Chapter 2 - MIDNIGHT
Rowan did not ask Genevieve what she meant in front of eighty guests.
He wanted to.
Instead, he called the family physician who was already attending the shower as a guest.
Dr. Patel checked Isolde in the downstairs library while Rowan's security director cleared everyone from the staircase.
No bleeding.
No abdominal impact.
No immediate sign of distress.
The baby's heartbeat stayed strong.
Dr. Patel still wanted Isolde monitored.
“No stairs. No standing around pretending you're fine because everyone else is uncomfortable.”
Isolde nodded.
Rowan did not.
He was watching the library door.
Genevieve had been escorted to the east sitting room.
Not locked in.
Not thrown out.
Rowan had told security not to let her near Isolde.
Then he called the police.
Genevieve's attorney arrived before they did.
Of course.
Isolde looked at him.
“You called them?”
“She pushed you.”
“You hit her.”
“Yes.”
He did not pretend otherwise.
“If they ask, I'll tell them exactly that.”
Isolde studied him.
Good.
She did not need another Vale deciding which part of the truth was useful.
Outside the library, the baby shower was dissolving in expensive silence.
Florists gathered dropped arrangements.
Guests avoided each other's eyes.
Someone had abandoned a gift bag beneath a marble console.
Rowan's sister-in-law had started collecting names of people who saw the shove.
Nobody was going to be allowed to turn it into:
a misunderstanding.
Isolde touched Rowan's hand.
“There's something you need to see.”
He looked at her.
She reached inside the pocket of her dress.
Pulled out a folded card.
Cream paper.
No envelope.
Rowan frowned.
“What is that?”
“It was inside one of the gifts.”
“Which one?”
“I don't know.”
“When did you find it?”
“Twenty minutes before your mother pushed me.”
His expression changed.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“I thought it was some cruel family joke.”
She handed it over.
One sentence.
Ask Genevieve what happened to Thomas Hart on October 18, 1999.
Rowan read it twice.
Isolde's father.
Thomas Hart.
A man Rowan knew almost nothing about because Isolde rarely spoke about him.
He knew Thomas had been a chauffeur when she was young.
He knew he'd gone to prison.
He knew Isolde had spent years believing that part of her family history would eventually make the Vales look at her differently.
Apparently Genevieve already had.
Rowan looked up.
“What happened October eighteenth?”
Isolde's eyes lowered.
“The crash.”
He waited.
“My father killed a man.”
Rowan said nothing.
She continued.
“That's what I've always been told.”
At twenty-nine, Thomas Hart had pleaded guilty to vehicular manslaughter after a late-night collision on the West Side Highway.
A cyclist died.
Thomas had been driving his employer's black Mercedes.
He served five years.
Isolde was eighteen months old when he went away.
Her mother never took her to the prison.
After he got out, Thomas lived separately from them.
He died when Isolde was sixteen.
Rowan knew pieces.
Not the date.
Not the employer.
He looked at the card again.
“Who did he work for?”
Isolde shook her head.
“My mother always just said a private family.”
Rowan's stomach tightened.
Then someone knocked.
Three times.
His security director, Malcolm Dean, entered.
“There’s a problem.”
“What?”
Malcolm held a black phone in a clear evidence sleeve.
“Mrs. Vale dropped this when we moved her.”
Genevieve's second phone.
Not her personal one.
Rowan took the screenshot Malcolm showed him.
One incoming message.
Received at 4:17 p.m.
Twenty-three minutes before the shove.
JULIAN WILL COME AFTER THE GUESTS LEAVE. IF THE HART GIRL HAS MARIANNE'S TAPE, HE'LL TAKE IT TONIGHT.
Rowan felt Isolde stiffen beside him.
Marianne.
Her mother's name.
Then Rowan noticed the sender.
No contact name.
Just a number.
And beneath the message, Genevieve had typed a reply.
Not sent.
May you like
Three words.
I already know.
