Chapter 3: What Owen Left Behind
They took me to the hospital in Richard's car.
He sat in the front.
I sat in the back with a woman named Carol, one of the people from the second vehicle, who held my hand through every contraction and didn't say a single unnecessary word.
I didn't ask who she was.
It didn't matter.
Her hand was steady and that was enough.
Walter did not follow.
I watched through the rear window as the two men in dark jackets stood at the foot of the porch steps, not moving, not speaking.
Just standing there.
Walter had gone back inside.
The door was closed.
"He'll try to call you," Richard said from the front seat, eyes on the road.
"Don't answer."
"What is on that record?" I asked.
Richard glanced at me in the mirror.
"We'll talk after.
Right now the only thing that matters is you and that baby."
My daughter was born four hours later.
Six pounds, eleven ounces.
She came into the world fast and furious, like she had somewhere important to be.
The nurse put her on my chest and I held her with both arms and said her name out loud for the first time.
Nora.
Owen and I had chosen it together, sitting in bed one night with a notebook between us, crossing names off and laughing at the ones we hated.
He had circled Nora twice and written "obviously" next to it in the margin.
I pressed my face against her head and let myself cry.
Not for long.
But completely.
Richard was waiting outside the room when the nurse finally opened the door.
He came in quietly, pulled a chair to the bedside, and set a manila folder on his knee.
"Owen came to see me six weeks before the accident," he said.
I looked up.
"He didn't tell you because he didn't want to frighten you.
But he had concerns about your father.
Specific ones."
"What kind of concerns?"
"Walter had approached him twice — once before your wedding, once about eight months ago — asking about the estate.
About what would happen to the house and the accounts if Owen died without a will."
The room felt smaller suddenly.
"Owen had a will," I said.
"He did.
Updated it the week after that second conversation with Walter." Richard opened the folder.
"The house is yours outright.
The investment accounts, the life insurance, the trust he set up for the baby — all of it goes directly to you.
Walter has no claim.
No standing.
No path in."
"He knew," I said.
Not a question.
"Owen knew something was wrong.
He didn't know what Walter would do.
But he prepared for it." Richard paused.
"He also installed a security system the same week.
Cameras at the front door, the study, the hallway.
Motion-activated.
Cloud-stored."
I thought about that Tuesday morning.
The moving boxes.
Owen's desk drawers dumped on the floor.
Walter not looking up from his paperwork.
"He was on camera," I said.
"Everything he did this morning.
Everything he said.
The moment he grabbed you." Richard closed the folder.
"All of it."
I looked down at Nora.
She had Owen's nose.
I was almost certain of it already.
"What happens now?" I asked.
"Now," Richard said, "we let Walter make his next move.
And we wait."
He didn't have to wait long.
My phone lit up on the bedside table.
Walter's name on the screen.
I looked at Richard.
May you like
"Your call," he said.
I picked it up.
