Chapter 3 - The Woman Wearing My Mother's Diamonds
My mother read the forged death certificate three times.
"Somebody printed this while you were fighting for your life?"
"That's what the timestamp suggests," Patrice said. "The authorities will verify whether it's fraudulent and who submitted it."
Lorraine set the paper down as carefully as if it were something poisonous.
"I want to know who signed it."
So did I.
I was discharged to a secure apartment arranged through counsel. My ribs ached when I stood. A purple bruise marked the place where Darius had grabbed me. My belly made it difficult to find a comfortable position. I wore loose sweatpants, a borrowed coat, and shoes that slipped over my swollen feet.
I did not look like the woman in the funeral portrait.
I looked like a woman who had survived something and hadn't decided how to live with it yet.
Lorraine cooked soup. I couldn't eat much. She set a small bowl beside me anyway.
"Three bites," she said.
"You're counting?"
"I counted every vegetable you refused when you were six."
The ordinary argument made me smile.
Patrice arrived with news. Darius had applied for temporary control of certain company functions, citing my presumed death. The company's governance documents blocked him, but he had convinced two directors to support an emergency meeting.
"Which two?"
"Calvin Price and Beverly Knox."
Calvin had been my father's friend. Beverly chaired the compensation committee and never missed an opportunity to tell me I was too emotional for a chief executive.
"Of course," I said.
Patrice placed a folder on the table.
"There's more. Tasha has been staying at the mansion."
I had met Tasha in graduate school. She was the friend who brought me ginger tea when morning sickness hit. She had helped choose the nursery wallpaper. She had hugged me the morning of the flight and told me to enjoy my romantic surprise.
Now she was sleeping under my roof.
I wanted to drive there and confront her. Patrice reminded me that the police investigation was active and that my medical team had ordered rest.
"Then show me what she's saying."
Tasha had posted a video from my living room. Behind her stood the Christmas tree I had decorated with my father before he died. She spoke softly about protecting my legacy.
On the mantel, beside the stockings, stood a new framed photograph.
Darius and Tasha.
Not a wedding photograph. Not yet. But close enough that I had to put the phone down.
Lorraine watched my face.
"Baby?"
"She held my hand at my baby shower."
"I know."
"She helped me write thank-you cards."
"I know."
"Why?"
Lorraine sat beside me.
"Because some people can sit at your table and still be hungry for your chair."
The next day, Patrice obtained financial records through the company's internal review. Darius had authorized payments to a consulting firm named Monarch Advisory. Tasha was listed as its manager. The company had received millions for work nobody could clearly describe.
I remembered Darius insisting Monarch was handling international partnerships. I had asked for a report. He had promised one after Christmas.
There would be no report.
An internal auditor, Elijah Brooks, called Patrice.
"I found invoices with dates that don't match the bank transfers," he said. "Someone altered the approvals."
"Can you preserve the original records?"
"Already done."
Elijah had worked for my father when he was still assembling devices in a garage. He spoke to me directly for the first time since the flight.
"Ms. Ellison, your dad used to say a number is a witness. You just have to make it talk."
I laughed once, then cried.
That evening, a package arrived at the secure apartment. The courier had been given the address by somebody who should not have known it.
Inside was a tiny white baby dress, the kind sold for a first Christmas.
A note lay beneath it.
YOUR DAUGHTER WON'T NEED THIS.
Lorraine called the detective immediately. Patrice preserved the package for investigators. I sat on the couch, one hand over my belly, shaking.
The baby kicked.
I whispered, "I'm here."
Then my mother opened the bottom of the box.
May you like
Tucked beneath the tissue paper was a photograph of Tasha standing beside Andre, the pilot, outside the helicopter hangar.
The picture had been taken two days before the flight.
