Chapter 7: Edward Moves
The call came at eleven that night.
I was in the hotel suite with the girls finally asleep — June curled against Lily, Rose sprawled across two-thirds of the bed with the territorial confidence she had possessed since birth.
I was sitting at the small desk by the window with my laptop open when my phone lit up.
Unknown number.
London area code.
I answered.
"Ms.
Vance." The voice was male, professional, and careful.
"My name is Philip Crane.
I'm calling on behalf of Edward Sterling.
Mr.
Sterling would like to propose a meeting tomorrow morning.
Private.
Just the two of you."
"Mr.
Sterling knows where my attorney is."
"Mr.
Sterling believes this particular conversation would be better held without attorneys present."
"I'm sure he does."
A pause.
"He asked me to tell you that he has information about David Rourke that you may find relevant to your case."
My hand tightened on the phone.
"What kind of information?"
"Mr.
Sterling would prefer to share that in person."
I looked out the window at the London skyline.
The Thames was a dark ribbon below, lit at its edges by the city's permanent glow.
"Tell Mr.
Sterling that any communication he wishes to have with me goes through Grace Ellison.
He has her number." I ended the call.
I sat for a moment.
Then I called Grace.
She picked up on the second ring.
"I saw the unknown number.
What was it?"
I told her.
A short silence.
"He's trying to get you alone so he can make an offer that isn't on the record."
"Yes."
"And the Rourke angle — he's either bluffing, or he has something on Rourke that he thinks will destabilize the affidavit."
"That's what I think too."
"I'll call Rourke's attorney first thing in the morning.
And I'll have a barrister's opinion on the affidavit's vulnerability by noon." Grace paused.
"Clara.
Get some sleep.
You've done everything right so far."
I thanked her and hung up.
I sat at the desk for another few minutes, listening to the sound of three small people breathing in the next room.
Then I opened my laptop and pulled up the folder I had built over fourteen months.
Organized by date.
By source.
By evidentiary category.
Every email.
Every log file.
Every phone record.
Every version of every document, backed up in three separate locations.
I had not built this case quickly.
I had built it the way I built everything — methodically, completely, without gaps.
Edward Sterling had spent five years believing I was gone.
He had not considered that I had spent those five years preparing to come back.
I closed the laptop.
In the morning, Grace called at seven.
"Rourke's attorney says Edward's team approached them two weeks ago.
They offered Rourke a payment to recant the affidavit and leave the country."
My stomach dropped.
"Did he take it?"
"No.
But here's the part that matters." Grace's voice sharpened.
"The approach was made in writing.
Rourke's attorney kept the email.
That's witness tampering, Clara.
We just got a second charge."
I pressed my hand flat on the desk.
"File it today," I said.
"Already drafted.
I need your sign-off."
"You have it."
I heard Grace exhale — not relief exactly, but the particular satisfaction of a case that keeps getting stronger.
"Edward overreached," she said.
May you like
"He always does," I said.
"That's how his son ended up sitting across from me in a London café yesterday."
