Chapter 6 - THE UNICORN'S SECRETMy breath hitched in my throat. The room seemed to spin violently.
Nolan?
"That... that's impossible," I stammered, grabbing the edge of the server desk to steady myself. "My husband is a paramedic. He doesn't know anything about offshore corporate accounts. He doesn't even handle our household investments!"
"Mrs. Vance, look at the secondary authorization code," the forensics tech urged, highlighting a long string of alphanumeric code on the glowing blue monitor. "This account, 'Valkyrie Holdings LLC', was registered in the Cayman Islands eight years ago. The secondary user signature was updated three days ago using a secure IP address traced directly to your home router."
My mind raced through the past few years like a film reel playing in fast-forward.
Nolan’s sudden desire to install the home security cameras four months ago. His insistence that he handle all the insurance documents for our house and Harper’s trust fund. His uniform shirt being creased at the shoulders when he walked into the kitchen right before Harper collapsed...
He said he stopped at the gas station to buy extra ice. But his uniform had no rain on it, even though it had started drizzling thirty minutes before the party.
"Keep extracting those files," I told the technician, my voice barely a whisper, cold fear gripping my chest tighter than before. "Send everything to Detective Miller's personal email. Do not notify anyone else."
I ran out of the building, ignoring the rain pounding against my face, and threw myself into my car.
I drove through the stormy city streets back toward St. Jude’s Emergency Trauma Center. My hands were gripping the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turned white. Was I losing my mind? Was the paranoia finally consuming me? Or had I lived in a house full of monsters for nearly a decade without ever seeing their true faces?
When I arrived at the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit on the 4th floor, the hallway was dim and quiet. The soft, rhythmic beep-beep-beep of heart monitors hummed through the closed doors.
I walked quietly toward Harper’s room, Room 412.
Through the narrow glass window in the door, I saw Nolan.
He was sitting in the vinyl armchair beside Harper’s bed. Her small hand was rested in his large palm. He was leaning forward, his head resting against the edge of her mattress. He looked like a devastated father praying for his daughter's recovery.
I opened the door softly. The hinges didn't make a sound.
Nolan jumped slightly, wiping his eyes before looking up at me. "Camille? Oh thank God. Where have you been? Detective Miller called and said they arrested your mother at the office. Is it over? Are we safe?"
I stood at the foot of Harper’s bed, looking down at my sleeping seven-year-old daughter, then slowly turned my eyes to my husband.
"Who made the drink, Nolan?" I asked quietly.
Nolan blinked, looking confused. "What? Camille, we know who made it. Sabrina mixed the lemonade. Your mother gave her the drops. They recorded it on the pantry camera—"
"The pantry camera didn't show who brought the amber bottle into the house," I interrupted, stepping closer to him. "It only showed Sabrina taking it out of her purse."
"Yeah, because your mother bought it this morning," Nolan said, standing up and reaching out to touch my arm. "Camille, you're exhausted. You've been through hell tonight. Sit down, please—"
"Don't touch me," I said, stepping back.
Nolan froze, his hands hovering in mid-air. "Camille... what's wrong with you?"
"I just came from the server vault at headquarters," I said, staring directly into his eyes. "The digital forensics team recovered the offshore transaction logs for Valkyrie Holdings. Eight million dollars. Authorized by your private security key signature from our home router three days ago."
Nolan’s face didn't shatter like Sabrina’s. It didn't turn enraged like Eleanor’s.
Instead, his expression flattened into something completely unrecognizable. The soft, caring, protective husband I had loved for ten years simply vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating stranger.
May you like
Slowly, Nolan lowered his hands into his pockets.
"You always were too good at your job, Camille," he said softly. "I told Eleanor you’d find the ledgers eventually. She insisted you were too distracted being a mother."
