Chapter 4 - MARGARET’S LAST CHRISTMAS SECRET
Margaret regained consciousness before we reached Northwestern.
I did not go with Roman.
I went with Dana.
Roman followed in another car.
That mattered.
At eight and a half months pregnant, I was no longer letting him decide where I sat simply because he was frightened.
Margaret had a concussion.
Bruising along her shoulder.
No major internal injury.
The emergency physician believed she had been shoved.
When I entered, she started crying.
“Mrs. Carter.”
I took her hand.
“No.”
She frowned.
“What?”
“Savannah.”
Her mouth trembled.
“Savannah.”
Better.
“What happened?”
Margaret looked toward the door.
“Mr. Carter?”
“Outside.”
Roman had asked before entering.
I said no.
He accepted it.
Tiny evidence that even terrified men could learn quickly when consequences arrived.
Margaret lowered her voice.
“A woman came.”
“Claire?”
“No.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“Describe.”
Mid-forties.
Brown hair.
Expensive black coat.
Spoke like she belonged there.
She told Margaret Roman had sent her to retrieve “documents Savannah accidentally took.”
“What documents?”
Margaret didn’t know.
“She went upstairs.”
“I followed.”
“Then?”
“She opened the nursery closet.”
My pulse changed.
“What was she looking for?”
“I don’t know.”
“She kept asking where the blue ledger was.”
Dana and I looked at each other.
“Blue ledger?”
Margaret nodded.
“I told her I didn’t know.”
“She said you did.”
I frowned.
“I don’t.”
Then Margaret whispered:
“Your father did.”
My body went cold.
“What?”
Margaret closed her eyes.
“There’s something I should have told you years ago.”
Of course.
Christmas had apparently become a festival of withheld information.
“How did you know my father?”
Margaret stared at me.
“He hired me.”
The room went still.
“What?”
“Not as housekeeper.”
“Then?”
“To watch you.”
I almost laughed.
“Dad hired you to spy on me?”
“To make sure you were safe.”
“That is spying with nicer branding.”
Margaret nearly smiled.
Then winced.
“He came to me before you married Roman.”
“Why you?”
“My husband worked for Mr. Morgan years ago.”
“Your dad helped us when David got sick.”
I remembered Margaret’s late husband vaguely.
“He told me he didn’t trust the Carter family.”
That sounded like Dad.
“He wanted someone in the house who answered to you, not them.”
My throat tightened.
“You reported to him?”
“For six months.”
“Then he died.”
“Yes.”
“And after?”
Margaret’s eyes filled.
“I stayed.”
“Why?”
“Because you were pregnant twice.”
My chest tightened.
The first pregnancy had ended at eleven weeks.
Roman and I never spoke about it much afterward.
Margaret continued.
“Then your mother-in-law died.”
“Then you were alone in that house with men who treated privacy like disobedience.”
“You stayed for me.”
“Yes.”
I covered my mouth.
So many people had been quietly building doors around me while I was busy pretending I didn’t need exits.
“What is the blue ledger?”
Margaret looked frightened.
“Your father gave me a small safe key.”
“Where?”
“Years ago.”
“He told me if Roman ever tried to move your inheritance or isolate you financially, I should give you the key.”
My pulse changed.
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because you never asked for help.”
I stared.
“He told me not to force it.”
That sounded exactly like Dad.
“What does the key open?”
“A private box at Lakeshore Trust.”
Dana leaned forward.
“Did Roman know?”
“No.”
“Claire?”
“Shouldn’t.”
“Then why is someone searching for a blue ledger?”
Margaret looked toward me.
“Maybe they know what was in the box.”
My heart pounded.
“What was in it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Dad never told you?”
“No.”
“He only said…”
She swallowed.
“…it concerned Vincent Carter.”
Roman’s father.
Of course.
Dana stood.
“We need that key.”
Margaret nodded.
“My room.”
“At the estate?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Inside my sewing kit.”
Roman’s house was now effectively a scene connected to an assault.
We were not walking back in casually.
Dana called the police detective handling Margaret’s case.
Then I finally let Roman enter.
He stopped when he saw Margaret’s bruises.
His entire face changed.
“Who did this?”
Margaret looked at him.
“I don’t know.”
Roman approached the bed.
