Chapter 10 - The Nanny Finally Told the Truth|
Margaret requested a lawyer before answering the detectives' remaining questions.
I didn't blame her for that.
Everyone had the right to legal representation.
But when Detective Brooks told me investigators were now treating the evidence as part of a suspected coordinated scheme, I felt the last remnants of my trust collapse.
For two years, Margaret had been the person I called when Zion cried.
When he wouldn't sleep.
When he refused his bottle.
When I didn't know how to comfort him.
And every time, she had sounded patient and reassuring.
Don't worry, Mr. Whitaker.
I've got him.
I used to find those words comforting.
Now they haunted me.
Later that afternoon, Emily came to the hospital with her mother.
Mae Carter was a small woman with gentle brown eyes and a scarf wrapped around her head.
She moved carefully, but her smile was warm.
I met them near the family waiting room.
"Mrs. Carter."
She held out her hand.
"Marcus Whitaker."
"Yes, ma'am."
She studied me for a moment.
"You're the man who fired my daughter."
I lowered my eyes.
"Yes."
"Because she was trying to help a baby."
"Yes."
Mae nodded slowly.
"At least you're not denying it."
Emily touched her mother's arm.
"Mom."
"No, sweetheart."
Mae continued looking at me.
"Emily came home that night and told me she'd lost her job."
"She tried to make it sound like a misunderstanding."
"But I knew she'd been hurt."
My throat tightened.
"She had every reason to be."
Mae's expression softened slightly.
"My daughter has spent most of her life taking care of other people."
"She took care of me when I was sick."
"She worked nights while trying to finish nursing school."
"And when I couldn't afford my treatments, she stopped studying so we could keep our apartment."
Emily looked embarrassed.
"Mom, please."
Mae squeezed her hand.
"I want him to understand something."
She turned back to me.
"Emily didn't need to know your son's last name to care whether he was breathing."
I couldn't answer.
Because there was nothing I could say that would make that statement less true.
"I know," I whispered.
Mae looked toward the pediatric wing.
"Then don't waste the lesson."
That evening, Detective Brooks called with news.
Margaret had agreed to provide a statement through her attorney.
Certain details could not yet be shared with me, but Brooks said the evidence increasingly supported the conclusion that the medication exposure had been deliberate.
I felt the air leave my lungs.
"Deliberate?"
"That's what the investigation is examining."
"She put something on my son on purpose?"
"Mr. Whitaker, please don't ask me to give conclusions beyond what the evidence supports."
I sat down.
"All right."
She paused.
"But there is something you should know."
"What?"
"Margaret has acknowledged receiving money from someone connected to Sebastian Vale."
I closed my eyes.
"Why?"
"She says she was under financial pressure."
"Her adult son had accumulated substantial debts, and she had previously accepted payments to ignore suspicious activity."
I stared at the wall.
"Did she know Zion could die?"
"Her account is that she was told the substance would only make him unusually sleepy."
My hands clenched.
"And she believed that?"
"Her claim doesn't remove her responsibility."
I felt sick.
How could anyone gamble with a baby's life?
How could a woman who had sung lullabies to my child allow something dangerous to touch his skin?
Then I remembered Hannah's letter.
Margaret had been dismissing concerns about Zion's unusual sleepiness for months.
The recent incident might have been the most serious.
But it wasn't necessarily the first warning.
"Detective, was she doing this before?"
"That's part of what we're investigating."
I covered my face.
"God."
"Mr. Whitaker, listen carefully."
I lowered my hands.
"The evidence your housemaid preserved, along with her contemporaneous notes and the witness statements, has been important."
"She wasn't imagining things."
"No."
"She wasn't trying to replace Margaret."
"There's no evidence that was her motive."
"She was trying to help my son."
"That's consistent with what we've learned."
I closed my eyes.
I wished Emily could hear every word.
An hour later, Margaret asked to speak with me.
Detective Brooks advised against a private conversation while the investigation was active.
So I declined.
Instead, I sent one message through her attorney.
My son trusted you because I taught him to.
You were supposed to keep him safe.
I hope you tell the investigators everything you know.
I didn't ask for an apology.
I didn't offer forgiveness.
I didn't threaten revenge.
I had spent enough of my life thinking the loudest man in the room was the strongest.
I was finally learning that restraint could be harder than anger.
That night, I found Emily standing near Zion's room.
She was holding a small stuffed giraffe.
"What's that?"
She smiled faintly.
"His favorite toy."
"How did you know?"
"He used to reach for it whenever I cleaned the nursery."
I stared at the giraffe.
I had bought it during a business trip to Switzerland.
At the time, I'd thought it was a wonderful gift.
But I hadn't known it was his favorite.
Emily gently placed it beside the crib, away from his sleeping space until a nurse could store it safely.
"He's getting better," she whispered.
"Yes."
She looked at me.
"Then don't let what Margaret did become the only thing you remember about this week."
I frowned.
"What do you mean?"
"You almost lost him."
"But you didn't."
"And when he goes home, he's going to need a father who knows how to hold him when he cries."
Her words settled inside me.
"Emily, do you ever get tired of telling me things I should already know?"
She gave a small, tired smile.
"Sometimes."
For the first time in days, I laughed.
Then my phone rang.
It was Lydia Bennett.
"Marcus, I need to speak with you immediately."
"What happened?"
"The forensic accountants identified additional transfers."
"From the foundation?"
"Yes."
"And from the family trust."
I closed my eyes.
"How much?"
"Enough to support the suspicion of a major fraud scheme."
She paused.
"And Sebastian appears to have moved funds through several companies connected to Owen Pike."
I gripped the phone.
"Is Sebastian cooperating?"
"Not anymore."
"What do you mean?"
"His office has been emptied."
"His staff say he's traveling."
"Traveling where?"
"We don't know."
Then Lydia delivered the news that made my blood run cold.
"Marcus, Sebastian has also attempted to contact several members of your board."
May you like
"He's telling them you're mentally unfit to manage the company."
"And he's asking them to convene an emergency meeting before the investigators can finish their work."
