Chapter 8: Beatrice Breaks
They moved Beatrice to a different room just after four in the morning.
Clara heard the shift — the sound of footsteps, a door, Beatrice's voice briefly raised and then cut short.
She didn't hear what Beatrice said.
She heard the silence that followed, which was its own kind of answer.
Lily was still asleep.
Clara had not slept.
She had drunk three cups of water and eaten half a granola bar from Lily's backpack and sat with the letter in her lap and waited.
Mr.
Miller had stayed.
He was in the armchair across the room, awake, not speaking, simply there.
At some point he had made tea in Clara's kitchen without asking and set a mug on the table beside her.
She had drunk it without looking up.
At four-fifteen, Holt came back in and sat across from her.
"Beatrice wants to talk," he said.
Clara looked up.
"Her lawyer arrived twenty minutes ago.
They spoke privately.
And then Beatrice told her lawyer she wanted to make a statement." Holt's voice was neutral.
"She's asking that you be told she's cooperating."
"Why does she want me to know that?"
"I don't know yet."
Clara thought about it.
"She's separating herself from Scott."
Holt didn't confirm it.
But the way he didn't confirm it was confirmation enough.
"What about Scott?"
"Scott is not cooperating.
His lawyer arrived and Scott has said nothing since." Holt leaned forward slightly.
"I want to be straightforward with you, Clara.
We're in early stages.
I can't tell you what Beatrice's statement contains yet.
But I can tell you that the financial crimes team has already been in contact with Daniel Farro, and they're treating this as a serious matter."
"Is Ethan—" She stopped.
Started again.
"Do you have any information about where Ethan is?"
Holt's expression shifted — just slightly, just enough.
"We have a location we're looking at," he said carefully.
"Based on the phone signal and some additional information from Farro's documents.
We have people there now."
Clara's hands went flat on her knees.
"Is he alive?" she asked.
Holt held her gaze.
"I don't know yet.
I will tell you the moment I know."
She nodded.
She didn't trust her voice for anything more than that.
Mr.
Miller set his mug down quietly.
At four forty-seven, Holt's phone rang.
He looked at the screen and stood immediately.
"Excuse me," he said, and stepped into the hallway.
Clara heard his voice — low, quick, the words indistinct.
She heard him say yes twice and then say get medical there now and then she didn't hear anything else because the sound in her ears became something else entirely.
She stood up.
Reyes was at her side before she'd taken a step.
"Clara.
Wait."
"Is he—"
"Wait," Reyes said.
Not unkind.
Firm.
"Let him finish the call."
Clara stood in the middle of her living room with her hands at her sides and waited.
Holt came back in.
He looked at her.
His face had changed completely.
"They found him," he said.
The room tilted.
"He's alive," Holt said.
"He's injured.
He's being transported to St.
Anselm's right now.
I don't have details on his condition yet, but he was conscious when they reached him."
Clara sat down on the floor.
Not because she decided to.
Because her legs simply stopped.
Lily woke up.
She looked at her mother on the floor and slid off the couch and sat down next to her and put both arms around her without saying a word.
Mr.
Miller looked at the ceiling and pressed his mouth into a thin line and said nothing.
"Okay," Clara said.
To no one.
May you like
To all of them.
"Okay."
