Chapter 8 - The Perfect Scapegoat
Grace stopped being merely a witness that afternoon.
She became a target.
Every accusation Victoria had made suddenly looked different.
She had called Grace unstable.
She had accused her of assault.
She had told me Grace was obsessed with Emily.
They had been building a story around her too.
If Noah disappeared, Grace would be blamed.
Rebecca examined the forged passport application.
“The signature is extremely convincing.”
Grace stared at it.
“They copied it.”
“From where?”
“My employment contract.”
Only four people had access to Grace’s original employment file.
Me.
Our household administrator.
Marcus.
And Victoria after I foolishly added her to the estate management system.
I felt sick thinking about how many doors I had opened for her.
“She didn’t infiltrate my family,” I said.
“I invited her inside.”
Grace looked at me.
“You didn’t know.”
“Noah knew.”
That was the part I couldn’t forgive myself for.
My son had told me.
He had begged me not to marry her.
And I had reassured him that change was difficult.
I had told him Victoria loved him.
What he heard was that his father trusted an adult stranger more than him.
That night, I sat beside Noah’s bed.
He stared at the ceiling.
“Are you mad at me?”
The question broke something inside me.
“No.”
“You were mad before.”
“I was wrong before.”
He looked at me.
“Victoria said you would send me away if I kept lying.”
I closed my eyes briefly.
“You were never lying.”
“She said Grace would go to jail.”
“She won’t.”
“She said Uncle Marcus knows judges.”
I took his small hand.
“Listen to me.”
“You never have to call anyone Mom.”
“You never have to hug someone because they tell you to.”
“And if an adult tells you to keep a secret that makes you scared, you tell me.”
Noah’s eyes filled.
“Even if they say you’ll die?”
My blood went cold.
“Who said that?”
He began shaking.
“Victoria.”
“When?”
“At Grandma’s lake house.”
I had never known Victoria took him there.
Grace entered quietly.
She had been listening from the doorway.
“What happened at the lake house?”
Noah whispered,
“Doctor Robert was there.”
Bell.
“What did he do?”
“He asked me questions.”
“What questions?”
Noah struggled to remember.
“He asked if Daddy gets angry.”
“He asked if Daddy drinks bad drinks.”
“He asked if Daddy falls asleep in the daytime.”
The allegations in the custody petition.
They had coached my five-year-old son to describe me as unstable.
“And what did you say?”
“I said no.”
Noah looked ashamed.
“Then Victoria got mad.”
Grace took his other hand.
“You did nothing wrong.”
Noah looked toward her.
“Doctor Robert said Grace had to disappear.”
Grace went still.
“What?”
“He said she knows too much.”
The room seemed to shrink around us.
Before I could speak, my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then a man’s voice whispered,
“Daniel.”
I recognized it.
Robert Bell.
“You should have married my sister.”
“Where are you?”
“She could have protected Noah.”
“From who?”
Bell laughed softly.
May you like
“From your brother.”
Then the call ended.
