Chapter 12 - What Victoria Still Wanted
The house remained sealed for another week.
Detectives searched again.
Walls.
Attic.
Garage.
Detached garden room.
Nothing obvious emerged.
James eventually remembered one place nobody had mentioned.
Claire’s piano.
It stood in the formal sitting room, untouched for years except for dusting.
Victoria hated it.
Not openly.
She simply rearranged furniture so guests rarely noticed it.
When James proposed moving it after their wedding, Ben cried.
The piano stayed.
Police examined it.
Inside the bench was a false bottom.
James did not know Claire had built one.
Rachel did.
“She used to hide birthday presents there.”
Inside were family photographs and old sheet music.
Nothing criminal.
Then a technician removed the lining.
Taped beneath it was a small envelope.
James recognized Claire’s handwriting.
JAMES — IF I DON’T GET THE CHANCE TO EXPLAIN.
His legs weakened.
Ross asked whether he wanted her to open it.
James nodded.
Inside was a letter dated March 18.
Claire explained the Northstar concerns.
She identified Victoria by full name.
She wrote that she planned to meet her privately before taking evidence to the foundation board.
Then came a paragraph unrelated to money.
Victoria knows too much about our house, our schedules and Ben. I don’t think it’s dangerous. I think it’s invasive. If I’m overreacting, you can tell me I’m being dramatic when you get home.
James stopped reading.
Claire had laughed at herself in writing.
He could hear her voice.
Ross continued silently.
The final paragraph said:
I’m not afraid of her. I just don’t trust her. There is a difference.
Again, no evidence Victoria caused Claire’s death.
But now investigators understood what Victoria had been searching for.
A written accusation.
One that placed Claire’s suspicions outside the journals.
“If she knew this existed,” James said, “why didn’t she find it?”
Rachel looked at the piano.
“Because Claire never let anyone clean the bench.”
A simple habit had preserved the letter.
The discovery strengthened the financial case.
It also clarified why Victoria wanted access to the house.
But Ben reacted differently.
When James told him they had found a letter from Claire, Ben asked only one question.
“Did she write about me?”
James looked at him.
“Yes.”
That was true.
Near the bottom, Claire had added:
Ben has started sleeping with Wolfie under his chin because apparently four stuffed animals were not enough. Tell him you love him even if he pretends it’s embarrassing.
Ben smiled.
“Can I see that part?”
James gave him a photocopy.
He carried it around for two days.
Physical therapy began the same week.
Ben hated it.
His fingers were stiff.
His grip was weak.
Some movements hurt.
His therapist, Leah Morgan, never told him pain was “nothing.”
Instead she asked for numbers.
Zero to ten.
Ben liked that.
Pain became measurable.
Believable.
If he said six, Leah wrote six.
Nobody corrected him.
During one session, he stopped midway through an exercise.
“Do grown-ups always know when kids are lying?”
Leah looked surprised.
“No.”
“Can they know when kids are telling the truth?”
“Not always immediately.”
Ben looked at his hand.
“So what do they do?”
“They listen. They check. They ask questions.”
Ben nodded.
“That’s what Dr. Elena did.”
“Yes.”
At the hospital, Elena had returned to ordinary cases.
Asthma.
Broken ankles.
Fevers.
A toddler who swallowed a coin.
Yet Ben stayed with her.
Not because his case was unusual.
Because of Victoria’s sentence.
Then maybe he’ll finally stop whining.
Elena had heard cruelty before.
What haunted her was how easily it had been said in a hospital room full of witnesses.
As though Victoria had forgotten cruelty was something she was supposed to hide.
One evening Maya found Elena reviewing Ben’s chart.
“He’s gone home,” Maya said.
“I know.”
“You’re reading it again.”
Elena closed the file.
“I keep thinking about that note.”
HELP ME.
“What about it?”
“He had to write it himself.”
Maya understood.
“He didn’t know who would find it.”
“No.”
“He just needed to believe somebody might.”
Elena looked toward the trauma bay where the red cast had been cut open.
“We almost sent him home.”
Maya frowned.
“No, we didn’t.”
“If Victoria had been calmer—”
“Elena.”
“If she had said the right things—”
“You ordered removal because his circulation was compromised.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
Maya sat beside her.
Elena finally admitted the thought.
“How many children leave with people who know how to behave?”
Maya had no easy answer.
Neither did Elena.
Across the city, Victoria sat in her attorney’s office reading a copy of Claire’s letter supplied through discovery.
She reached the line:
I’m not afraid of her. I just don’t trust her.
Victoria read it three times.
Redmond watched.
“You knew about this.”
Victoria did not answer.
“You searched for it.”
Silence.
“Did you marry James because of Claire?”
Victoria placed the paper down.
“No.”
“Then why?”
For the first time, something human appeared beneath her control.
Not remorse.
Hurt.
“Because he needed me.”
Redmond waited.
May you like
Victoria’s mouth tightened.
“And then he had the nerve to keep missing her.”
