Chapter 7 - What Emily RememberedEmily refused to wear orange.
Nathan discovered this on Monday morning when he brought out a clean T-shirt for preschool.
It was peach.
Not orange.
Emily still pushed it away.
“No.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Too orange.”
Nathan sat beside her.
“Okay.”
He chose a blue shirt.
She put it on without argument.
Later that morning, Dr. Laura Bennett, a child psychologist recommended by Emily’s pediatrician, explained why Nathan should not repeatedly ask his daughter about the pool.
“Memory in a frightened five-year-old is not a recording,” she said. “If every adult keeps asking the same questions, the child can begin trying to give the answer that makes the adult less upset.”
Nathan nodded.
“I want to know what happened.”
“I understand.”
“I also don’t want to put words in her mouth.”
“Then don’t investigate through your daughter.”
The sentence stayed with him.
During the session, Nathan waited in another room.
Dr. Bennett used drawings, toys and open-ended questions.
She did not ask whether Victoria damaged the vest.
She asked Emily to draw the pool.
Emily drew the rectangle in blue.
The house in gray.
Sunny in gold.
Rosa beside a white column.
Then she drew a black square high on the wall.
“What’s that?” Dr. Bennett asked.
“The camera.”
“Anything you remember about it?”
Emily colored over the square.
“The light went away.”
“When?”
Emily shrugged.
“Grandma touched the wall.”
Dr. Bennett made no visible reaction.
“What happened next?”
“She had my orange.”
“Your orange what?”
“My swim thing.”
“Where were you?”
“On the chair.”
“What was Grandma doing?”
Emily’s pencil stopped.
“She told me to look at the dragonfly.”
That detail had never appeared in Rosa’s account.
Nathan had not mentioned it.
Dr. Bennett continued gently.
“And then?”
“She put it on me.”
“Did anything happen after that?”
Emily drew three tiny dots on the orange shape.
Dr. Bennett did not ask what they represented.
She simply said, “Tell me about those.”
Emily whispered, “Grandma poked it.”
The session ended ten minutes later.
Dr. Bennett did not declare the case solved.
She explained that Emily’s statement should be documented carefully and, if authorities needed a formal forensic interview, trained professionals should handle it.
Nathan understood.
He also felt sick.
That afternoon, he confronted Victoria.
She had returned the blue file case.
She claimed she had taken it to organize old insurance papers.
The brass key remained missing.
Nathan did not mention Emily’s therapy.
Instead, he placed a $38,600 Palmetto Aquatic invoice on the table.
“Who are they?”
Victoria glanced at it.
“A vendor.”
“They don’t appear in the gate logs.”
“Not every contractor signs in.”
“June says they do.”
“June isn’t an accountant.”
“Diane can’t find their insurance certificate.”
Victoria sighed.
“Nathan, if you want to spend the rest of your life interrogating invoices, go ahead.”
“I want to know who received this money.”
“Ask finance.”
“I did.”
Nathan leaned forward.
“The payment instructions were changed three days before transfer.”
Victoria’s expression shifted.
“To what?”
“I thought you might tell me.”
She stood.
“I have spent two years keeping this place from collapsing while you treated grief like a full-time occupation.”
Nathan’s jaw tightened.
“Don’t use Caroline’s death as permission.”
“Permission for what?”
“To decide nobody gets to question you.”
Victoria laughed.
“You think Rosa has turned you into a detective?”
“No.”
“Then Emily?”
Nathan said nothing.
That was enough.
Victoria’s eyes sharpened.
“You’ve been questioning a five-year-old?”
“No.”
“Do you have any idea how suggestible children are?”
“She’s seeing a professional.”
Victoria went pale.
“Without telling me?”
“You are not her parent.”
The words landed hard.
Victoria stepped backward.
Nathan had never said them before.
For years, he had allowed her to act as though Caroline’s death had promoted her into a second mother.
Now he watched something cold settle over her face.
“You’re right,” she said.
Nathan almost apologized.
Habit.
He stopped himself.
Victoria picked up her purse.
“You should remember that the next time you need somebody to repair what you break.”
She left.
Nathan remained at the table.
Ten minutes later, Diane called.
“I found Palmetto Aquatic.”
Nathan grabbed the phone.
“Who owns it?”
“Technically, a holding company.”
“Connected to Victoria?”
“Not directly.”
He heard paper turning.
“But the mailing address is the same suite used by Heron Strategic.”
Nathan closed his eyes.
“Caroline’s folder.”
“Yes.”
“How much has Hawthorne paid them?”
“I’m still counting.”
“Estimate.”
Diane paused.
“At least a quarter-million dollars across several vendors sharing related banking instructions.”
Nathan sat down.
“That can’t be right.”
“I hope it isn’t.”
He stared toward the pool.
The water looked harmless.
Sunny lay beside the glass door, refusing to go outside unless Emily went with him.
Diane continued.
“There’s something else.”
“What?”
“I asked First Atlantic about Caroline’s safe-deposit box through the estate.”
“And?”
“The box was accessed yesterday.”
Nathan stood.
“What?”
“Someone presented the key.”
“Who?”
“The bank won’t release surveillance or customer details without proper authorization.”
“But the estate owns the box.”
“Caroline’s estate does. Counsel is handling it.”
Nathan’s voice dropped.
“Was anything removed?”
“We don’t know.”
He looked toward Victoria’s wing.
Her door was closed.
Diane said, “Nathan, don’t confront her about this yet.”
He barely heard her.
Because on the hallway table outside Victoria’s room sat Caroline’s blue file case.
The zipper was slightly open.
Inside, Nathan could see the corner of a bank envelope.
May you like
Stamped across it were two words.
BOX 214.
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