Chapter 3 - The Deleted TuesdaysThe security company recovered the first deleted recording at 2:16 the following morning.
She was smiling.
It was the same smile Daniel had once mistaken for warmth.
Now he saw calculation behind every movement.
“I brought you breakfast.”
Daniel looked at the bag.
“No appetite.”
“You need to eat.”
Those four words suddenly sounded like a threat.
Vanessa placed the bag on his tray.
Inside were oatmeal, fruit, and a small bottle of vitamin water.
Daniel stared at the bottle.
Three months earlier, Vanessa had insisted he start drinking the same brand every morning.
“For your heart,” she had said.
Now he wondered how many doses had been hidden inside.
“I’m nauseated.”
Vanessa sighed.
“You’re always nauseated.”
A nurse entered before Daniel could answer.
Her name badge read MAYA COLLINS.
She checked his IV.
Vanessa watched closely.
“His supplements are in his overnight bag,” she said. “He normally takes them with breakfast.”
Maya glanced toward Daniel.
“The physician suspended all outside medication.”
Vanessa’s expression tightened.
“Those are vitamins.”
“We still need pharmacy approval.”
For the first time, Daniel saw irritation break through Vanessa’s polished face.
“I’ve been managing his health for months.”
Maya gave a professional smile.
“And now we are.”
Vanessa said nothing.
Daniel almost laughed.
He had never appreciated hospital protocol so much.
When Maya left, Vanessa folded her arms.
“You should tell them I know what you need.”
“I think I’ll let the doctors decide.”
Her gaze sharpened.
“Feeling suspicious?”
Daniel allowed himself to look confused.
“About vitamins?”
Vanessa studied him.
Then smiled.
“No. Of course not.”
Daniel understood the game immediately.
She was checking whether he remembered her confession.
Whether he believed it.
Whether illness or medication had clouded his mind enough to make her safe.
He closed his eyes.
“Did you call the office?”
“Yes.”
“What did you tell them?”
“That you had another cardiac episode.”
“Another?”
“You don’t want people panicking.”
People.
Daniel wondered whether one particular person already knew.
“Did anyone ask to visit?”
“Several.”
“Who?”
Vanessa hesitated.
“Rebecca.”
Daniel forced himself not to react.
“And?”
“Ethan Cole.”
Daniel’s eyes opened.
Ethan had been Daniel’s chief financial officer for six years.
Forty-two years old.
Married once, divorced.
Intelligent.
Ambitious.
And lately, strangely interested in pushing Daniel to restructure company voting rights.
Daniel felt his stomach tighten.
“What did Ethan want?”
“He was worried.”
“About me?”
“What else?”
Daniel watched her carefully.
Vanessa turned toward the window.
Too quickly.
There it was.
Not proof.
But something.
“You should go home,” Daniel said.
She looked back.
“What?”
“You’ve been here all night.”
“I’m your wife.”
“Yes.”
The word hung between them.
Vanessa approached the bed.
For a moment, Daniel wondered whether she might finish what she had started right there.
Instead, she kissed his forehead.
“Rest.”
Then she whispered so softly that only he could hear.
“You’re making this harder than it needs to be.”
Daniel waited until the door closed.
Then he pressed the nurse-call button.
Maya returned.
“I need Dr. Reid.”
“Is something wrong?”
“I want a complete toxicology panel.”
Maya paused.
“Was there an exposure?”
Daniel looked directly at her.
“Yes.”
Within twenty minutes, Dr. Reid was standing beside him.
Daniel told him enough to make the physician’s expression change.
Not Vanessa’s confession.
Not yet.
Only that he had reason to suspect chronic exposure to something inside his home.
Dr. Reid ordered extensive blood and urine testing.
He also requested Daniel’s previous samples from earlier admissions.
That was the important part.
Daniel had been hospitalized twice during the previous three months.
If preserved blood samples existed, investigators might be able to establish a pattern.
Marcus Bell spent the morning doing something entirely different.
He went to Daniel’s estate in Naperville.
Officially, he was retrieving business papers.
Unofficially, he photographed everything.
The supplements.
The tea tins.
The water bottles beside Daniel’s home-office desk.
A weekly pill organizer Vanessa refilled every Sunday.
Marcus touched nothing.
He had already spoken with an active homicide detective named Leah Grant, who warned him that improperly collected items might become useless in court.
So Marcus documented them and left.
Then he checked the home security system.
That was where things became interesting.
Daniel’s estate had twenty-three cameras.
Exterior gates.
Hallways.
Garage.
Kitchen.
Wine room.
Study.
Only three places had no cameras: bedrooms, bathrooms, and Vanessa’s private dressing room.
Marcus pulled the access history.
