Chapter 4 - THE MISSING HOUR
The house camera outage lasted fifty-one minutes.
3:16 to 4:07.
Not random.
The router remained powered.
Internet service remained active.
Someone disabled local recording from the administrator console.
Account:
EHALE.ADMIN.
Eleanor.
She claimed:
“I don’t know the password.”
The logs disagreed.
A successful login came from her tablet.
Her attorney said devices could be shared.
True.
Forensics needed more.
Cloud storage retained thumbnails.
Not video.
At 3:19, one thumbnail showed Emma standing in the kitchen.
At 3:27:
Eleanor beside her.
At 3:34:
Two men entering through the side door.
At 3:39:
Lily visible near the hall.
At 4:03:
One man pushing something large toward the driveway.
The image was too compressed to identify.
A wheelchair?
Laundry cart?
Equipment case?
No conclusion.
Then the camera returned.
House empty.
The medical transport company was identified:
Evergreen Patient Transit.
Licensed.
Private.
They had transported a woman matching Emma’s name at 3:52.
Destination listed only as:
Client facility — confidential.
Police obtained a warrant.
Destination:
Ashcroft Wellness Center.
Private psychiatric hospital two counties away.
My entire body relaxed and tightened at once.
“She’s alive?”
“They accepted a patient under her name.”
“Then let’s go.”
Monroe raised a hand.
“We are.”
“I’m coming.”
“No.”
“She’s my wife.”
“And this is an active investigation.”
“I can wait outside.”
“No.”
Cole stepped in.
“Vincent.”
I looked at him.
He shook his head.
I hated him.
Good security officers are people you hate briefly.
By noon, officers were at Ashcroft.
Hospital counsel delayed access until warrants and patient-rights procedures were clarified.
Not because villains controlled everything.
Medical privacy and psychiatric law are complicated.
A patient cannot simply be handed to a husband because he arrives angry.
Good.
Except I needed proof she was safe.
At 1:41 p.m., Monroe called.
“She is alive.”
I sat down.
Lily was across the room building a puzzle with the advocate.
I turned away so she would not see me cry.
“Condition?”
“Sedated.”
“What?”
“She has been receiving treatment.”
“For what?”
“Not discussing yet.”
“Did she consent?”
“That is under investigation.”
“Can I see her?”
“Not yet.”
I punched nothing.
Progress.
Then Rachel Sloan arrived.
Emma’s attorney.
She looked furious.
“What did Emma send you yesterday?”
Rachel stared at me.
“You know?”
“Cole found email metadata.”
She sat.
“Emma discovered irregular trust transactions.”
“How bad?”
“Potentially significant.”
“Eleanor?”
“Yes.”
“Was Emma going to remove her?”
Rachel did not answer.
That was answer enough.
“Tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
My skin chilled.
“What transaction?”
“Vincent.”
“Rachel.”
“We are not turning partial evidence into a conclusion.”
I almost laughed.
“Everyone in my life says that now.”
“Good.”
She opened her laptop.
“Emma scheduled a trust-protector action for nine tomorrow morning.”
“What action?”
“Suspension of Eleanor as trustee pending independent audit.”
I closed my eyes.
“Motive.”
“Potential motive.”
“What did she find?”
“Related-party land sale.”
“How much?”
“Unknown until appraisal review.”
“Buyer?”
“Entity called Summit Crest Development.”
“Who owns it?”
“Layered.”
“Connected to Mom?”
“Possibly.”
Again.
Possibly.
I stood.
“Why didn’t Emma tell me?”
Rachel looked sad.
“She tried.”
I stopped.
“What?”
“She emailed you last week.”
I checked memory.
Emma had sent:
Need to talk about your mother and the trust.
I replied:
Can it wait until after the Summit conference?
She said:
Sure.
I left for three days.
Business.
Meetings.
The company I could control.
The family conflict I avoided.
My flaw had a timestamp.
Then Rachel said:
“Vincent.”
“What?”
“Emma’s protector action would have taken effect tomorrow.”
“Yes.”
“The land sale is scheduled to close tonight.”
“What time?”
“Midnight.”
May you like
My mother did not need Emma gone forever.
She needed her unavailable for one night.
