Chapter 15 - THE DEAD WOMAN’S PHONE NUMBER WAS STILL PAYING A BILLRachel remembered the number.
That surprised everyone.
“Why?”
Detective Nora Keane asked the question.
Rachel sat beside her attorney.
“Because it ended in 1704.”
“So?”
“My son was born April seventeenth.”
Memory worked like that.
Meaning attached itself to numbers.
The phone belonged to a prepaid corporate account used by Wren Calder’s private-client division.
At least it had.
Six years earlier.
Investigators obtained archived billing through legal process.
Most records were dead.
One was not.
The number had been transferred twice.
Then attached to an account currently paid by a tiny records-management company in Rhode Island.
Keane looked at Elias.
“Do not go there.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“You made a face.”
“I have a face.”
“You have a specific face when you intend to become unhelpful.”
Mara laughed.
Elias glared at both of them.
Police handled it.
The company itself was legitimate.
Thirty employees.
Document storage.
Litigation scanning.
Nothing dramatic.
The owner produced old onboarding records.
The phone had been assigned to an employee named Janice Bell.
Former paralegal.
Wren Calder & Shaw.
She left four months after Rosalind’s death.
Keane found her in New Hampshire.
She refused to speak.
Then White Rose House received a certified letter.
Not threatening.
Worse.
Polite.
From Wren Calder.
It demanded that Rachel Monroe cease possession and disclosure of confidential client materials.
It also requested White Rose House preserve all records concerning Rachel’s stay.
Elias read it.
“They know she’s here.”
Adeline’s face hardened.
“We are not hiding her from lawful process.”
“No.”
“But we are also not handing over therapy notes because a law firm asks.”
“No.”
Their attorney agreed.
Then came the second letter.
A notice that the firm intended to seek injunctive relief if allegedly stolen documents were disclosed.
Rachel panicked.
“They’ll bankrupt this place.”
“No,” Elias said.
Adeline looked at him.
He corrected himself.
“They’ll try.”
Better.
The board met that evening.
Some wanted Rachel moved to a hotel.
Not expelled.
Protected elsewhere.
Others argued that would teach every resident that White Rose House became less safe when the threatening person had better lawyers.
Bernadette listened for twenty minutes.
Then said:
“If we only protect women from men who cannot afford counsel, we are not a refuge.”
Silence.
Vote.
Rachel stayed.
Legal defense funded separately so residents’ services were not touched.
Transparent.
Independent counsel.
No Falcone command.
Elias was learning.
Then Keane called.
Janice Bell had finally agreed to meet.
Not because police pressured her.
Because she had seen the news that Wren Calder was threatening White Rose House.
She brought no documents.
Only a story.
Years earlier, Malcolm Wren had asked her to maintain several private numbers under unrelated corporate accounts.
One was used for “sensitive client coordination.”
The night Rosalind died, Janice was working late.
She saw Wren take the phone into his office.
She remembered because he had been at a charity dinner and returned without removing his tuxedo.
“Did you hear the call?”
Keane asked.
“No.”
“Did he say anything afterward?”
Janice hesitated.
“Yes.”
“To who?”
“Me.”
“What?”
Janice looked down.
“He told me to close the Rosalind Falcone file.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because it wasn’t in the cabinet.”
Keane leaned forward.
“Where was it?”
Janice finally looked up.
May you like
“That was the problem.”
“Someone had already taken it.”
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