Chapter 10 - The Woman Behind Claire's Face
Police hit the Harbor Street condo before noon.
Vanessa was gone.
What she left behind was worse.
A green-screen frame. Two wigs cut to match Claire's hair. Claire's passport. A silicone face-capture rig. An old laptop holding hundreds of voice clips pulled from family videos and corporate meetings.
There were folders labeled DANIEL, NOAH, BOARD, BANK.
Inside BOARD were scripts.
Some matched emails I had received word for word.
One did not.
It was dated for the following week.
Daniel has become unstable. I authorize Elliot Price to exercise my full voting proxy until I return.
If they had gotten that message out, Elliot could have controlled Claire's shares without even hiding behind individual signatures.
Ruiz found another file on the laptop: cremation_invoice.pdf.
The deceased name was MARA COLE.
The date was three days after Claire's recorded injury.
The crematorium was in a rural county ninety miles north.
I drove there with Ruiz that afternoon.
The director, a gray-haired man named Paul Henley, remembered the case because it had been unusual.
"Private transfer," he said. "No family service. Doctor handled the paperwork personally."
"Doctor Hale?"
He nodded.
"Body came from a private residence, not a hospital."
My knees nearly gave out.
Ruiz asked, "What happened to the ashes?"
Henley checked an old ledger.
"Released to the person who signed as next of kin."
He turned the book toward us.
The signature read V. CARTER.
Vanessa had taken my sister's ashes.
"Did she say where she was taking them?" I asked.
Henley thought for a moment.
"She asked if we sold temporary urns. Said she was driving straight to a cemetery."
"Which cemetery?"
"She never said."
As we walked back to the car, Henley called after us.
"Wait. There was one more thing."
He returned carrying a small evidence envelope from an unclaimed property drawer.
Inside was a silver chain.
No pendant.
"This was tangled in the transport sheet," he said. "The woman said it wasn't hers."
I recognized the chain.
Claire's compass had hung from it for fifteen years.
My phone rang.
Hospital number.
May you like
Marcus Hale was awake.
And he was asking to speak to me before the police.