Someone had logged into the system repeatedly over the past four months.
The login belonged to Vanessa.
That itself was not unusual.
But she had deleted selected footage.
Every Tuesday and Thursday between approximately 6:30 and 7:00 p.m.
The same two evenings Daniel routinely drank tea with her in the library.
Marcus called Daniel.
“I found something.”
Daniel listened.
Then he asked, “Can deleted recordings be recovered?”
“Maybe.”
“Do it.”
“I’ll need the security company.”
“Whatever it costs.”
Marcus hesitated.
“You think Ethan Cole is involved?”
Daniel stared at the ceiling.
“I think Vanessa loves somebody.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“No. It doesn’t.”
Across the city, Rebecca Sloan was meeting with two prosecutors.
Assistant State’s Attorney Rachel Mendoza read Daniel’s signed declaration twice.
“You’re telling me the alleged victim is alive?”
“For now.”
“And he claims his wife verbally admitted poisoning him?”
“Yes.”
“No recording?”
“No.”
“Witness?”
“No.”
Rachel leaned back.
“Then we have a dying businessman making an accusation against his wife while heavily medicated.”
Rebecca slid another document across the table.
“Here are his recent medical records.”
Rachel scanned the unexplained symptoms.
“And?”
“We’re waiting for toxicology.”
Rachel looked up.
“If toxicology shows nothing?”
“Then you lose an hour of your morning.”
“And if it shows something?”
Rebecca’s expression hardened.
“Then my client may be the only homicide victim in Chicago who hired his own lawyers before he died.”
That got Rachel’s attention.
By late afternoon, Vanessa had left the hospital.
She drove directly past the Naperville exit.
Marcus, following three cars behind, noticed immediately.
She continued downtown.
Then she entered the underground garage beneath Mercer Plaza.
The building belonged to Daniel.
So did the executive offices on floors thirty through thirty-eight.
Marcus parked across the street.
Vanessa emerged from the garage elevator twenty minutes later.
She was not alone.
Ethan Cole walked beside her.
They did not touch.
They did not need to.
The way they looked at each other told Marcus everything.
He photographed them through the windshield.
Then Ethan said something.
Vanessa laughed.
A minute later, they walked into a private restaurant entrance.
Marcus called Daniel.
“You were right.”
“Ethan?”
“Yes.”
Daniel closed his eyes.
He had promoted Ethan.
Trusted him.
Defended him against board members who thought he was too aggressive.
Six months earlier, Ethan had sat beside Daniel at a charity dinner and toasted to loyalty.
Now Daniel understood why Vanessa had begun attending more company functions.
“Get proof,” he whispered.
Marcus looked at the restaurant.
“I’m working on it.”
Back at St. Catherine’s, Dr. Reid entered Daniel’s room shortly after seven that evening.
He closed the door.
Daniel knew immediately.
“You found something.”
Dr. Reid pulled a chair closer.
“The preliminary screening detected elevated concentrations of a cardiac-active compound.”
Daniel’s throat tightened.
“How elevated?”
“High enough that accidental exposure would be difficult to explain.”
“Can it cause what happened to my heart?”
“Yes.”
Daniel stared at him.
“Can you prove it was given to me over time?”
“We need additional testing. But your previous stored blood samples are being analyzed now.”
“How long?”
“A day. Maybe two.”
Daniel looked at the rain beyond the window.
Five days to live.
Maybe four now.
“What happens if you stop the exposure?”
Dr. Reid hesitated.
“We support your heart and see whether the damage is reversible.”
Daniel turned.
“Reversible?”
“I said yesterday that the injury appeared permanent. I made that assessment without knowing you might have been exposed to a toxin.”
Hope was almost painful.
“You’re saying I might survive?”
“I’m saying I was wrong about one assumption.”
Daniel’s pulse quickened.
Dr. Reid placed a hand on the bedrail.
“Do not mistake that for a guarantee.”
“I won’t.”
“There is still severe damage.”
“But I have more than five days?”
“I don’t know.”
Daniel nodded.
It was enough.
Then his phone buzzed.
A message from Marcus.
A photograph.
Vanessa and Ethan were sitting in a shadowed booth.
Ethan’s hand was resting over hers.
Below the photograph was one sentence.
THEY JUST TOASTED TO FRIDAY.
Friday.
The day Daniel was expected to die.
Daniel stared at the image.
For the first time since Vanessa’s confession, anger broke through his calm.
He typed back.
DON’T CONFRONT THEM.
Marcus replied.
WHY?
Daniel looked toward the hospital door.
Because Vanessa still believed her plan was working.
May you like
And Daniel intended to keep it that way.
Because I want to know what else they’ve planned.
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