Now she looked at me with horror and regret.
“I should have helped you,” she said.
Victor twisted against the officers holding him.
“This is a performance,” he shouted.
“Elena has always been unstable.
Ask my family.
She disappears.
She invents things.
She wanted attention.”
His mother finally stood.
For one terrible second, I expected her to defend him.
Instead, she removed a small envelope from her purse.
“I found this in Victor’s study yesterday,” she said.
Her hand trembled as she gave it to Agent Bennett.
Inside was a handwritten rehearsal of the statement Victor had made to police.
It described the weather, the argument, my supposed panic, and the exact location where he claimed I had wandered away.
Several sentences were crossed out and rewritten.
Beside one paragraph, Victor had written: Mention concern for baby.
Cry here.
He stared at his mother as though she had struck him.
“You went through my desk?”
“You held a funeral for your living wife,” she answered.
“Do not speak to me about privacy.”
The room went still again.
Agent Bennett asked the cathedral staff to close the side doors.
Outside, reporters had begun gathering behind the barricades.
News of my arrival was already spreading through the city.
Victor looked toward the main entrance, calculating the distance.
He had always believed there was a door available to men like him.
A private exit.
A friendly judge.
A frightened employee.
A wife willing to stay silent.
This time, every door was guarded.
Adrian stepped beside me and placed a steadying hand beneath my elbow.
My ribs still hurt when I breathed too deeply.
The scar along my cheek pulled whenever I tightened my jaw.
Victor noticed the way Adrian supported me.
Then he noticed the signet ring on Adrian’s hand—the Cross Atlantic crest known throughout the insurance industry.
His expression changed.
“You,” he said.
Adrian looked at him without blinking.
“Yes.”
Victor glanced between us.
“Why would Adrian Cross care about her?”
The question hurt more than it should have.
For six years, Victor had treated my lack of family as proof that I possessed no protection.
My mother was dead.
The man who raised me had left when I was young.
Victor had often reminded me that no one would believe me over him.
Adrian removed a sealed letter from the folder.
“Elena is my daughter,” he said.
The words moved through the cathedral like thunder.
Victor’s attorney, who had been standing near the side chapel, slowly lowered his briefcase.
Serena covered her mouth.
