I did not sleep.
Kenneth insisted I stay somewhere other than my house.
Not because the note proved someone intended to hurt me.
Because it proved someone wanted me to believe they did.
That distinction mattered to him.
To me, at two in the morning in a hotel room registered under his assistant’s name, it mattered less.
She was never supposed to survive the divorce.
The sentence repeated itself every time I closed my eyes.
Survive could mean financially.
Professionally.
Legally.
Or literally.
I forced myself not to decide.
At seven the next morning, Kenneth arrived with coffee and two detectives.
They had identified the blood from Melinda’s car.
Not Noah’s.
Not Melinda’s.
Victor Hale’s.
“How much?” I asked.
“Enough to indicate an injury,” Detective Ruiz said. “Not enough to establish fatal blood loss.”
“Where is he?”
“Unknown.”
“Was the wallet planted?”
“Possibly.”
Everything was possibly now.
The only certainty was Noah remained missing.
Connor had spent the night at the station.
When he entered the conference room, he looked as though he had aged a decade.
He did not sit near me.
I appreciated that.
Ruiz placed several photographs on the table.
Airport security footage.
Melinda walking through the garage carrying Noah.
Timestamp: 8:14 p.m.
No blood visible.
No apparent injury.
At 8:31, a black sedan entered the same level.
Registered to a corporate entity linked to Aaron Pike.
At 8:46, the sedan left.
At 9:03, Melinda’s car was abandoned.
“Did cameras capture who was in the sedan?” Kenneth asked.
“Driver obscured. We believe there were at least two adults inside after departure.”
“And Noah?”
“Cannot confirm.”
Connor’s hands trembled.
Ruiz placed another photograph down.
A traffic camera.
The sedan heading north.
“Where?”
“Interstate.”
“Toward Canada?” I asked.
“Possibly.”
Connor pushed back his chair.
“Then why are we sitting here?”
Ruiz gave him a flat look.
“Because hundreds of officers and agencies are doing their jobs while you answer questions that might help them.”
Connor sat again.
The detective turned to me.
“Dr. Sinclair, we reviewed portions of the audio files recovered from the storage locker.”
I braced myself.
“Okay.”
“Many are recordings of conversations inside your former residence.”
Connor looked at me.
“What?”
“Your house appears to have been monitored.”
I felt physically ill.
“How?”
“We don’t know yet.”
Ruiz continued.
“Some recordings include you. Some include Mr. Fleming. Some include both of you.”
“Bedroom?”
My voice sounded distant.
“Several rooms.”
I looked at Connor.
He was pale.
“For how long?”
“Earliest confirmed recording is approximately three years ago.”
After the Leland gala.
After Melinda began entering our lives.
Kenneth asked, “What were they collecting?”
Ruiz looked at him.
“Arguments.”
The word surprised me.
“Arguments?”
“Money disputes. Fertility discussions. Conversations about Dr. Sinclair’s work schedule. Statements that could be edited or reframed.”
“For what purpose?”
“We found a planning document.”
Ruiz opened a folder.
At the top was a title.
POST-SEPARATION POSITIONING.
My stomach tightened.
Bullet points followed.
Asset instability.
Professional fatigue.
Emotional volatility.
Medication.
Marital abandonment.
Potential reputational exposure.
I looked up.
“What is this?”
“A strategy outline.”
“To do what?”
Kenneth answered before Ruiz could.
“Discredit you.”
The detective nodded.
“If necessary.”
Connor stared at the page.
“I never saw this.”
Ruiz looked at him.
“We haven’t determined whether you did.”
“I didn’t.”
“Then we’ll confirm that.”
Connor’s anger flared.
“You think I helped them target her?”
“I think you concealed assets with Victor Hale.”
“That doesn’t mean I knew this.”
“No,” Ruiz said. “It doesn’t.”
That shut him up.
I read the document again.
Medication.
“What medication?”
Ruiz flipped a page.
“Prescription sedatives.”
“I don’t take sedatives.”
“We know.”
The next page contained pharmacy records.
A prescription under my name.
Filled twice.
I had never seen it.
Kenneth swore quietly.
“They were building a record.”
The detective nodded.
“A record suggesting stress or impairment.”
My hands became numb.
I knew exactly what that could have done.
Not just during divorce.
To my medical license.
My hospital privileges.
My credibility.
“Were the prescriptions real?”
“The physician identifier appears compromised.”
“What pharmacy?”
Ruiz named one across town.
I had never used it.
Connor stared at the documents.
