Chapter 57 Chapter 57
Chapter 57 Chapter 57
At one o’clock in the morning on Thursday, Cavalier went up to the bedroom in the west wing, the USB drive clenched in his fist and his feet still bare. He pushed the door open slowly, without a creak, and stood for three seconds beside the bed, looking at his sleeping wife.
Laura had her left arm crossed over her stomach, her hair hastily pulled back, and her forehead still bearing the mark of the heat from the lamp she had forgotten to turn off.
Cavalier sat on the edge of the bed.
She touched his shoulder with her left hand.
“Laura.”
She didn’t move.
“Laura.”
“Cavalier.”
She opened her eyes slowly, focused on him for three seconds, and before she could ask him what was going on, she saw the USB drive in her husband’s right palm.
She closed her eyes for a second, then opened them again.
“Cavalier.”
—Yes.
“Did you hear it?”
“I heard it.”
“How long ago?”
—Forty minutes ago. In the small studio, with headphones on, so I wouldn’t wake you up.
Long pause.
—Okay.
—Laura, that audio isn’t mine.
—Cavalier.
—Yes.
“That’s your voice.”
—It’s my voice, edited.
“I don’t believe you.”
Cavalier breathed slowly, keeping his voice down because Vargas had warned him three times that any argument increased the risk to the baby, and because he didn’t want Marcela to hear them from the suite across the hall.
“Laura, listen to me.”
“Cavalier, I’ve been listening for thirty-seven days straight. Today, I’m the one talking.”
“Fine.”
“That voice is yours. That intonation is yours. That line—‘If that Mendoza dies, her heart is mine’—is spoken by a man who knows exactly what he’s saying. You can’t edit that with software, Cavalier. You just say it.”
“Laura, part of that conversation actually happened. The date is real. The studio is real. My grandfather was there. I was there. I’ll grant you that. But those exact phrases—I didn’t say them.”
—And what did you say about the others?
—Others.
—Which ones, Cavalier?
—Laura, I don’t remember off the top of my head a conversation from a midday eight months ago. But I do remember one thing. That conversation, as I recall, was about the progress on the waiting list and a directed donation case that Vargas was following. Your mother wasn’t mentioned. That day, Laura, your mother didn’t exist for us yet—we didn’t know her.
—Cavalier.
—Yes.
—But the recording says Mendoza.
—I know. That’s why I’m telling you it’s been edited. Because that day, in that studio, nobody talked about your mother. Not my grandfather, not me. Not even once. I swear to you.
—Cavalier.
—Yes.
“Do you swear on your daughter’s life that you didn’t talk about my mom that day?”
A three-second pause.
“Not on my daughter’s life, Laura. On something that doesn’t matter to that child, yes. I won’t swear anything on my daughter’s life—not even that.”
Laura stared at him for three seconds.
—All right.
—“Fine?”
“Fine, don’t swear by the child. I liked that. But I still don’t believe you.”
Cavalier set the USB drive on the side table, next to the glass of water.
“Laura.”
—Yes.
“I’m going to prove to you that that audio has been edited. Without you having to take my word for it. I’ll prove it to you with a professional expert—someone outside my family, with no Cavalier connections, no Derek, no Manuel. Give me three days.”
—Cavalier.
“Yes.”
—I’ll give you three days.
—Fine.
—But I’ll warn you about one thing.
—Go ahead.
“What you don’t know is that I’ve been having that audio analyzed since Tuesday. Carla found me a reliable expert. We gave him the copy yesterday at noon. He’ll give us the report on Friday.”
Cavalier didn’t respond for three seconds.
—Laura.
—Yes.
“You did the right thing.”
—I know.
“And I want to tell you something.”
—Go ahead.
—I want to go with you to see the expert on Friday to pick up the report. If what you’re telling me about the audio is what the expert tells you, I’ll bow my head in front of you, Marcela, Manuel, and whoever else you want. If what the expert tells you is the other thing, I’ll leave the mansion that very afternoon.
Long pause.
—Cavalier.
—Yes.
—Don’t be so dramatic.
—It’s not dramatic, Laura. It’s what I owe you at this point.
—Okay.
—Okay?
—Okay. Come with me on Friday.
—Okay.
Pause.
—But I want to tell you one more thing.
—Go ahead.
“Until Friday, Cavalier, you’ll be sleeping in the other room. Not the armchair. Another room. The master suite. I’ll stay in the west wing until Vargas discharges me and until the expert gives me the report. Both of those things. Okay?”
—Okay.
“And don’t even think about coming into this room in the middle of the night.”
—I won’t.
“And if you do, you’re out the door the moment you step in. No arguments.”
—No arguments.
—All right.
Cavalier sat on the edge of the bed for three seconds, staring at the blanket. Then he stood up. He picked up the pillows from the armchair. He picked up the blanket. He picked up the book.
