Chapter 9 - THE PILLS
Police searched Grant’s office that afternoon.
The safe was exactly where Diane said it would be.
Behind a framed photograph of Grant shaking hands with a former governor.
Inside were financial records.
Cash.
Two prepaid phones.
A copy of my life-insurance policy.
And a white pharmacy bottle with my name on it.
Prenatal vitamins.
Except the capsules inside were not prenatal vitamins.
The preliminary laboratory report arrived forty-eight hours later.
They contained a prescription sedative.
Not enough in one capsule to incapacitate an adult.
But enough, taken repeatedly, to cause dizziness, fatigue, confusion, and potentially serious complications.
I had experienced all three.
For weeks.
Ryan told me pregnancy was exhausting.
Diane told me every woman felt foggy.
Grant joked that I could not handle motherhood if I was already complaining.
I had believed them.
The police asked where I kept my vitamins.
Master bathroom.
Who had access?
Ryan.
Diane when she visited.
Housekeeping.
Occasionally Brooke.
Grant had entered the bedroom several times during family gatherings.
My doctor ordered immediate blood work.
The results showed no current dangerous level.
I had stopped taking the pills after going to the hospital because my bag remained at the penthouse.
That accident may have protected me.
The original bottle in my possession was located by investigators.
Several capsules were altered.
Someone had been replacing them gradually.
Rebecca sat beside me when Morales explained the evidence.
“Can you prove who did it?”
“Not yet.”
The prepaid phones helped.
One contained messages between a number investigators believed belonged to Grant and another unidentified number.
The conversation was short.
G: She still taking them?
Unknown: Every morning.
G: Increase after the 10th.
Unknown: What if doctor catches it?
G: He won’t.
The next message arrived two days later.
Unknown: Ryan is nervous.
G: Ryan is always nervous.
My name never appeared.
It did not need to.
The dates matched my pregnancy.
January tenth was five days away.
January seventeenth was one week after that.
I stared at the messages.
“They were going to make me sick.”
Morales remained careful.
“That is one interpretation we are investigating.”
“I know what it means.”
Rebecca squeezed my hand.
The second prepaid phone created a different problem.
It contained photographs of my building.
My parking garage.
My vehicle.
My office.
My obstetrician’s clinic.
Someone had been following me.
One photograph showed me leaving work at 8:46 p.m.
Another showed me entering a grocery store.
Another showed me meeting Rebecca for lunch.
The earliest image was seven months old.
“Grant didn’t take these,” I said.
“How do you know?”
“He hates driving downtown.”
Morales almost smiled.
“Not exactly forensic evidence.”
“There’s more.”
I zoomed in on one photograph.
A reflection appeared in the glass door behind me.
A man holding a phone.
Tall.
Dark coat.
Baseball cap.
I recognized the posture before the face.
Ryan.
My husband had photographed me for months.
Not because he loved me.
Because I was becoming a file.
A financial target.
A legal problem.
Maybe something worse.
That evening, Ryan was released on bond under strict conditions.
Grant remained detained temporarily pending another hearing.
Ryan’s first action was not to call me.
He called Madison.
Police knew because Madison had agreed to cooperate.
The call lasted eleven minutes.
She recorded it.
Ryan sounded desperate.
“Tell them my father planned everything.”
Madison asked, “Did he?”
Ryan paused.
Then came the sentence that destroyed the last piece of me that still wondered whether I had married a good man who became weak.
“I held Claire because Dad said we needed her scared enough to sign.”
Madison whispered, “You let him burn her.”
Ryan answered.
“It was supposed to be a warning.”
A warning.
My daughter moved inside me.
I placed a hand over her.
Ryan had not lost control that night.
Neither had Grant.
May you like
They had performed a threat.
And if I had responded differently, January seventeenth might have become the day they finished it.
