The Evidence Box

My breath caught in my throat. I read the email again, the words blurring under my gaze.

*Or the subject isn't Margaret.*

It was a toxicology report from the day she "died." The day of the funeral.

If the blood work showed pregnancy hormones, and Margaret was sixty years old...

Then the blood didn't belong to Margaret.

It belonged to someone else.

Someone young enough to be pregnant.

I thought about the ledger. *Void A. Occupancy: 1.*

We had assumed it was the baby. Arthur Jr.

But what if it wasn't?

What if the baby was the *second* victim?

I looked at the date on the email. *January 12, 2016.*

Two days before the funeral.

My mind raced back to that week. The chaos. The grief. The closed casket.

And Corinne.

Corinne had been there. She was Arthur's "assistant" back then. Young. Beautiful. Ambitious.

And she had disappeared for three months right after the funeral. "Sabbatical," Arthur had said.

When she came back, she was thinner. Harder. And she had the ring.

I looked at the kitchen door where Arthur had exited. He had my children. He had Julian.

And he thought he had won.

But he didn't know I had this paper.

I folded the email and shoved it into my bra. I couldn't leave it here. It was the only thing standing between me and prison.

I had to get to the police. I had to show them this.

But Arthur controlled the police. Miller was proof of that.

I needed someone outside his reach.

I needed the FBI.

But first, I needed to get out of the house.

I crept to the window. The van was gone. The sedan with my children was gone.

But a single black car remained at the end of the driveway. Watching.

They hadn't left me unguarded. They had left a sentry to make sure I didn't run before I "confessed."

I looked around the kitchen. The tire iron was still on the floor.

I picked it up.

I went to the back door. It was locked. I unlocked it quietly.

I slipped out into the backyard. The sun was fully up now, but the morning mist still clung to the trees.

I moved through the garden, keeping low behind the hydrangea bushes. I reached the fence.

I climbed over it, dropping into the neighbor's yard.

I ran.

I ran through backyards, over fences, through a drainage ditch that soaked my shoes in muck. I ran until my lungs burned and my legs shook.

I reached the main road a mile away.

I flagged down a passing truck. An old pickup loaded with firewood.

"Where you headed?" the driver asked, eyeing my disheveled appearance.

"The city," I said. "Please. I have money."

I didn't have money. I had left my purse in the house.

But I had my wedding ring.

I pulled it off. A simple gold band. Julian had bought it with his first paycheck from the company.

"Take it," I said.

The driver looked at the ring. He looked at me.

"Keep it," he said. "Get in."

He drove me to the city. I had him drop me off two blocks from the Federal Building.

I walked the rest of the way. I kept my head down, avoiding eye contact. I was a fugitive. A murderer, according to the news.

I reached the plaza. It was crowded with morning commuters.

I looked at the glass doors of the FBI field office.

If I walked in there, I was safe. Or I was arrested.

It was a coin toss.

But I didn't have a choice.

I took a step toward the doors.

A hand grabbed my arm.

"Elena."

I spun around, raising the tire iron I had hidden in my sleeve.

It wasn't a guard. It wasn't Miller.

It was Corinne.

She was wearing a trench coat and sunglasses. She looked terrified.

"Don't go in there," she whispered.

"Get away from me," I hissed. "You're with him."

"Not anymore," she said. "Not after what he did to the kids."

She pulled me into the shadow of a nearby building.

"He took them to the airstrip," she said. "He's flying them out. To the island."

"The island?"

"St. Jude's," she said. "He has a compound there. No extradition. If he gets them there, you'll never see them again."

"Why are you telling me this?"

She looked at me. She pulled off her sunglasses. Her eyes were red, swollen.

"Because I saw the ledger," she said. "I saw the entry for January 14th."

She reached into her pocket. She pulled out a small, velvet box.

She opened it.

Inside was the emerald ring.

"It wasn't a gift," she whispered. "It was payment."

"Payment for what?"

"For my silence," she said. "I was the one who drove Margaret to the facility. I was the one who signed her in."

She looked at the ring. She looked at me.

"But I didn't know about the baby," she said. "I swear, Elena. I didn't know about the baby."

"I don't believe you," I said.

"Then believe this," she said.

She handed me a piece of paper.

It was a flight plan.

*Departing: Teterboro. 10:00 AM. Destination: Georgetown, Cayman Islands.*

I checked my watch.

9:15 AM.

I had forty-five minutes to stop a plane.

"My car is around the corner," Corinne said. "It's faster than a truck."

I looked at her. I looked at the FBI building.

If I went to the Feds, they would arrest me first. By the time I explained, the plane would be gone.

If I went with Corinne, I might be walking into a trap.

But she had given me the flight plan.

"Drive," I said.