Chapter 3 - The Voice of a Dead Man
“Bring the blue notebook, Roman. The one Nicholas left you.”
Beth's voice was steady.
Too steady.
She was sitting in what looked like a small hotel office, with Rosie pressed against her side.
My daughter's cheeks were wet.
Her brown hair had come loose from the little braid I'd made that morning.
“Mommy?”
I lunged toward the phone.
“Rosie! Baby, are you hurt?”
She shook her head.
“Where are you?”
Rosie glanced toward somebody outside the camera's view.
Before she could answer, Beth pulled her closer.
“She's all right, Evelyn.”
“Then bring her back!”
“I can't.”
Those two words nearly broke me.
Beth looked directly into the camera.
“Roman, Grant needs the notebook and a signed statement saying Nicholas's accusations were false. You have forty minutes. After that, Rosie leaves the hotel.”
Roman's expression changed.
Not fear this time.
Recognition.
“Who is standing beside you, Beth?”
She looked away.
“Just do what I'm asking.”
“Let me speak to Rosie.”
“You've seen she's safe.”
“Beth.”
Something in his voice made her look back.
“I remember you,” he said quietly. “You don't have to do this.”
Her eyes filled.
Then a man's hand appeared beside her shoulder.
He was wearing a silver watch.
Beth immediately straightened.
“Forty minutes,” she repeated.
The screen went black.
I stood motionless.
The little red sweater slipped from my hands.
Roman caught it before it touched the floor.
I looked at him.
“What notebook?”
He didn't answer immediately.
“Roman, they're threatening my daughter over something your brother left behind. I deserve to know what it is.”
“Yes,” he said. “You do.”
He pulled out the chair beside him.
This time, I sat.
He remained standing.
“My younger brother's name was Nicholas. Everyone called him Nico.”
His voice became quieter.
“Nine years ago, he died in a warehouse fire on Mercer Street.”
I remembered hearing about that fire.
Three workers had been injured.
A young man had died trying to help them get out.
The newspapers had called him a hero.
“Nico worked for our family's property company,” Roman continued. “He'd been inspecting maintenance records at a warehouse operated by Whitmore Construction.”
My stomach tightened.
“Whitmore?”
“Grant's family.”
I looked toward the doorway.
Grant had disappeared during the video call.
“Where is he?”
Anthony answered.
“Hotel management is checking his room and the guest areas. My people are covering the exits.”
Roman looked at him.
“Notify the police. Quietly. A child is being held against her mother's wishes.”
Anthony nodded and stepped away.
I stared at Roman.
“Why would Grant want your brother's notebook?”
“Because Nico wrote down safety violations before the fire.”
“And?”
Roman looked at his hands.
“He believed somebody was ordering workers to ignore them.”
“Did he tell you who?”
“No.”
I saw something painful cross his face.
“He tried. I wouldn't listen.”
Roman pulled the chair opposite mine closer and sat.
“Three days before he died, Nico came to my office. He said something was wrong at Mercer Street. I told him to let the managers handle it.”
“Why?”
“Because I was too busy trying to prove I could run the business without my father's help.”
He gave a humorless laugh.
“My brother was worried about people getting hurt. I was worried about a contract.”
I thought about Rosie upstairs.
About how many times I'd allowed Grant to make decisions because questioning him caused an argument.
“What happened after the fire?”
“Investigators found serious safety problems. But the notebook wasn't turned over.”
“Why not?”
Roman looked straight at me.
“Because I kept it.”
I stared at him.
“You had evidence?”
“I had notes. Some were incomplete. I told myself I was protecting Nico's reputation until I understood what he'd discovered.”
“But you never showed anyone?”
“Not the original.”
His silence told me he understood how terrible that sounded.
“I should have.”
I looked toward Anthony, who had returned to the doorway.
“Can the notebook get Rosie back?”
“Maybe,” Roman said.
“Then give it to them.”
Anthony shifted uncomfortably.
“Boss, if Whitmore gets the original, he could destroy the only record of what Nico found.”
I turned on him.
“My daughter is seven years old.”
“I understand, ma'am.”
“No. You don't.”
My voice shook.
“You're talking about a notebook like it's worth more than a little girl.”
Roman stood.
“Anthony, enough.”
He looked at me.
“The notebook isn't worth Rosie's life.”
For the first time, I believed him completely.
Then he added, “But handing it over doesn't guarantee they'll return her. We need to find her and make sure she's safe.”
I looked at Rosie's sweater.
One missing heart-shaped button.
One stretched sleeve.
She'd worn it every day that week because I'd sewn those buttons on with her grandmother's old sewing kit.
Grant hated it.
He'd bought her an expensive white cardigan for the wedding and insisted she wear that instead.
Rosie had refused.
“Mommy made this one special,” she'd told him.
I picked it up.
“Beth knew I was going to leave him.”
Roman looked at me.
“She helped me pack yesterday. She said she'd get Rosie downstairs while I changed out of my wedding dress.”
“Did Grant know?”
“I don't think so.”
“Did Beth ever mention my brother?”
I shook my head.
Then I remembered something.
Three weeks earlier, Beth had seen an old photograph in Grant's office.
It showed Grant standing beside two men at a construction site.
She'd become so upset that she asked me to take Rosie home early.
When I questioned her, she said she'd recognized somebody from her old job.
“Beth worked for Whitmore Construction,” I whispered.
Roman went still.
“When?”
“Years ago. Before Rosie was born.”
He leaned forward.
“Did she ever work at Mercer Street?”
“I don't know.”
He looked toward Anthony.
“Find out.”
Just then, Anthony's phone displayed a message from hotel security.
The video call had been recorded.
Roman asked him to replay the final seconds.
I watched Rosie press against Beth's shoulder.
Beth's lips moved.
Then my daughter turned toward the camera.
And I heard something I'd missed the first time.
A tiny voice.
Seven years old.
Trying very hard not to cry.
“Mommy, Aunt Beth didn't take me.”
Roman leaned closer.
May you like
Rosie continued.
“She came when the man wouldn't let me out.”
