Chapter 17 - THE LAST SECRET
I refused to meet Marianne alone.
She wanted theater.
I gave her witnesses.
Prosecutor.
Leah.
Court reporter.
Two agents.
Marianne sat behind glass.
“You always did bring an audience,” she said.
“Name the person.”
“No hello?”
“No.”
She smiled.
“Your father liked that about you.”
“Do not speak about him.”
“He was stronger than you.”
“Name the person.”
She leaned back.
“It wasn’t me.”
“The compound was in your necklace.”
“I carried it.”
“Why?”
“For Victor.”
“Why?”
“He was afraid Richard would find it.”
My stomach tightened.
“Richard?”
“No.”
Marianne almost laughed.
“Your sweet husband was too weak to do anything that decisive.”
“Who gave me the medication?”
She looked directly at Leah.
I followed her gaze.
Leah did not move.
For one horrifying second, the room became silent.
Then Marianne smiled.
“Not her.”
I hated her.
“Stop playing.”
“Your mother.”
My entire body went still.
“My mother died when I was twelve.”
“Not that mother.”
I stared.
Marianne continued.
“Your surrogate nurse.”
I did not understand.
Then she said the name.
“Rebecca Sloan.”
My doctor.
The physician who admitted me after the snow.
The woman who documented my injuries.
The doctor who had treated my second pregnancy years earlier at another hospital.
I had forgotten.
She had been a resident then.
My blood turned cold.
“Why?”
“Ask Victor.”
I stood.
“You’re lying.”
“Probably.”
She smiled.
“You’ll have to find out.”
We did.
Rebecca Sloan disappeared from St. Catherine’s before investigators arrived.
Her apartment was empty.
Passport gone.
Vehicle abandoned near Penn Station.
For the first time since Marianne’s arrest, immediate danger returned.
Rebecca knew where the children were.
She had medical access.
She had touched Noah and Eli.
Handled their charts.
Moved Eli during the false alarm.
My stomach turned.
Security relocated everyone.
Rachel.
Lucy.
The twins.
Me.
At 9:30 p.m., Victor finally told the whole truth.
Rebecca had been paid by Voss for years.
Not to cause miscarriages.
To provide access.
Medical records.
Blood samples.
Scheduling.
During my second pregnancy, Marianne planned only to collect DNA.
But Rebecca had discovered that the medication Victor carried could induce bleeding.
She administered it.
Without instruction.
Why?
Money.
Voss paid her.
Marianne later helped hide it.
The miscarriage had not been part of the original plan.
It had been opportunism.
Somehow that was worse.
My child had died because a woman saw an opening.
At 11:00 p.m., agents found Rebecca.
She was not fleeing.
She was in a motel fifteen miles away.
With boxes.
Medical files.
Evidence.
She surrendered.
“I’m tired,” she told investigators.
Inside the boxes were records spanning twenty years.
Enough to convict Voss.
Victor.
Marianne.
And herself.
She had not come after my children that night.
The false alarm had been her attempt to test whether she could get Eli alone.
She claimed she intended to take a blood sample.
I did not care.
That was enough.
By sunrise, the conspiracy was finished.
Not legally.
But structurally.
Everyone had been identified.
Every major secret surfaced.
For the first time since the snow, nobody was hiding.
And that was when I began my counterattack.
May you like
Not against people.
Against the system that allowed them to use my family as property.