—Laura.
“Yes.”
“One more thing before I leave.”
“Go ahead.”
“If the expert agrees with me, will you forgive me?”
Laura closed her eyes for three seconds.
“Cavalier.”
“Yes.”
“If the expert agrees with you, I’ll forgive you for the audio. And for Alex’s kiss, too. And for the hotel, too. And for Vargas, too.”
Pause.
“And what about finding out about the baby before I did?”
—That, Cavalier, isn’t something an expert can forgive. That takes years to forgive. But I’ll open the door to the suite for you again. And for now, that’s enough for me.
—Fine.
—Get out of the room.
Cavalier left.
He went down to the main study.
He dialed.
“Derek.”
“Boss.”
“You’re in the basement.”
“Yes, boss.”
“I’ll be down in five minutes.”
“Okay.”
At 1:40 a.m., Cavalier went down to the basement. Derek was waiting for him with two men on the night shift, a monitor lit up, and the face of the head of security, who had been suspecting for the past twenty minutes that his boss was about to show up.
Cavalier placed the USB drive in his palm.
“Derek.”
“Boss.”
“This USB drive. Where did it come from?”
Derek looked at it for three seconds. He sniffed it. He turned it over. He ran his finger along the side of the USB-A port.
“Boss.”
—Yes.
“Who had it?”
“My wife. It arrived on Sunday in an envelope—no return address—delivered by courier to the mansion’s gate. Gloria’s signature. I just found it tonight.”
Derek motioned to one of the men. The man plugged the USB drive into a standalone computer, isolated from the main network—one that Derek kept for forensic analysis of suspicious files. It took two minutes to process.
Then Derek read the screen.
“Boss.”
“Yes.”
“The file was last edited last Saturday at 11:42 p.m. The editor’s signature matches a software code used by a federal prison services provider.”
“Prisons?”
“Federal Bureau of Prisons, boss. Internal system.”
—Which prison?
Derek clicked twice more.
—Hazelton Federal Correctional Center. Women’s block.
Cavalier stood motionless for three seconds.
—Derek.
“Yes.”
“Hazelton. That’s the prison where Vanessa Ashford is.”
—Yes, boss.
“Does Vanessa have access to a computer with editing software?”
“Not authorized, boss. But her lawyer visits her twice a week. And from the federal prison, a lawyer with a briefcase comes in with a laptop. They check her, but only the screen—not the files.”
Long pause.
Cavalier rested both hands on the table.
“Derek.”
—Yes.
“One more thing.”
“Go ahead.”
“The audio.”
—Yeah.
—Did you listen to it?
—I processed it without listening to it, boss. Forensic analysis doesn’t require playback. Do you want me to listen to it?
—No.
—Okay.
—Derek.
—Yes.
—What I’m about to tell you stays in this basement. Okay?
—Okay, boss.
“The audio is a conversation between my grandfather and me from March 22nd of last year. The date comes from the voice itself, not the file’s metadata. The edited version says that I asked my grandfather for Elena Mendoza’s heart before she died.”
Derek said nothing.
“What I need to know, Derek, is whether that conversation took place, in part, in the mansion’s main study at noon on March 22nd of last year.”
“Boss, I can confirm that in twenty minutes. I have the camera footage from that day on file.”
“Bring it to me.”
“Yes, boss.”
Derek climbed the basement stairs and returned twelve minutes later with an external hard drive in his hand. He plugged it in. He located the folder. He opened it.
March 22. 11:40 a.m. 12:50 a.m. Main study camera, Cavalier mansion.
Cavalier and Manuel sitting in the armchairs in the back.
Cavalier motioned for Derek to fast-forward.
Seven minutes into the video, Manuel leaned forward in his armchair and said something to his grandson—something that couldn’t be heard on the screen because the camera was recording without audio.
Cavalier watched the video three times.
And at 2:18 a.m. on Thursday, in the basement of his own mansion, Ethan Cavalier realized that the recording Vanessa had sent to his wife on Saturday was about more than just an ex-girlfriend’s revenge.
Behind it was an accomplice who had been holding onto a recorded conversation for eight months in a mansion where the only people with access to the recordings from the master bedroom’s cameras were himself, his grandfather, and Derek.
And Derek was standing right there.
That left two suspects.
His grandfather.
Or himself.
And since it hadn’t been him, there was only one left.
“Derek.”
“Boss.”
“Tomorrow morning, before breakfast, my grandfather is waiting for me in the studio. Okay?”
“Okay, boss.”
“And get that video ready for me. I’m going to use it.”
“Yes, boss.”
Cavalier climbed the basement stairs, the USB drive still clenched in his fist, his mind already halfway in the main studio, at seven in the morning.