Chapter 5: The First Time He Came Looking
Victor found the Portland address through Carol's property records.
It took his assistant forty minutes.
He drove himself.
He didn't tell Rita where he was going.
The house was a small colonial on a quiet street, yellow with white shutters, a bird feeder in the front yard that Carol kept filled through the winter.
Victor sat in his car across the street for ten minutes before he got out.
He rang the bell.
Carol answered.
She looked at him for a long moment without speaking.
She had met Victor perhaps a dozen times in twenty-two years.
She had never once called him by his first name.
"She doesn't want to see you," Carol said.
"I just need five minutes."
"She doesn't want to see you."
"Carol." His voice dropped.
"I'm not here to fight.
I just need to understand what she's done and why, so we can—"
"So you can what?" Carol's voice was very quiet.
"Fix it?
Get the building back?
Find out how much she knows?"
Victor said nothing.
"She told me everything," Carol said.
"All of it.
The phone call you made from the hospital.
What you said about the house.
What you said about her." She paused.
"She also told me about December."
Victor's expression shifted.
"What about December?"
Carol studied him.
Something moved across her face — not quite pity, not quite contempt.
Something in between.
"She didn't tell you."
"Tell me what?"
"Then it's not mine to say." Carol stepped back.
"Go home, Victor.
You don't have a home to go to, I know.
But go somewhere that isn't here."
She began to close the door.
"Carol." His hand went to the frame.
Not pushing.
Just stopping.
"I made mistakes.
I know that.
But twenty-two years — she can't just—"
"She gave you a kidney," Carol said.
The door stopped moving.
"She went into surgery three weeks after her own doctor told her she needed to start treatment.
She did that because she didn't want to be the kind of person who lets someone die.
Even someone who—" She stopped herself.
"Go, Victor."
The door closed.
He stood on the porch for a moment.
A neighbor walking a dog glanced at him from the sidewalk and looked away.
He got back in his car.
He sat there for a long time.
The bird feeder swung slightly in the wind.
A chickadee landed on it, ate, and left.
His phone rang.
Rita.
He let it ring.
When it stopped, he called Paul Greer instead.
"The gift deed draft," he said.
"The one for the Brookline property.
I need you to pull it and destroy it."
"Victor." Paul's voice was strained.
"I already told you.
Holloway's letter requires me to preserve all documents.
If I destroy anything now, that's—"
"I know what it is."
"Then you know I can't do it."
Victor stared at the yellow house.
The white shutters.
The bird feeder.
"She planned this from December," he said.
It wasn't a question.
"It appears so," Paul said carefully.
"She walked into that hospital knowing she had already moved the Newbury Street property.
Knowing the Brookline house was untouchable.
Knowing I would make calls from that room." He paused.
"She let me talk."
Paul said nothing.
"She let me say everything I said, and she just — listened.
And then she signed her discharge papers and walked out." Victor's voice had gone very flat.
"And I didn't even notice she was awake."
"Victor," Paul said quietly.
"I think you need an attorney.
Not me.
A litigation attorney."
"I know."
"And Victor — the gift deed draft.
Even if I could destroy it, Holloway likely already has a copy.
She requested the full file."
Victor closed his eyes.
"When did she request it?"
"The letter was dated the day before Sarah went into surgery."
The day before.
Sarah had been in pre-op preparation, fasting, signing consent forms — and she had already instructed Diane Holloway to secure the paper trail.
"She knew I would try," Victor said softly.
"She knew exactly what I would do."
His phone buzzed.
A text from Diane Holloway's office number.
*Mr.
Vance.
My client has asked me to inform you that any further attempts to contact her directly or through family members will be documented and included in the current file.
Please direct all future communication to this office.*
He read it twice.
Then he looked up at the yellow house one last time.
The curtain in the front window moved.
May you like
Just slightly.
Then was still.
