Rain.
Defective brakes.
A two-lane road outside of Columbus.
Ava was six months old and was in a car seat in the back.
Ava survived with a scar under her chin.
His mother, no.
“Was it an accident?” asked Ava.
Elie did not respond quickly enough.
The city lights below were blurring.
Ava straightened up as she stood up from the table.
“No.”
Helena said softly, “We have no proof.”
Ava turned to her. “But you have doubts.”
“We have irregularities.”
Ava laughed once.
That terrible legal word.
Irregularities.
A forged signature constituted an irregularity.
The absence of brake maintenance records constituted an irregularity.
The mother’s death was an anomaly.
A childhood built on rent checks and food stamps while men profited from stolen wealth was an anomaly.
Ava got up and walked towards the window.
Below, Manhattan glittered as if it had never harmed anyone.
She thought of her mother’s hands.
She barely remembered them.
It was the cruelty of losing someone so young.
You inherited the grief without enough memories to contain it.
Ava had spent her life loving a woman through photographs, recipes, and the way strangers told her, “You have her eyes,” as if that were enough.
She was now learning that her mother was not simply dead.
She was cornered.
Deleted.
Perhaps assassinated.
And Ryan Mercer, the man Ava had married, was the son of one of the men who had taken advantage of her.
Ava looked at her reflection in the glass.
The ring shone on her finger.
No commitment.
Evidence.
Legacy.
Bait.
“Ryan knew it,” said Ava.
Elie was silent.
Ava turned around. “Did Ryan know?”
Helena replied, “We believe he discovered the coins after Conrad’s death.”
“How?”
“His father’s private files.”
Ava thought back to Ryan’s office in their old townhouse.
Lower drawer locked.
Combination keypad.
The night she found him burning papers in the fireplace at 2 a.m.
She had asked him what he was doing.
He said old tax documents.
Then he kissed her on the forehead and told her to go back to bed.
Ava was thirty years old.
I still trust them.
I’m still trying.
Still pregnant and no bleeding yet.
“Which rooms?” asked Ava.
Elie reached into his coat and pulled out a sealed envelope.
He placed it on the table.
Ava recognized the paper.
Cream.
Heavy.
Patricia Mercer used envelopes of this kind for thank you cards and threats disguised as Christmas cards.
Ava didn’t touch it.
Helena stated, “This document was submitted to Mr. Hartwell’s office three weeks after your divorce petition was filed.”
“From Patricia? »
“No names returned.”
“But you know…”
Helena’s silence was answer enough.
Ava opened the envelope.
Inside was a photocopy of a register page.
Old.
Marked with initials.
CM
PV
EH
MH
Next to Marianne Hart’s initials was a number.
18%.
Next to CM, a handwritten note.
Problem solved.
Ava stared at him.
Problem solved.
Unresolved.
Not bought back.
Content.
His mother had been a problem.
Ava was a six-month warranty.
She sat down slowly.
Ryan’s messages kept coming in.
She turned her phone over.
Helena noticed. “You should keep them.”
“I am.”
“Don’t answer.”
“I won’t do it.”
The phone vibrated again.
Ava watched anyway.
Ryan:
You don’t understand what Hartwell is leading you into.
Ryan:
This ring is stained with blood.
Ryan:
Ask him what happened to your mother.
Ava’s heart stopped abruptly, violently.
She showed it to Elijah.
For the first time that night, Elijah looked old.
Ava’s voice was barely more than a whisper.
“What happened to my mother?”
