t you give me this sooner?”
Her face crumpled.
“Because Marcus told me if I talked, my brother would disappear.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
She wiped her cheek fast.
“My brother works at one of Marcus’s clubs. He owes money. Marcus used that.”
I had spent years believing danger came through front doors, boardrooms, and legal letters.
But Bianca had built her trap through everyone around me.
My daughter.
My staff.
My grief.
Emma’s family.
I called Adrian over.
“Find Emma’s brother.”
He nodded.
“And Dr. Lyle,” I added. “Everything. License history. Complaints. Payments. I want the whole floor pulled up.”
Adrian did not argue.
By nine, the hospital had police posted outside Lucy’s room.
By ten, the court granted an emergency protective order.
By eleven, the story leaked.
Not the truth.
Bianca’s version.
Heiress Claims Widower’s Daughter Has Violent Outbursts Before Wedding Collapse.
There was a photo of Bianca’s reddened cheek.
No mention that she had hit herself.
No mention of the dog bowl.
No mention of Lucy.
Just enough poison to make strangers wonder.
My phone filled with messages.
Friends asking what happened.
Business partners asking if I needed time.
One board member suggested I step back “until the domestic situation stabilized.”
I laughed when I read it.
Not because it was funny.
Because Bianca had almost won.
She did not need to prove I was dangerous.
Only distracted.
Only unstable.
Only too consumed by scandal to run my company.
At noon, my assistant called.
“Mr. DeLuca,” she said, voice tight, “Marcus Hale is in the lobby.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“What?”
“He says he has documents you’ll want before you destroy his sister.”
Detective Collins was in the hallway.
I put the call on speaker.
My assistant whispered, “He says if you don’t come down, he’ll send them to the press.”
Adrian took the phone.
“What documents?”
A rustle.
Then Marcus’s voice came through, smug and low.
“Tell Vittorio I know what really happened the night Elena died.”
The hallway disappeared around me.
For three years, I had carried the grief of my wife’s accident like a stone inside my chest.
May you like
Now Marcus Hale had put his hand on that stone.
And squeezed.
