Chapter 6 - THE RABBIT WITH THE BLUE STAR
Silas had never considered himself a sentimental man. He kept his father's antique watch in a drawer, stored Elena's wedding photograph in a locked cabinet, and answered questions about his childhood with a dry smile that discouraged follow-ups. Yet the photograph Khloe sent him of Milo's rabbit stopped him in the hotel corridor so abruptly that his lawyer nearly walked into his back.
There it was beneath the torn ear: a tiny blue star stitched with uneven thread. Elena had used the same pattern on hand-sewn book covers, birthday banners, and the label inside Milo's first coat. Silas remembered teasing her about it. She'd said a star was a way of telling someone where home was, even in the dark.
Margaret Chen studied the photograph. “The toy belongs to your son. Don't cut it open just because we're looking for evidence.”
“I'm not going to hurt his rabbit.”
“Good. Ask him. With an interpreter. If there is something in it, we can arrange proper handling.”
Milo was coloring at a table by the window. Amélie sat beside him, ready to interpret. When Silas approached, he stopped where his son could see him. He signed QUESTION using the shape he'd practiced that morning, then spoke through the interpreter.
“Your rabbit has the same star as Mom's book. Do you know why?”
Milo considered, then signed MOM SEW. MOM SAY IMPORTANT.
“What's important?”
Milo turned the toy over and pressed the torn ear gently. DON'T OPEN UNTIL SAFE.
Silas felt his stomach drop. “Did she say that?”
Amélie signed the question without suggesting an answer. Milo nodded and added that Elena had given him the rabbit during a visit to her office, before the accident. He remembered blue lights in a hallway and his mother's worried face, but little else. He was five; his memories were vivid in places and uncertain in others.
Silas reached out, then stopped himself. “Can I look?”
Milo held out the rabbit. Silas did not take it away. He inspected the seam while Milo watched, then handed it back. An extra layer of stitching was visible beneath the blue star, unlike the toy's original construction.
“Mom told him to keep it safe,” Silas told Margaret. “I can't believe I forgot.”
“You didn't know it had a second meaning,” she replied. “We still don't.”
Margaret arranged for a neutral document examiner to observe any inspection and preserve potential evidence. When Milo agreed, an experienced textile conservator carefully opened two stitches beside the damaged ear, with Milo and Amélie present. Tucked into a small waterproof sleeve was a microSD card, labeled with a tiny paper star. The conservator returned the rabbit immediately after making a reversible repair, and Milo hugged it to his chest. No one treated his toy as a prize they were entitled to seize.
Silas looked at the card lying in its evidence pouch. His wife had put something small enough to hide in a child's hand inside a toy their son never left behind. The thought made him feel sick.
Margaret arranged a forensic copy before anyone attempted to access the contents. The digital files included photographs of shipping manifests, internal invoices, and short videos recorded in Elena's office. A typed note indicated that copies had been given to a trusted contact, but the name was abbreviated.
The videos were not a triumphant accusation against a murderer. They were an exhausted woman's careful documentation of irregular shipments. In one, Elena signed to the camera while also speaking. She'd done that so Milo, if he ever encountered it, could understand why she'd been spending so much time away from home.
**I found money meant for medical supplies moving through companies I don't recognize,** Elena signed. Some of the shipments say delivered. The clinics say they never came. I need someone outside our business to check.
Silas watched without moving. Elena's hair was pinned loosely at the back of her head. There was a coffee stain on her sleeve. She looked the way she had on an ordinary Wednesday, and the ordinary details hurt more than the possible crime.
Another file showed a series of correspondence between Elena and the Costello Foundation's compliance office. She had been asking about medical shipments diverted from relief programs. The records named a supplier linked to Victor's brother-in-law. That connection was suspicious, not conclusive. Margaret cautioned against guessing.
“There's enough to give investigators,” she said, “but not enough to declare what happened to Elena's car.”
Silas covered his face. “I told her the auditors could handle it. I told her I was too busy.”
“You cannot fix that conversation now,” Margaret said. “You can decide what to do with the evidence.”
He looked at Milo, who was studying his rabbit with solemn concentration. “I want to tell him.”
“Tell him something he can understand,” Amélie advised. “He is a little boy who misses his mother, not an adult witness in a boardroom.”
Silas nodded. Through her, he told Milo that his mother had tried to help people and left important records. Adults would keep the records safe. Milo did not have to guard them anymore. The boy asked whether the blue book would come back. Silas said they were looking for it, and that he would tell him the truth when they knew more.
Then Milo signed MOM GOOD?
Silas's breath caught. He knelt so their eyes were level and signed the one word he could manage clearly: YES.
Later, alone with Khloe on a video call, he confessed that he had replayed Elena's final message until he could barely see the screen.
“She tried to warn me about my own company,” he said. “I thought she was angry that I was never home.”
Khloe did not offer reassurance she couldn't justify. “Maybe you failed to listen then. You can listen now.”
His eyes lifted to hers. “Will Milo ever forgive me?”
“That isn't something you can demand of him. Show up. Learn. Let him tell you what he needs.”
For a long time Silas didn't speak. Then he asked, “How is your job?”
“Under review. Better than yesterday.”
“I know Victor is behind the complaint.”
“Suspecting it isn't the same as proving it.”
A faint smile touched his mouth. “You sound like Margaret.”
“Good. She's smarter than both of us.”
When they ended the call, Khloe felt an unexpected heaviness. Elena had been a woman whose life was being reduced to files and questions. She deserved more than to serve as a convenient mystery in somebody else's romance.
That evening Margaret received an anonymous email containing a photograph of Elena's blue notebook on a desk beside a man's watch. The message was unsigned.
**The original is closer than you think. Stop digging, or the boy learns what happened to his mother the hard way.**
The timestamp showed it had been sent less than an hour before.
May you like
Somebody was watching them closely enough to know the secret in the rabbit had been discovered.
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