Then stopped before touching her.
“May I?”
She nodded.
He took her hand.
“I’m sorry.”
She stared.
“For what?”
“That anyone came into my house and thought they could do this.”
Margaret looked at me.
Then back at him.
“Your house.”
The phrase landed.
Roman flinched.
Good.
“My mistake.”
He corrected quietly.
“Our house.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
He looked at me.
“Not anymore.”
His eyes closed.
He nodded.
Then Margaret said:
“Mr. Carter?”
“Yes?”
“Your father knew mine.”
Roman went still.
“What?”
She explained her connection to my father.
Roman looked shaken.
Then Margaret mentioned the key.
His expression changed.
“You have a Morgan safe-deposit key?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“She told us,” Dana said.
Roman looked toward me.
“Savannah.”
“What?”
“My father kept a blue ledger.”
The room went silent.
My pulse jumped.
“You knew about it?”
“Not where.”
“What was it?”
Roman stared at the floor.
“Vincent’s private book.”
“What did it contain?”
“Payments.”
“To whom?”
“Cops.”
“Judges.”
“Union people.”
“Fixers.”
“Anyone he didn’t want on official accounts.”
Dana’s face changed.
“That would be catastrophic.”
“Yes.”
“Why did my father have it?”
Roman swallowed.
“Because he stole it.”
I stared.
“What?”
“During the investigation.”
“Your father took Vincent’s ledger?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To protect himself.”
“Or evidence.”
Roman nodded.
“Probably both.”
“What happened to it?”
“I thought Vincent got it back.”
“Apparently not.”
Roman looked at Margaret.
“Claire’s father would have wanted that ledger more than anything.”
Of course.
Malcolm Bennett.
Fixer.
If his payments were inside, Claire had motive to find it.
Maybe the original accident file wasn’t her only leverage.
Then Dante called Roman.
Roman answered.
“What?”
He listened.
His face hardened.
“Where?”
Another pause.
“Don’t touch anything.”
He hung up.
“What happened?”
“Victor is gone.”
Dana frowned.
“Gone how?”
“Office empty.”
“Phone off.”
“His wife says he left yesterday with two suitcases.”
My pulse changed.
“Before I disappeared.”
“Yes.”
Roman looked toward the hallway.
“He moved your money and ran.”
“Why?”
“Because he knows Claire’s operation is collapsing.”
“Or because he is Claire’s operation.”
Roman stared.
Fair.
Then my stomach tightened again.
This contraction was different.
Lower.
Harder.
I gripped the bed rail.
Roman saw.
“Savannah.”
“I’m fine.”
Dana checked the clock.
“How long since the last one?”
“I don’t know.”
Margaret looked concerned.
“Count.”
“I am not in labor.”
Another contraction answered for me.
Roman moved closer.
I glared.
He stopped.
“Fine.”
He held up both hands.
“But we’re timing them.”
I hated that he was probably right.
Twenty-six minutes later, a nurse confirmed my blood pressure was elevated.
They sent me to obstetric triage.
Christmas afternoon.
Of course.
My body had decided the plot needed another complication.
Roman stood outside the room.
I hadn’t invited him in.
He waited.
No argument.
No influence.
No demanding.
Just waited.
Dana sat beside me.
“You’re thirty-six weeks and five days.”
“I know.”
“Baby’s heart rate looks good.”
“I know.”
“Could be stress contractions.”
“I know.”
She smiled.
“You’re annoying when you’re scared.”
“I know.”
The nurse laughed.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
Dana answered.
A woman’s voice.
“Savannah.”
I recognized it immediately.
Claire.
Dana put it on speaker.
I stared at the phone.
“Claire.”
“Merry Christmas.”
I almost laughed.
“What do you want?”
“The key.”
No pretense.
“What key?”
“Don’t.”
Her voice hardened.
“Margaret was always too loyal.”
My blood went cold.
“You sent that woman.”
Silence.
Then:
“I sent someone to retrieve property that belongs to my family.”
“She put Margaret in the hospital.”
“That was not the instruction.”
Classic.
Violence outsourced becomes accidental.
“What’s in the box?”
“You know.”
“I don’t.”
Claire paused.
For the first time, she sounded uncertain.
Then:
“The ledger.”