“She could have destroyed your career.”
Not she.
They.
That was the point I finally understood.
Melinda had been visible.
Connor had been visible.
Victor and Aaron had stayed behind documents.
Behind investment structures.
Behind administrative access.
Melinda was the face I had trusted.
But the machinery existed before her.
Kenneth turned another page.
“What happened to the plan?”
Ruiz hesitated.
“What?”
“Why wasn’t it executed?”
The detective looked at me.
“Because the divorce resolved too quickly.”
I almost laughed.
Quickly?
It had felt endless.
But in the timeline of fraud, maybe nine months was inconvenient.
“The document anticipated litigation lasting eighteen to twenty-four months,” Ruiz continued. “Long enough to establish a pattern suggesting Dr. Sinclair was unstable, financially irresponsible, and possibly impaired.”
Connor stared at the table.
“They wanted me to fight her.”
“Yes.”
“Victor told me to.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
Connor rubbed his eyes.
“He said I was giving up too much.”
Kenneth leaned forward.
“When?”
“After mediation.”
“What specifically?”
“He said Kirsten would fold if I challenged the inheritance classification.”
My voice sharpened.
“My inheritance was separate property.”
“I know.”
“But Victor wanted you to challenge it.”
“Yes.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
That surprised me.
“Why?”
Connor looked at me.
“Because even I knew that was wrong.”
A bitter laugh escaped me.
The standard had become astonishingly low.
Ruiz interrupted.
“That decision may have disrupted the scheme.”
Connor frowned.
“How?”
“If litigation had continued, more assets could have been moved while both sides blamed each other.”
Kenneth nodded slowly.
“And if Kirsten became discredited, a settlement might have given Connor greater control.”
“Which Victor could then manipulate.”
Ruiz closed the folder.
“That is one working theory.”
A phone rang.
The detective answered.
Her expression changed within seconds.
“Where?”
She stood.
“Send coordinates.”
Connor stood too.
“What?”
Ruiz ended the call.
“The black sedan was found.”
“Where?”
“An abandoned service road seventy miles north.”
“Noah?”
“No one inside.”
Connor swore.
“Any blood?”
“Unknown.”
We waited.
Twelve minutes later, another call.
The vehicle contained Victor’s blood.
More of it.
And Melinda’s fingerprints.
No child seat.
No diapers.
No formula.
“Meaning what?” I asked.
Ruiz shook her head.
“Not enough information.”
Then a third call came.
This time Ruiz left the room.
She returned carrying her phone tightly.
“Connor.”
He stood.
“They found Noah.”
His knees nearly buckled.
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
The sound Connor made was not a word.
He covered his face.
I felt my own breath leave me.
“Where?”
“A church daycare outside Millbrook.”
“Melinda?”
“No.”
Ruiz continued.
“A woman dropped him off shortly before opening and told staff his mother had been in an accident.”
“Was it Melinda?”
“Staff says no.”
Connor lowered his hands.
“Then who?”
“They’re reviewing footage.”
“Can I go to him?”
“There are custody complications because of the paternity results.”
His face twisted.
“But can I see him?”
Ruiz looked at him.
“I’ll find out.”
Connor turned away.
I watched his shoulders move once.
Whatever judgment I had of him, I could not look at that grief and call it false.
Kenneth’s phone buzzed.
He read an email.
Then another.
“What now?” I asked.
His expression hardened.
“Victor Hale’s body has been found.”
Connor turned.
“Dead?”
Kenneth nodded.
“Near the sedan?”
“No.”
“Where?”
Kenneth looked at me.
“In your former house.”
I felt the room go still.
“The house Connor and I owned?”
“Yes.”
“That house was sold.”
“I know.”
“How did he get inside?”
“No forced entry.”
I looked at Connor.
His face mirrored mine.
Kenneth continued.
“And there’s another problem.”
“What?”
“The preliminary report says Victor likely died before Melinda’s voicemail from the Leland building.”
I stared at him.
“That’s impossible.”
“No.”
Kenneth’s voice was quiet.
“It means Victor wasn’t the person Melinda was afraid would find Noah.”
He placed the printed voicemail transcript on the table.
Find Noah before Victor does.
Ruiz read the line.
Then looked at all of us.
“If Victor was already dead when she said that, either Melinda didn’t know he was dead…”
She paused.
“…or she wasn’t talking about Victor Hale.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 12: THE OTHER VICTOR
Sixteen Days After Walter Died, His Hospice Nurse Called With a Name I Had Never Heard Before
Part 11 of 20
