Chapter 3 - The Silent Partner
Daniel stood up immediately, his professional charm instantly snapping into place. “Can I help you? Visiting hours are technically over, and my wife needs her rest.”
Rachel didn’t look at him. She walked straight to the side of my bed, her eyes scanning my bandaged shoulder with a mixture of professional assessment and deep, suppressed fury. She and I had spent a decade putting away white-collar criminals. She knew exactly what a crime scene looked like, even when disguised as a domestic accident.
“Mr. Cole,” Rachel said, her voice smooth and entirely devoid of warmth. “I’m Rachel Ortiz. I’m Clara’s personal legal representative.”
Daniel’s brow furrowed. “Clara retired from law when we married. She doesn't have a legal representative. And we certainly didn't hire you.”
“She didn't need to hire me. We have an active retainer dating back five years,” Rachel replied, pulling a document from her folder and placing it on the bedside table. “As her attorney-in-fact regarding her personal assets and medical directives, I am here to oversee her care. And her legal interests.”
Daniel’s face darkened. The mask of the loving husband was beginning to slip at the edges. “This is a family matter. My wife had a domestic accident. We don’t need lawyers.”
“A domestic accident involving boiling oil that resulted in second and third-degree burns covering fifteen percent of her body,” Rachel said, turning to face him fully. She was shorter than Daniel, but she held herself with the absolute authority of a federal prosecutor. “The hospital’s social worker has already been notified. Since the injury occurred in your home, a standard domestic incident report is being filed.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Daniel snapped, stepping forward. “Clara, tell her. Tell her you dropped the pot.”
I looked at Daniel. I let my lower lip tremble slightly. I played the part of the terrified, submissive wife they had spent two years trying to build.
“I... I don’t remember,” I whispered, shrinking back into the pillows. “Everything went black. The oil... it was just so hot.”
“See?” Daniel said, turning to Rachel with a triumphant sneer. “She’s traumatized. She doesn't even know what happened. Now, get out of this room before I have security remove you.”
Rachel didn’t flinch. She simply tapped the manila folder. “I’ll leave for now, Mr. Cole. But I suggest you check your email. I’ve just sent a formal preservation of evidence demand to your home address and your corporate office. Do not delete any security footage from your house. Do not alter any kitchen records. If so much as a single tile is bleached before our independent forensic team inspects the kitchen, I will have a spoliation of evidence warrant issued before sunrise.”
Daniel froze. The color drained from his face so fast I thought he might faint.
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He knew about the kitchen camera. Or rather, he knew there might be one, but he didn't know where.
“Have a good night, Daniel,” Rachel said softly. She reached down, gently squeezed my uninjured hand, and whispered, “The file is secure. The trap is set.”
