Chapter 4 - The Rehearsal Recording
I locked the hospital room door before Preston could enter.
He knocked once.
Then harder.
“Camille.”
She backed toward the window.
“Open the door.”
I pressed the call button beside Sophie’s bed.
A nurse answered.
“My brother is outside.”
“We’re contacting security.”
Preston struck the door with his palm.
“Camille, you have thirty seconds.”
She began shaking.
“What happens after thirty seconds?” I asked loudly.
The hallway became silent.
Then Preston spoke through the door.
“You’ve already done enough damage, Evelyn.”
I looked at my daughter.
“You fractured her skull.”
“She caused a disturbance.”
“She is eight.”
“She’s your daughter.”
The cruelty in his voice was effortless.
As though being mine explained why Sophie deserved pain.
Two hospital security officers arrived.
Preston argued with them until Detective Ruiz appeared at the end of the hall.
He left only after she threatened to arrest him for violating hospital policy.
Camille waited ten minutes before slipping through a staff exit.
I handed the flash drive to Ruiz.
“Can you listen to this?”
“Where did you get it?”
“Camille.”
Ruiz looked toward the empty hallway.
“She should speak to us directly.”
“She’s afraid.”
“That doesn’t make the recording admissible.”
“But it makes it worth hearing.”
Ruiz placed the drive in an evidence bag.
At noon, my attorney arrived.
Lena Park had been my college roommate before becoming one of Chicago’s most relentless civil litigators.
She entered Sophie’s room carrying coffee, a laptop, and the expression she usually reserved for people she intended to destroy professionally.
“Tell me everything.”
I did.
She listened without interrupting.
When I finished, she opened the trust document Detective Ruiz had obtained from the county archive.
My grandfather’s signature appeared on the final page.
So did mine.
I had signed it when I was nineteen.
I barely remembered the meeting.
My father had told me it was routine estate paperwork.
Lena pointed to a paragraph.
“Your ownership activated on your thirty-sixth birthday.”
“How much?”
“Thirty-five percent.”
“And Preston?”
“Thirty percent.”
“My father?”
“Twenty-five.”
“The remaining ten?”
“A charitable foundation controlled by the board.”
I stared at her.
“My father told me Preston owned everything.”
“Your father lied.”
“Can Preston take my shares?”
“Not legally.”
“Camille said he planned to claim I was unstable.”
“He could petition for temporary financial guardianship.”
“Would it work?”
“Not after what happened last night.”
My phone vibrated.
A message appeared from an unknown number.
YOU SHOULD HAVE LEFT THE WEDDING QUIETLY.
A second message followed.
THE FOOTAGE IS GONE.
Then a photograph appeared.
It showed Sophie asleep in her hospital bed.
May you like
The picture had been taken through the narrow window in the room door.
Someone was watching us from the hallway.
