Chapter 5 — She Knows

Vincent stared at the footprints.

They were smaller than the length of his thumb.

A hospital bracelet lay beside them, the name printed clearly.

Claire Moretti.

He pushed it aside and unfolded the report.

The manager stopped speaking.

For several seconds, the only sound was traffic beyond the club’s entrance.

Then Vincent said, “Where is she?”

“We don’t have that information.”

“You called the ambulance.”

“A staff member did.”

“Then ask her.”

“She finished her shift.”

Vincent looked up.

The manager stepped back.

“I’ll contact her.”

Vincent pulled out his phone and called Claire.

The call didn’t connect.

He tried again.

Then he opened their messages.

The photograph at the top showed her in the nursery, holding two paint samples against the wall.

He had taken it.

He had told her the lighter color suited her.

Now his latest message sat beneath the picture without a reply.

Call me.

He sent another.

Where are you?

Then a third.

Claire, answer the phone.

Behind him, Vivian stepped out of the club.

“What’s taking so long?”

She noticed the box.

“Is that from her?”

Vincent turned the card toward her.

Vivian read it.

Her hand went to her mouth.

“She lost it?”

Vincent looked at her.

“The baby,” she clarified.

He hated her for clarifying.

Dominic came through the doorway carrying his jacket.

“Why are we all standing out here?”

Vincent held up the hospital report.

Dominic’s expression shifted, but only briefly.

“Christ.”

“What happened in that room?”

Dominic looked toward the manager.

“Not here.”

Vincent grabbed him by the collar.

“What happened?”

“You were there.”

“I left.”

“Exactly.”

Vivian touched Vincent’s arm.

“Don’t let him upset you.”

He shook her off.

Dominic pulled at the hand gripping his shirt.

“You need to calm down.”

“My wife ended up in a hospital.”

“I heard.”

“She called for help.”

Dominic’s eyes narrowed.

“You heard her too.”

Vincent’s grip tightened.

Vivian stepped closer.

“The staff were supposed to check on her.”

“She told me there was blood.”

He said it as if hearing the words now might change what they had meant hours earlier.

Dominic stared at him.

“Then why didn’t you open the door?”

Vincent struck him.

The blow caught Dominic across the mouth.

He stumbled into the wall, then straightened with his hand pressed to his lip.

“Have you lost your mind?”

Vincent shoved the report against his chest.

“Read it.”

“I can read.”

“Then tell me why my child—”

He stopped.

Dominic heard the unfinished sentence.

His face changed again.

“Your child?”

Vivian looked sharply at Vincent.

“You know it wasn’t yours.”

The words hung between them.

Vincent glanced down at the box.

He had known that.

For months, knowing it had made everything easier.

The baby belonged to someone else. Claire’s marriage would end in disgrace. Vivian would get what he had promised her.

That had been the plan.

There had been no hospital box in the plan.

No tiny footprints.

No sentence reminding him that she had called his name.

“She knows,” he said.

Dominic wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Clearly.”

“She knows about the bet.”

“She’s known something for a while,” Vivian said. “Didn’t you see how she was acting?”

Vincent turned toward her.

“You said she wouldn’t remember.”

“She shouldn’t have.”

“Shouldn’t have?”

Vivian’s eyes filled.

“I didn’t make Dominic do anything.”

Dominic let out a hard laugh.

“Oh, don’t start that.”

“I gave her the drink. That’s all.”

“That’s all?” he repeated. “You brought the stuff. You told everyone she’d wake up without remembering.”

“You were the one who took her upstairs.”

“Because Vincent told me to.”

Vincent struck him again.

This time, Dominic fell against the curb.

The manager reached for his radio.

“Mr. Moretti—”

“Stay out of it.”

Dominic pushed himself up on one elbow.

Blood ran from his lip onto his shirt.

“You don’t get to put this on me.”

Vincent stepped toward him.

Dominic didn’t retreat.

“You made the schedule. You handed us the keys. You stood there last night and watched.”

“Shut your mouth.”

“You think hitting me changes what she has on you?”

Vincent stopped.

“What do you mean?”

Dominic pointed toward the card lying in the box.

“She didn’t write that because she guessed.”

Vivian’s face tightened.

“She must have found something.”

Vincent remembered Claire’s hand shaking in the kitchen.

Her insistence on leaving.

The bag at the bathroom door.

Her saying Rachel would know if he took her phone.

A sequence of small things he had dismissed because dismissing them was easier than asking why they had changed.

“Her phone,” he said.

Dominic looked away.

“Where is it?”

“Upstairs somewhere.”

“Get it.”

“It won’t help.”

“Get her phone.”

Dominic stood, swaying slightly.

“You know what? Find it yourself.”

He picked up his jacket.

“You wanted her gone. Now she’s gone. Sign the papers when they come and let it end.”

Vincent lunged.

The manager shouted.

Dominic tried to block the first blow, but Vincent drove him backward against the wall.

People on the opposite sidewalk stopped.

A delivery driver raised his phone.

Vivian kept saying Vincent’s name, first urgently, then with fear.

He didn’t hear her.

Dominic caught his wrist.

“You bastard. You do this to your own wife and now you want to act—”

Vincent hit him again.

A siren cut through the street.

Hands caught Vincent from behind.

“Step back.”

He tried to pull free.

“Do you know who I am?”

“Step back and keep your hands where we can see them.”

Another officer moved between him and Dominic.

The manager began talking quickly.

Vivian stood frozen beside the open box.

Vincent looked from the uniformed officers to the people watching across the street.

One of them still had a phone pointed at him.

“Stop recording.”

No one did.

An officer turned his arm behind his back.

“Vincent Moretti?”

He stiffened.

“Yes.”

“We need to speak with you about your wife.”

For the first time that morning, he stopped struggling.

“What hospital is she in?”

“That isn’t information I’m giving you.”

“I’m her husband.”

“We know.”

The officer’s voice gave nothing back.

Vincent tried to turn toward Vivian.

“Call Martin.”

His lawyer.

Vivian reached for her phone.

Dominic, seated on the curb now, spat blood onto the pavement.

“Make sure he knows about all of us.”

Vincent looked at him.

The hatred between them was no longer something either man bothered to hide.

As the officers led Vincent toward the car, a dark sedan pulled up behind it.

Martin’s assistant got out first.

Then Vincent’s deputy, Paul, appeared carrying a tablet.

He looked at the officers, then at Vincent’s hands.

“Boss.”

“Find out where Claire is.”

Paul didn’t move.

“Now.”

“There’s something you need to see.”

“Not now.”

Paul held out the tablet to Martin’s assistant.

“The partners have already seen it.”

Vincent’s mouth went dry.

“What partners?”

“All of them.”

On the screen, a video opened.

Vincent saw his own bedroom.

The dresser stood at the far edge of the image.

The camera angle faced the bed.

His voice came through the speaker.

“Who’s going to believe that?”

Then Vivian’s.

“What if she remembers?”

A headline beneath the clip named him.

Another named the Crown.

Vincent looked toward Vivian.

She was watching the screen too.

For once, she had no tears ready.

The officer opened the car door.

Paul kept talking, almost stumbling over the words.

“Two lenders called. The hotel partnership wants a meeting. The club accounts are being reviewed. Nobody’s answering us.”

Vincent barely heard him.

He was looking at the woman on the screen.

His wife sat against the pillows while he held a mug to her mouth.

He had never expected to see that night from anywhere except beside the bed.

“Claire,” he said.

But the woman in the recording could not hear him.

And the woman who had sent the box no longer had any reason to answer.