Chapter 12 - The Trap Hilda Built
Hilda had spent years making herself look like somebody's employee.
A nurse under a doctor.
A house manager under a billionaire.
A quiet woman who carried trays and schedules.
The perfect position for someone who wanted power without attention.
Calvin reconstructed the counterfeit scheme.
Marcus signed medical paperwork.
Vendors supplied altered products.
Mercer Freight subcontractors moved them.
Hilda coordinated who saw what and who got paid.
When Sophie died, Elena started pulling invoices.
Hilda realized she was dangerous.
"So she got close to Elena," I said.
Mara nodded.
"And when I warned Elena about the medication?"
"Hilda framed you."
"Then Elena died."
My voice sounded distant.
Detective Ortiz arrived with the latest forensic update.
The evidence samples Hilda stole had been found in a drainage ditch near the hospice.
Most were destroyed.
One vial survived.
The preliminary result showed Elena had received a powerful unprescribed drug shortly before her collapse.
Not enough for a final conclusion.
Enough to reopen the death investigation as homicide.
I sat down.
For two years I had visited Elena's grave believing her body had betrayed her.
Now I knew people had.
Ortiz placed another file in front of me.
"We also recovered this from the hospice safe."
A draft petition to have me declared mentally incompetent.
Prepared two years ago.
Never filed.
It named Hilda as emergency guardian of my daughters.
"She planned this from the beginning," I said.
"Maybe."
"Maybe?"
Ortiz tapped the document.
"This draft is dated before Elena died."
My skin prickled.
Hilda had prepared to replace me before there was any reason to claim I was unstable.
Then Calvin's phone rang.
The hospital's security chief.
He listened for five seconds and ran for the door.
"What happened?"
"Fire alarm on the pediatric floor."
I was already moving.
By the time we reached the corridor, alarms screamed and sprinklers drenched the ceiling tiles.
Nurses pushed beds toward stairwells.
I found Camille's room.
Empty.
Rosalyn was in Mara's arms, sobbing.
"Where is she?" I shouted.
Mara's face was white.
May you like
"A woman in scrubs took her."
I didn't need to ask who.
