Chapter 4
He reached into his coat slowly and held out a plastic evidence bag.
Inside was a blue dinosaur watch.
Owen’s watch.
The one the sheriff said had been lost in the lake.
My knees buckled.
Roman caught me before I hit the floor.
“Where did you get that?”
His expression changed.
Not softness exactly.
Something older.
Sadder.
“My people found it this afternoon.”
“Where?”
“Not in the lake.”
Behind me, Ethan whispered, “Claire, don’t listen to him.”
Roman’s gaze moved over my shoulder.
I felt his body become still.
Dangerously still.
Then he looked back at me.
“Your son contacted someone before he died.”
My breath stopped.
“What?”
Roman turned the evidence bag over.
The watch screen was cracked, but the emergency recorder had survived.
“There’s audio on it.”
I stared at him.
“What kind of audio?”
For the first time, Roman Moretti hesitated.
That frightened me more than anything.
“Enough,” he said quietly, “to prove your son did not die the way your husband told you.”
And behind us, Ethan ran.
They caught Ethan before he reached the kitchen.
Roman’s men did not beat him.
That surprised me.
At the time I knew very little about Roman Moretti beyond whispers.
He owned freight terminals, luxury hotels, warehouses, restaurants, and enough property across the eastern states that business magazines called him a mysterious logistics billionaire.
People in Asheville used another word.
Mafia.
Nobody said it loudly.
Ethan certainly did not.
He stood against the kitchen island with two men blocking the exits while Roman called the sheriff.
That surprised me more.
“You’re calling the police?” I asked.
Roman looked at me.
“What did you expect?”
I looked toward Ethan.
Roman followed my gaze.
Then understood.
“If I punish him,” he said, “he becomes a victim in court.”
His voice was low enough that only I heard.
“If you want the truth about your son to survive, we do this clean.”
It was the first gift he gave me.
Not diamonds.
Not a mansion.
Not revenge.
Restraint.
Vanessa disappeared while everyone was distracted.
Police arrived twelve minutes later.
Ethan told them Roman had invaded our home.
Roman’s attorney arrived eight minutes after that.
By midnight, nobody was arrested.
The watch had to be authenticated.
The recording had to be recovered.
Warrants had to be requested.
Statements had to be taken.
Law is slow even when grief is screaming.
I sat on my own couch beneath a blanket while strangers photographed my bruises.
Ethan stood outside talking to detectives.
Occasionally he looked through the window.
Each time he did, I saw my husband disappear a little more.
May you like
At two in the morning, a detective named Marla Greene crouched in front of me.
“Mrs. Whitmore, do you have somewhere safe to stay?”