“Why do you need it?”
“Because your father stole it.”
“My father died because your father helped arrange it.”
Silence.
That was confirmation enough.
Then Claire whispered:
“Roman told you.”
“Yes.”
“He was always sentimental where you were concerned.”
I almost laughed.
“That is not how I would describe my marriage today.”
Claire continued:
“Your father wasn’t innocent.”
“I never said he was.”
“He used the ledger to blackmail Vincent.”
My pulse changed.
“What?”
“Ask Roman.”
I looked toward the closed door.
Roman couldn’t hear.
“Why?”
“Because your father wanted Vincent out of several businesses.”
That did sound possible.
Dad was no saint.
But then Claire said:
“He threatened to turn everything over unless Vincent sold assets cheaply.”
Dana started taking notes.
“Proof?”
“I have some.”
“Then send it.”
Claire laughed.
“No.”
“Then you’re storytelling.”
Her voice hardened.
“You still sound like your father.”
I felt weirdly proud.
“What do you want?”
“Box 909.”
Now we had a number.
“Bring me the contents.”
“And?”
“I give you the original crash file.”
“Everything?”
“Yes.”
“Victor?”
A pause.
That mattered.
“What about him?”
“He’s irrelevant.”
“No.”
“He moved my money.”
Claire laughed softly.
“Victor moved what Roman told him to move.”
I went still.
Roman had denied authorizing it.
Was Claire lying?
Probably.
Maybe not.
“You expect me to believe that?”
“No.”
“I expect you to ask your husband why he gave Victor emergency authority last month.”
The line went dead.
I stared at Dana.
Then toward the door.
Roman waited outside.
I pressed the call button.
The nurse entered.
“Can you ask my husband to come in?”
Roman appeared twenty seconds later.
Hope flashed across his face.
I killed it immediately.
“Why did you expand Victor’s authority last month?”
Roman stopped.
That was all the answer I needed.
“Savannah.”
“Why?”
He closed the door.
“I was preparing for Claire to move.”
“And forgot to mention it.”
“Yes.”
“What could Victor access?”
“Temporary liquidity.”
“Joint reserve?”
Roman closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
My stomach dropped.
“So you did create the opening that let him move my inheritance.”
“Yes.”
“Did you tell him to move it?”
“No.”
“Can you prove that?”
Roman looked at me.
“I think so.”
“Think.”
His face tightened.
“He needed a dual authentication.”
“Yours?”
“Yes.”
“Did he have it?”
“No.”
Dana leaned forward.
“Then how did the transfer clear?”
Roman looked pale.
“I don’t know.”
I did.
Or at least I knew where to start.
“Biometric token?”
“Yes.”
“Where do you keep it?”
Roman stared.
“My home office.”
“And who had access last night?”
He looked toward the hospital hallway.
Then whispered:
“Claire.”
I froze.
“What?”
“She was inside the house yesterday afternoon.”
My entire body went cold.
“You brought her into our house?”
“She came to deliver documents.”
“When?”
“Before I came into the kitchen.”
I stared.
While I was making Christmas cookies.
Claire had been upstairs.
Near our nursery.
Near Roman’s office.
Near his biometric token.
“You let her into the house.”
Roman looked ashamed.
“Yes.”
“And then told me she was waiting downtown.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t want you to know she’d been there.”
I laughed.
Then another contraction hit.
Hard.
I grabbed the rail.
Roman instinctively moved.
This time I did not stop him.
He took my hand.
Not because I forgave him.
Because my body hurt.
The monitor changed rhythm.
The nurse came in.
Then another.
Roman’s face went white.
“What?”
The nurse looked at me.
“Savannah, your contractions are regular now.”
“How regular?”
“Four minutes.”
My stomach dropped.
“I’m not due for three weeks.”
“Babies don’t always respect calendars.”
Roman looked at me.
Fear.
Real.
I squeezed his hand harder than necessary.
Then whispered:
“If I’m having this baby today, you do exactly what I say.”
“Yes.”
“No calls.”
“Yes.”
“No Claire.”
“Yes.”
“No business.”
“Yes.”
“And if someone tells you the city is burning?”
Roman’s eyes filled.
“I let it burn.”
For the first time in our marriage—
May you like
I believed him.
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