CHAPTER 23 DIANE’S BARGAIN
My mother was supposed to be in prison.
Ortiz checked immediately.
Diane Bennett remained inside the federal correctional facility in Dublin, California.
The woman on the screen looked exactly like her.
Same height.
Same dark hair turning silver at the temples.
Same controlled posture.
The video had no sound.
Thomas stood from his chair.
The armed man forced him back down.
The woman resembling Diane leaned toward the camera.
She smiled.
Then the feed ended.
Ortiz sent officers to Thomas’s apartment.
They found him alone.
No sign of forced entry.
No gunman.
No woman.
Thomas claimed he had been asleep for several hours.
“That video was live,” I said.
“It could have been prerecorded,” Ortiz replied.
“The shirt he wore is the same one he’s wearing now.”
Thomas looked down.
A small red mark crossed his wrist.
Claire noticed it.
“What happened there?”
“I don’t know.”
Ortiz examined the mark.
“It looks like a needle puncture.”
Thomas had been drugged.
His memory had been erased or impaired.
The following morning, Diane’s attorney contacted us.
My mother wanted to speak with me.
She claimed to have information about Nora.
I almost refused.
Claire stopped me.
“You do not have to believe her,” she said. “You only have to listen.”
Diane appeared behind reinforced glass.
Prison had changed her physically.
Her face was thinner.
Her hair had lost its careful shape.
But her eyes remained exactly the same.
“I knew you would come,” she said.
“Where is Nora?”
“You have Rachel’s talent for skipping polite conversation.”
“Rachel is dead.”
Diane smiled.
“Are you certain?”
I stared at her.
“You identified the body.”
“I identified a necklace.”
“You told police it was Rachel.”
“I told them what Arthur Vale instructed me to tell them.”
“Is he Nora’s father?”
Diane’s expression flickered.
For the first time, she looked afraid.
“Arthur believes he is.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means Rachel learned to lie from the best.”
“From you?”
“No.”
Diane leaned closer to the glass.
“From Thomas.”
I stood.
“This was a mistake.”
“Nora is being taken to a facility near the Canadian border.”
I stopped.
“Where?”
“Transfer me to Oregon. Place me in protective custody. Then I will tell you.”
“You’re in no position to negotiate.”
“Neither is Nora.”
Diane lowered her voice.
“Arthur does not want her money. He wants her child.”
My hand tightened around the telephone.
“Why?”
“Because Nora’s baby is the first child born after the trust reached maturity.”
“That means nothing.”
“It means everything.”
Diane said Arthur Vale had created a generational control system.
Trusts were established for children connected to influential families. The money remained protected until those children produced heirs.
Then guardianship clauses activated.
Control transferred to whoever held legal authority over the newborn.
“Arthur did not build a network around women,” Diane said. “He built it around bloodlines.”
“What bloodline?”
She looked at me with something close to pity.
“Ours.”
I said nothing.
Diane continued.
“Rachel was not chosen because she was vulnerable. She was chosen because of who Thomas really was.”
“My father was a schoolteacher.”
“That is what he told you.”
“Who was he?”
Diane smiled again.
“Ask him why seventy-three letters were all written in different handwriting.”
The prison guard announced that our time had ended.
I placed the phone against the glass.
“Where is Nora?”
Diane’s expression hardened.
“Bring Grace to me.”
“No.”
“Then prepare to lose Rachel’s daughter.”
The line disconnected.
Before I left, Diane tapped twice on the glass.
May you like
Then she mouthed four words.
Thomas is not your father.
