Chapter 7: What Vanessa Still Had
Dr.
Mercer arrived at half past midnight.
He was a quiet man with careful hands, and he asked his questions without alarm, which was its own form of reassurance.
Elena sat on the edge of the guest bed while he worked.
James stood near the door.
He hadn't left the room since Ruiz had gone back to his vehicle.
"Everything looks stable," Dr.
Mercer said.
He set his equipment back in his bag with the unhurried movements of someone who had delivered good news and bad news in equal measure over many years.
"Heart rate is strong.
No signs of distress.
I'd like you to come in tomorrow for a full panel — blood work, a scan — just to be thorough."
"She'll be there," James said.
Dr.
Mercer looked at Elena directly.
"Any cramping?
Any pressure that wasn't there before the fall?"
"No," Elena said.
"I landed on my side.
I was careful about how I went down."
He paused.
"You controlled the fall."
"As much as I could."
He looked at her for a moment longer than was strictly medical.
Then he closed his bag.
"Tomorrow morning.
First appointment.
Don't eat beforehand." He nodded to James on his way out.
"She's stronger than she looks."
James closed the door behind him.
He turned around.
Leaned against the door.
Looked at Elena sitting on the edge of the bed, still in the clothes she'd been wearing when she hit the marble floor.
"You practiced falling," he said.
"I practiced not hurting the baby when I fell," Elena said.
"There's a difference."
He crossed the room and sat beside her.
The mattress shifted under his weight.
"Ruiz came back while you were with the doctor," he said.
"Vanessa's solicitor arrived.
She's made a statement."
Elena looked at him.
"What kind of statement?"
"She's claiming the bottle wasn't hers.
She's saying someone planted it in her car." He paused.
"She's also claiming that the alterations to the will were made at my father's request.
That he asked her to make the changes before he died and swore her to secrecy."
The room was very quiet.
"Your father has been gone for two years," Elena said carefully.
"Yes."
"And she's only mentioning this now."
"Yes."
"Does Ruiz believe her?"
"No.
But it doesn't matter what Ruiz believes.
It matters what a jury might believe." James looked at his hands.
"If she can introduce enough doubt about who authorized the changes — if she can make it look like a dispute over a dead man's intentions rather than outright fraud — her solicitor might be able to construct a defense."
Elena was quiet for a moment.
"She's not wrong that it's possible."
"No.
She's not."
"Which means she's been planning this fallback for a while." Elena looked at the wall.
"She knew the will changes might eventually come out.
She needed a story that couldn't be disproved."
"A dead man's instructions," James said.
"Exactly." Elena stood up slowly.
Walked to the window.
"She's smarter than I gave her credit for."
"Don't do that," James said.
She turned.
"What?"
"Don't start doubting yourself.
You have the access logs.
You have the timestamps.
You have the affidavit."
"I know.
But she has a story that sounds plausible to someone who wants to believe it." Elena looked at him.
"And there will be people who want to believe it.
People who knew your father.
People who trusted her."
James was quiet for a moment.
Then: "My father's personal solicitor is a man named Gerald Fitch.
He handled every document my father ever signed.
He was present for every amendment to the will — every single one — because my father insisted on it." He stood up.
"If my father had asked Vanessa to make those changes, Gerald would know.
He would have been there."
Elena looked at him.
"Have you spoken to Gerald recently?"
"Not since the funeral." James took his phone from his pocket.
Looked at the time.
"It's one in the morning."
"Yes," Elena said.
He looked at her.
"Call him," she said.
He dialed.
It rang four times.
Then a groggy, careful voice answered.
"James.
It's very late."
"I know, Gerald.
I'm sorry.
I need to ask you something and I need you to answer me honestly."
A pause.
The sound of someone sitting up, becoming alert.
"Go on."
"In the last year of my father's life — did he ever ask Vanessa to make any changes to his will?
Independently.
Without you present."
The pause this time was different.
Longer.
The kind of pause that is itself an answer.
"No," Gerald said.
"He did not.
Your father would not have done that.
He was very particular about process." Another pause.
"James — what's happened?"
"I'll explain everything tomorrow.
I need one more thing from you tonight." James looked at Elena.
"I need you to put in writing — tonight, dated and signed — that no such instruction was ever given.
That you were present for every amendment.
That Vanessa had no authorization from my father for any document change."
"I can do that," Gerald said.
"I'll have it to you within the hour."
"Thank you, Gerald."
"James." The old solicitor's voice was careful.
"Is Elena all right?"
James looked at his wife.
"She will be."
He ended the call.
Elena sat back down on the edge of the bed.
She let out a slow breath — the first fully released breath she had taken in what felt like hours.
"That closes the last door," she said.
"Almost," James said.
He sat beside her again.
"She'll still try something.
In the morning, when her solicitor has had time to think.
She's not done."
"No," Elena agreed.
"She's not done."
She leaned back against the headboard.
Her hand rested on her side — that quiet, constant gesture.
"But we're not done either," she said.
May you like
Outside the window, the police vehicles were still at the end of the drive.
And somewhere in one of them, Vanessa was reading Gerald Fitch's name on a list of witnesses she had not accounted for.
