Chapter 6 - Camille’s Last Week
Leo did not let me leave.
Not literally.
That distinction remained important.
He offered a hotel suite, security, transportation, and anything else I wanted.
I refused the suite.
Accepted security.
Someone had already impersonated me.
Pride has limits.
I stayed at the hospital guest residence with Amelia.
Isla remained under observation and began taking donor milk from a hospital-controlled supply between nursing sessions with me.
I insisted on boundaries.
“I’m helping temporarily.”
Leo said, “I know.”
“You keep saying that like you’re trying to convince yourself.”
He almost smiled.
Maybe we were learning each other.
Then Camille’s death came under review.
Officially, she died from complications after a sudden intracranial hemorrhage seven weeks after giving birth.
No evidence initially suggested foul play.
But when detectives reopened the timeline, they found something interesting.
Camille had reported dizziness, headaches, and unusual fatigue in the week before death.
She had also been taking prescribed anticoagulants after postpartum clotting concerns.
One medication bottle was missing after she died.
Could someone have tampered?
Maybe.
Could the hemorrhage have been natural complication?
Absolutely.
Monroe refused to turn coincidence into murder.
Leo hated uncertainty.
“Someone was drugging my daughter. Camille warned people. Now she’s dead.”
“That makes reexamination reasonable,” Monroe said. “It does not make conclusion.”
Good.
The medical examiner agreed to review records.
Meanwhile, Camille’s emails showed increasing fear.
She had found duplicate nursery access logs.
Someone entered at night while Marina claimed to be sleeping in the adjoining room.
Security logs:
Victor’s executive badge used twice.
Victor said he had loaned badge to facilities staff.
Facilities denied.
Adrian’s badge appeared once.
He admitted visiting late to see baby after business dinner.
Possible.
Then a deleted message between Adrian and Victor recovered from corporate archive:
Adrian:
Leo changed trust again.
Victor:
I saw.
Adrian:
So now everything freezes around the baby.
Victor:
Correct.
Adrian:
Our father would hate this.
Victor:
Your father is dead.
Adrian:
Don’t be clever.
Not criminal.
But resentment.
Then Victor to Marina:
How is the baby taking bottles?
Marina:
Poorly.
Victor:
That needs to change before travel.
Again suspicious.
But Victor’s explanation was that he was coordinating a high-profile charity trip and needed to know whether a medical escort was necessary.
Possible.
Then another:
Victor:
If she refuses house formula, use backup batch.
Marina:
Camille said no house supply.
Victor:
Camille is gone.
That made Leo leave the room.
Not because he was going to kill Victor.
Because grief had finally cracked him.
I found him in a quiet stairwell.
He stood facing cinderblock wall, both hands braced against it.
I stayed several feet away.
“You don’t have to talk.”
“I know.”
Progress.
Then:
“I should have seen it.”
I knew that sentence.
Grief loves hindsight.
“No.”
“My wife was frightened in my house.”
“You didn’t know.”
“I should have.”
“My husband drove on a road we used a hundred times. I still spent months thinking I should have told him not to leave that morning.”
Leo turned.
His eyes met mine.
For the first time, we were not mafia boss and stranger.
Just two people trying to bargain backward with death.
“What happened?” he asked.
I told him.
Not details.
Enough.
Daniel driving.
Micah in back.
Grace’s car seat.
Truck crossing median.
The phone call.
Hospital.
Six days with Grace.
Then silence.
Leo listened.
When I finished, he said:
“You fed Isla while remembering your daughter.”
My throat tightened.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because grief doesn’t cancel hunger.”
He looked away.
That sentence stayed with him.
Then his phone buzzed.
Owen.
Leo answered.
Listened.
His face changed.
“What?”
I waited.
He ended call.
“Marina has been found.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Philadelphia.”
My stomach dropped.
Philadelphia.
My city.
May you like
Then Leo added:
“She was found outside the cemetery where your husband and children are buried.”
