Chapter 130 #48: So What Happens Next?
The recorder sits on the kitchen island like a small black bomb waiting to detonate. I haven’t touched it since I got home at three in the morning, showered twice to wash off the warehouse smell, and crawled into bed beside Lucy without waking her. Now it’s almost ten and I still can’t touch it.
Marcus is already here, nursing coffee at the counter. He didn’t ask for details when I texted him I was clear and heading home. He just said he’d stay until Sel arrived to take over watch.
I pick up my phone instead of the recorder. Three missed calls from the law firm. Two voicemails. I hit play on the first one while I pour myself coffee I probably won’t drink.
“Nora, it’s Rachel Kline. Harlan and Martinez came by the office this morning with questions. They’re fishing, but they’re persistent. We need you in here today. Bring whatever you have that might help. Call me back.”
The second voicemail is shorter.
“Rachel again. They’re talking about convening a grand jury next week if they can’t get more traction. Get here soon.”
I set the phone down and meet Marcus’s eyes.
“Lawyers want me downtown,” I tell him. “Apparently the detectives are getting creative.”
He nods slowly. “Want company?”
“Don’t worry about it. Sel’s already on her way. Stay with Lucy. I’ll be back before lunch.”
He doesn’t argue. Just lifts his mug in a silent salute.
The firm occupies the top three floors of a glass tower on Park Avenue. Rachel meets me in the lobby, she doesn’t bother with small talk, just steers me past reception and into a conference room where two partners and a paralegal are already waiting.
The senior partner, Daniel Kross, stands when I enter. He’s silver-haired, soft-spoken, and has a reputation for making district attorneys regret waking up in the morning.
“Nora, have a seat,” he says, gesturing to the chair at the head of the table. “Coffee?”
“I’m good.” I drop my bag on the floor and stay standing. “What do they have?”
Rachel answers first. “Motive mostly – the hospital slap and the threat about the Hudson River. As for the opportunity... that’s what they can’t quite pin down. They still have the security footage of Vincent in the garage the night Elaine died. They’re trying to build a conspiracy angle, suggesting you and Vincent coordinated it.”
Daniel leans against the table. “Good news is motive alone doesn’t make a case. They need physical evidence tying you to the crime scene or to the body. They don’t have it. No DNA, no prints, no witnesses who saw you anywhere near the river that night. Your alibi is rock-solid – hospital staff, security logs, even the vending machine receipt from two a.m. when you bought orange juice.”
The paralegal slides a legal pad toward me. “We pulled your phone records, credit cards, rideshare history. You didn’t leave the hospital grounds between eleven p.m. and six a.m. They’d have to prove you had an accomplice who did the actual killing, and even then, they’d need something concrete linking you to the planning or execution. Right now all they have is speculation and a dramatic argument in a public hallway.”
I finally sit, overwhelmed with relief. “So what happens next?”
Rachel answers. “They’ll keep pushing for an interview, which we’ll decline, then they’ll probably try to subpoena hospital staff for more details. But without new evidence, the DA won’t touch this with a ten-foot pole. Grand jury might get convened for optics, but no indictment follows. Worst case, it fizzles out in six to eight weeks. Best case, they drop it quietly by the end of the month once the autopsy and tox reports come back clean for anyone but Elaine.”
Daniel straightens. “The bigger risk right now is public perception. Elaine Reid was a name. Reporters are sniffing around. If you stay visible... hospital visits, court appearances... they’ll keep the story alive. My advice is lay low and let us handle the noise.”
I think about the recorder in my bag. About Vincent disappearing into the dark. About Maya still out there, probably watching.
“I might have something,” I say. “A recording of Elaine and Maya from the night she died.”
The room goes still.
Rachel leans forward. “You want to explain how you came by it?”
“Anonymous source. I’m not giving up the source, so don’t bother asking, but I can assure you it’s clean. Timestamps match the estimated time of death. Maya’s voice is unmistakable.”
Daniel exchanges a look with the other partner. “We listen to it here. No copies leave this room until we decide how to proceed. If it’s admissible and it points to Maya Stewart, we hand it over through proper channels. No direct contact with police. We go through the DA’s office.”
I pull the recorder out and set it on the table. “Play it.”
Rachel hits the button.
Elaine’s voice fills the conference room just as I’d heard it yesterday, followed by Maya’s laugh. The thump. The gasp. Then the calm aftermath.
When it ends, silence sits heavy for almost ten seconds.
Daniel speaks first. “That’s enough to shift the entire narrative. If the timestamps and location match the autopsy, this becomes Maya’s problem not yours.”
Rachel is already making notes. “We need a chain of custody. We’ll have the tech people authenticate the file and verify there's been no tampering. Then we deliver it to the DA with a formal letter requesting they redirect the investigation.”
I nod. “Do it fast. I want my name out of their mouths by next week.”
Daniel stands. “We’ll move on it today. Go home to your daughter. We’ll call when we have movement.”
I leave the building feeling lighter than I have in days. Not safe yet, but like the noose around my neck just loosened a single notch.
Back at the apartment, Lucy is on the living room floor with a fortress made of couch cushions and every blanket we own. Sel is inside the structure pretending to be a dragon. Marcus is leaning against the doorway watching them with the kind of quiet amusement that makes me grateful he’s on our side.
