Chapter 6 - The Old Will
Celeste was temporarily removed as Noah’s guardian the next morning.
The judge did not permanently decide guardianship.
Not yet.
But the newer will, the hospital evidence, and the ongoing investigation made returning Noah to her home impossible.
Noah left St. Catherine with Elena Ruiz.
Priya walked him to the entrance.
He wore a gray sweatshirt Elena had bought from the hospital gift shop because the sleeve of his old one had been cut away.
“You’re not coming?” he asked.
“No.”
He tried not to look disappointed.
“I work here.”
“I know.”
“You have my office number.”
“I know.”
“If your fingers become numb—”
“I tell someone.”
“If you get a fever—”
“I tell someone.”
“If something feels wrong—”
“I tell someone.”
Priya smiled.
“You were listening.”
Noah looked toward the car.
“People don’t always listen back.”
Priya’s smile vanished.
“No. They don’t.”
He looked at her.
“But keep telling.”
For now, Noah would stay with a licensed foster parent named Denise Walker.
She lived in a brick bungalow on the Northwest Side.
There were no gates.
No security cameras at every door.
No marble floors.
No staff.
No rooms nobody was allowed to enter.
Noah found it suspicious.
Denise was fifty-eight and had fostered children for nearly twenty years.
She showed him the bedroom.
“You can move things.”
Noah stared at her.
“What?”
“Furniture. Posters. Lamp. If you hate the blanket, tell me.”
He looked at the blue quilt.
“It’s fine.”
“Fine usually means terrible.”
“It’s actually fine.”
“Good.”
She pointed toward the hallway.
“My room is across there. Bathroom is left. Kitchen is downstairs. You don’t need permission to get water.”
Noah looked at her again.
“Why would I need permission?”
Denise noticed the question beneath the question.
“You don’t.”
That first night, Noah hid the letter from his father under the mattress.
At two in the morning he moved it beneath his pillow.
At three he placed it inside the drawer.
At four he woke convinced Celeste had entered the house.
She hadn’t.
The next day Aisha visited.
“The court wants to hear from Lena.”
“Is she coming?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Will I go live with her?”
“Not immediately.”
“Why?”
“Because courts don’t send children across the country based on a piece of paper without checking whether the arrangement is safe and practical.”
Noah frowned.
“She was Mom’s best friend.”
“That matters.”
“Dad chose her.”
“That matters too.”
“So what doesn’t matter?”
Aisha almost smiled.
“That you would like adults to move as quickly as you do.”
Noah didn’t find that funny.
Then she told him something worse.
Celeste was challenging the newer will.
“Why?”
“She claims your father lacked sound judgment when he signed it.”
“He wrote the letter.”
“Yes.”
“He knew what he was doing.”
“That will be part of the evidence.”
Noah stood.
“She’s lying again.”
Aisha stayed seated.
“Probably.”
He stopped.
It was the first time an adult had answered him that plainly.
Aisha continued.
“But ‘probably’ and ‘proven’ are different.”
“What happens if she wins?”
“The old will could remain controlling.”
“And she becomes my guardian again?”
“Not automatically. The child-protection case is separate.”
Noah sat again.
He hated how every answer created another question.
Across Chicago, police interviewed Dr. Marcus Vale.
At first he claimed he remembered little.
Then Detective Chen showed him photographs.
The pressure wound.
The bruising.
The key.
Vale’s face collapsed.
“I didn’t know it was a key.”
“You knew something was beneath the wrap.”
“Yes.”
“Why did you cast over it?”
“Celeste said he had hidden a coin or toy.”
“Did you remove it?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Vale looked at his hands.
“I was told he had been manipulating adults.”
“By Celeste?”
“Yes.”
“Did Noah tell you she injured him?”
Vale shut his eyes.
“Yes.”
“And you documented a playground fall.”
He didn’t answer.
Chen pushed the clinic note toward him.
Mechanism of injury: fall from climbing structure.
“Did Noah tell you he fell from climbing equipment?”
“No.”
“Then why did you write it?”
Vale’s voice broke.
“Celeste said the family could not survive another scandal.”
“What scandal?”
“I didn’t ask.”
“You falsified a medical record.”
“I told myself I was simplifying a complicated family situation.”
“You sealed a foreign object against an injured ten-year-old’s arm.”
“I know.”
“Did Celeste threaten you?”
Vale hesitated.
“She reminded me the Mercer Foundation had funded our expansion.”
“Not the same question.”
“She said the board would hear about how I treated important donors.”
“And that was enough?”
Vale’s eyes filled.
“I made a cowardly decision.”
Detective Chen slid another photograph across the table.
Finger-shaped bruises.
“Was his arm already bruised?”
“Yes.”
“Did you report suspected abuse?”
“No.”
“Did you ask Celeste to leave so you could speak to Noah privately?”
“No.”
“Did you take the X-rays yourself?”
“No.”
“Did you review them?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
Vale looked away.
“There was another injury.”
Chen leaned forward.
“What kind?”
“A small healing fracture closer to the wrist.”
“Older?”
“About three weeks.”
“Was that in your report?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Vale whispered, “Celeste told me he was clumsy.”
That evening, Chen called Aisha.
“Noah’s arm had been injured before the night he found the key.”
Aisha looked toward the window.
“Does Noah know?”
“Probably not.”
“Do we know how it happened?”
“Not yet.”
At Denise’s house, Noah sat at the kitchen table doing math homework one-handed.
A memory returned.
Three weeks before the cast.
Celeste ripping his father’s notebook from his hands.
Noah reaching after it.
Celeste shoving a desk drawer closed against his wrist.
The pain.
The swelling.
The bag of frozen peas she gave him.
And the words she whispered when he asked for a doctor.
Nothing happened to you.
Noah put down his pencil.
Denise looked over.
“You okay?”
He stared at his wrist.
Then he remembered something else.
The notebook Celeste had taken that night had not been black.
It had been red.
And the black notebook from Box 417 ended six months before his parents died.
Which meant another notebook existed.
One Celeste had found.
May you like
One investigators did not have.
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