Richard stood and walked toward the window.
The snow reflected pale light across his face.
“You are asking me to delay correcting a false death report.”
“I’m asking you to let the police control the information.”
“That is different.”
“Then call them.”
He turned back.
“I already did.”
The door opened.
A woman in a dark green wool coat entered with a hospital badge clipped beside a federal identification card. She was in her late forties, with calm eyes and a thin scar along her jaw.
“Madison Vale,” she said. “I’m Special Agent Elena Torres.”
Behind her came a state police detective named Aaron Bell.
Torres closed the door.
“Mr. Whitaker gave us a preliminary account,” she said. “Before anything else, I need to hear from you.”
I told them everything.
Not only the cliff.
Everything.
The policy.
The signatures.
The way Preston pressured me to increase the coverage after learning I was pregnant.
The way he insisted we travel to Ravenstone despite a storm warning.
The way he switched off my phone before dinner, claiming I needed rest.
The way Vanessa appeared at the lodge after midnight wearing Preston’s sweater.
The argument.
The walk.
The push.
His words.
Her voice.
They did not interrupt except to clarify dates.
When I finished, Detective Bell asked, “Did your husband know about Mr. Whitaker?”
“No.”
“Did anyone?”
“My mother’s attorney knew there was a letter. I never told Preston the name.”
Richard’s face remained unreadable.
Torres asked, “Why not?”
“Because Preston resented any part of me he couldn’t control. If he knew I might have a wealthy father, he would have found a way to use it.”
Richard looked down.
Torres exchanged a glance with Bell.
“You were right,” she said.
Then she explained the plan.
The rescue crew had reported finding a blood trail and broken ice near the cliff, but the official public statement had not confirmed whether anyone had survived. Preston had told investigators I slipped while walking alone and that he searched for me until conditions became unsafe.
He did not mention Vanessa.
Vanessa told lodge staff she had arrived the following morning.
The tracker contradicted both accounts.
Police had not yet confronted them with it.
“They think we’re searching for your body,” Bell said.
“What about my baby?”
Torres looked at the monitor.
“Officially, neither of you has been recovered.”
I swallowed.
My son moved weakly beneath my hand.
For the first time since the fall, I felt him clearly.
A small push.
Alive.
I closed my eyes.
Stay with me.
Torres continued.
“We can delay disclosure briefly for investigative reasons. But not indefinitely. Medical staff must be restricted. Your records will be placed under protected status. Mr. Whitaker has offered a private medical facility.”
Richard said, “You will receive the best care available.”
I looked at him.
“I don’t need luxury.”
“No,” he said. “You need safety.”
The words landed differently from him than they ever had from Preston.
Torres placed a photograph on the blanket.
Preston stood outside Ravenstone Lodge wrapped in a dark coat, one hand covering his face. Vanessa stood several feet behind him.
Even in a still image, I could see it.
Her hand rested against his back.
Not like a colleague.
Like a lover comforting a man after a successful risk.
Torres tapped the picture.
“They are planning a memorial service.”
“How soon?”
“Four days.”
My eyes lifted.
“That fast?”
“Your husband says he needs closure.”
A laugh escaped me.
Pain sliced through my ribs.
Richard moved toward the bed, but I raised my hand.
“I’m fine.”
No one believed me.
That was all right.
Torres said, “The service will likely provide surveillance opportunities, but you will not attend.”
I looked at the photograph.
Preston’s bent head.
Vanessa’s hand.
The practiced grief.
“I will.”
“No.”
“I heard what he said before he left me.”
“Mrs. Vale—”
“He told her I was worth fifty million dollars dead.”
Torres leaned closer.
“And that is why you are not walking into a public building while nine months pregnant, injured, and being targeted by people willing to kill for money.”
“What if he confesses there?”
“He won’t.”