Lucy spots me first. “Mommy! We’re defending the kingdom!”
I drop to my knees beside the blanket wall. “Looks like you’ve got it under control, honey.”
“The dragon keeps trying to steal my gold,” she says solemnly, holding up a handful of plastic coins.
Sel roars dramatically from inside the fort. Lucy giggles and dives back in.
I catch Sel’s eye through the gap in the cushions. “I need to borrow her for a bit.”
Sel nods, understanding immediately. “I’ll hold the fort.”
I help Lucy crawl out. Her curls are wild and her cheeks are pink from laughing. I smooth her hair back and kiss her forehead.
“We’re going to see Mr. David at the hospital, baby.” I tell her. “Want to bring him one of your drawings?”
She nods fast. “The one with the boat! Does he like boats?!”
I smile and nod, and we proceed to find the drawing on the fridge. It's a stick-figure of David on a sailboat with Lucy, me and who I suppose should be Vincent waving from the shore. My chest tightens at what I know I’ll have to tell her soon enough about the man she’s always called her father. Lucy clutches the picture carefully as we head to the elevator.
In the car, she chatters about kindergarten, about how Aunt Sel promised to teach her how to make pancakes with smiley faces, about how the dragon almost won but she saved the kingdom with her magic sword (a paper-towel roll). I listen and answer and try not to let my heart crack open too wide.
When we reach the hospital floor, I slow my steps. Lucy’s hand is small and warm in mine.
“Baby,” I say when we’re just outside David's door, and crouch so we’re eye to eye. “Before we go in, I need to tell you something important.”
She tilts her head. “Okay.”
I take a breath. “You know how most families have a mommy and a daddy?”
She nods.
“And you’ve always had me, and you had Daddy at home.”
Another nod, slower this time.
“Well, Daddy Vincent loves you very much,” I say carefully. “But he isn’t your real daddy. Think of him more like a... a backup daddy who has been taking care of you until your real daddy gets here. Your real daddy is Mr. David, baby. He’s the one who helped make you, a long time ago, before you were born. And he’s been waiting to meet you properly ever since.”
Lucy’s brows scrunch. “But where’s my Daddy? The one who reads me stories?”
“He had to go away for a while,” I tell her. “He’s not coming back to live with us. But that doesn’t mean you don’t have a daddy. You have Mr. David now. He’s your daddy too.”
She looks at the drawing in her hand, then back at me. “Will I never see him again?”
The sadness in her voice as she asks that question breaks my heart so much that I can’t bare to tell her the truth... at least not yet.
“I'm sure he'll come visiting, baby,” I reply softly, stroking her hair slowly.
The sadness on her face lifts instantly. “So I get to have two daddies?!”
The question is so innocent it almost undoes me. I swallow hard. “Yes, sweetheart. You get two daddies. One who loved you every day you were with him, and one who’s loved you since before you were even here. Both of them want you to be happy.”
Lucy thinks about that for a long moment. Then her face brightens. “Does it also mean I get two birthday parties?!”
I laugh despite the tears pricking my eyes. “We’ll see about that. But it means you have two people who love you more than anything. Okay?”
“Okay.” She smiles brightly. “Can we go see my new Daddy now?”
I stand and push open the door.
David is propped against the pillows, half-dozing, the TV muted on some nature documentary. The moment he hears the door he turns his head.
His eyes land on Lucy first and everything in him goes still.
Lucy lets go of my hand and runs across the room, her bare feet slapping against the linoleum. She climbs onto the chair beside his bed without asking, then scrambles up onto the mattress as carefully as a five-year-old can manage.
“Hi,” she says, beaming. “Mommy said you’re my new Daddy.”
David’s breath catches audibly. His hand moves slowly, like he’s afraid she’ll vanish if he moves too fast, and rests on her back.
“Is that right?” His voice is rough, barely above a whisper. “And how do you feel about that?”
She juts out a tiny finger as she points at him questioningly. “Will you buy me lots of presents on my birthday and Christmas?”
David chuckles slightly. “I will if you promise to be a good girl. Do we have a deal?” he says stretching his pinkie.
“Deal.” She replies, hooking her pinkie to his. Then she holds out her drawing. “I made this for you. It’s us on a boat. Mommy said you like boats.”
He takes the paper with trembling fingers, then studies the crooked lines, the bright crayon colours, and the three stick figures holding hands. When he looks up again, I can tell he’s holding back tears.
“I love it,” he tells her. “It’s the best boat I’ve ever seen.”
Lucy leans in and wraps her arms around his neck in a careful hug, mindful of the tubes and bandages. “Don’t be scared of the hospital,” she says seriously. “It’s not so bad. They give you jello.”
David laughs softly. “I’ll be sure to remember that.”
I stand in the doorway watching them, one hand pressed to my mouth to keep the sob inside. My heart feels too big for my chest right now, too full, too raw. The image of them together – his arm around her small shoulders, her cheek pressed against his hospital gown, the drawing still clutched between them – is more than I ever let myself hope for.
A tear slips down my cheek anyway.
David looks over Lucy’s head and meets my eyes. The look he gives me says everything we don’t have words for yet.
Thank you.
I love you.
We’re finally here.
I wipe my face quickly and step into the room, closing the door behind me.