Chapter 9 - The Ghost of the Nursery
The federal prosecutor’s office sent over the final asset forfeiture schedules by Tuesday afternoon. While Damian reviewed the financial ledgers in his home office, I spent the morning in the sunroom watching the triplets finger-paint with non-toxic blues and yellows. Their giggles bounced off the glass walls, a sweet melody that still felt like a dream I was terrified of waking up from.
Vance walked in carrying a heavy, encrypted tablet. His face was unusually grim.
"We decrypted the final partition of Elena’s personal hard drive, Emily," Vance said, kneeling beside me while keeping a cautious eye on the paint-smeared toddlers. "There’s something you need to see. It pertains to the night of the delivery at St. Jude’s."
My heart hammered against my ribs. "What is it?"
Vance tapped the screen, playing an audio file recorded fourteen months ago. The distorted voice of Dr. Harrison crackled through the speakers, speaking to someone whose heels clicked sharply against linoleum.
“The delivery was a success, Mrs. Marchetti. Three healthy infants. But the mother... she’s waking up. She’s asking for them.”
Then came Elena’s voice, cold and detached.
May you like
“Sedate her deeper. Give her the false complication paperwork. I want those children packed and in our private transport before the shift change. If she makes a peep, make sure she stays buried in debt so she never has the resources to look for them.”
Tears blurred my vision, but this time they weren't born of grief—they were forged in white-hot fury. The system hadn't just failed me; it had been weaponized by a woman who wanted what belonged to me.
