chapter 8: The Foster Mother's Death

Gloria Martinez died at 4:17 AM on Friday morning.

I got the call at 6:00 AM from a nurse at Mount Sinai who'd found my number listed as emergency contact.

"Heart attack," she said, voice professionally sympathetic. "Very sudden. She didn't suffer."

I stood in my kitchen, phone pressed to my ear, and felt the last thread connecting me to my real life snap.

Gloria was the only person who'd known me before Flynn. The only person who'd loved me without agenda.

And now she was gone.

Dawn light was just starting to creep through the windows. Flynn appeared in the doorway. Up early. Unusual.

"What's wrong?"

My voice came out distant. "Gloria died."

He paused. Then, "I'm sorry, darling."

His sympathy sounded rehearsed. Like he'd practiced it.

"Heart attack?"

I went still. The nurse hadn't specified in the voicemail. How did he know?

"Yes. How did you…"

"You said she had heart problems."

I never said that. Gloria was healthy. Active. Only sixty-two.

Flynn kept talking. "Will there be a funeral?"

"I need to make arrangements."

"Of course. Do you need help?"

His hand landed on my shoulder. I wanted to shrug it off.

"I need to go to the hospital. Get her things."

Flynn checked his watch. "I have meetings all day. I can cancel…"

"No." Too quick. "I need to do this alone."

Relief crossed his face. Gone so fast I almost missed it.

"If you're sure. Call me if you need anything."

He kissed my forehead. I felt revulsion crawl across my skin.

"Did Gloria have much? Any assets? Property?"

I stared at him. "She just died."

"I'm just thinking practically. Estate issues."

My foster mother was dead. And he was calculating financial impact.

The nurse at Mount Sinai walked me to Gloria's room. Her body had already been moved to the morgue.

She handed me a plastic bag. Personal effects.

I opened it with shaking hands.

Gloria's reading glasses. A mystery novel with the bookmark halfway through. Her cell phone. Wallet. Wedding ring from her late husband.

And a key on a simple ring.

"What key is this?"

The nurse glanced at it. "I don't know. It was in her pocket."

Small brass key. Number stamped on it: 447.

Storage unit?

"The doctor wants to speak with you."

Dr. Patel was young. Maybe thirty-five. Serious eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses.

"Ms. Winters, I wanted to explain what happened. It was a massive heart attack. Very sudden."

He paused. Chose his next words carefully.

"But honestly, it's unusual."

"What do you mean?"

"Mrs. Martinez's last physical was three weeks ago. Perfect heart health. No risk factors. No family history. This kind of sudden cardiac event in someone her age, with her health profile..."

He trailed off.

"Are you saying it's suspicious?"

"I'm saying it's unusual. We'll do an autopsy if family requests."

"I request it."

Dr. Patel nodded. "I'll note that."

He handed me paperwork. I took it mechanically.

My mind was spinning.

Could Flynn have done something?

No. That was paranoid.

But Sienna said The Covenant killed people. Daniel Torres died in an "accident."

Gloria dies suddenly. Right after I started investigating.

Gloria who knew me before Flynn. Who might have information.

Too many coincidences.

Gloria's apartment was in Queens. Rent-controlled. Small but neat.

Photos covered every surface. Me at every age. Five to twenty-seven. Every stage of my life documented.

Foster daughter who became real daughter.

She'd never given up on me. Loved me unconditionally.

Grief hit in waves. But I kept searching.

Looking for what? Evidence? Answers?

I went through her desk. Bills. Letters. Everyday life.

Then I found a locked drawer.

I tried the key from the hospital. Wrong size.

I searched the apartment. Found a receipt tucked in a cookbook.

Safe Storage Solutions, unit 447.

The key would fit.

Then I saw the journal. Gloria's handwriting on the cover.

The last entry was dated three days ago.

*Aria called today. Sounded stressed. Asked about her childhood again. The questions she's asking... I should have told her years ago. But I was afraid. Of him. Of what he might do if he knew that I knew. I kept my promise to stay silent, but she's in danger. I can feel it. I need to tell her the truth about where she really came from. About what I witnessed. About why I took her in, despite being told not to get attached. Tomorrow. I'll tell her tomorrow.*

The entry ended there.

My hands were shaking.

Gloria knew something. About my past. About Flynn?

She was going to tell me.

Died the next day.

Coincidence?

I pulled out my phone. Googled "Detective Santos Daniel Torres."

Found a number. Called.

Voicemail.

"My name is Aria Lancaster. My foster mother died suddenly this morning. I think it might not have been natural causes. I have reason to believe she had information about criminal activities. Please call me back."

I hung up. Realized how paranoid I sounded.

But I couldn't shake the feeling.

The timeline was too perfect.

Wednesday: met Sienna, learned about The Covenant.

Wednesday night: found the newspaper clipping about the missing Ashford heiress.

Thursday: discovered Flynn was drugging me.

Friday morning: Gloria dead.

Plus Flynn asking about assets. Flynn knowing it was a heart attack. Flynn's relief when I said I'd go alone.

What if he knew Gloria had information?

What if he arranged this?

Daniel Torres died in an "accident." Gloria died in a "sudden heart attack."

Both conveniently timed.

Maybe my paranoia was actually survival instinct.

The funeral home smelled like flowers and formaldehyde. I made the arrangements. Modest service. Gloria would have wanted simple.

"Will Mr. Lancaster be attending?" the director asked.

"No. He's too busy with work."

Truth: I didn't want him there. Didn't want him touching this grief.

"We'll need to notify next of kin."

"I'm all she had."

"You're listed as emergency contact, but we need legal next of kin for paperwork."

He pulled out Gloria's file. I saw an attorney's name and number.

"She had a will?"

"Yes. Her lawyer has been notified. He'll contact you about the estate."

Estate? Gloria had almost nothing.

Except secrets.

And a storage unit I needed to visit.

I left the funeral home with a folder of paperwork and grief so profound it felt like drowning.

Gloria had raised me when no one else wanted me. Loved me when I was unlovable. Believed in me when I didn't believe in myself.

And the last thing she'd wanted to do was tell me the truth about my past.

Now she couldn't.

My phone buzzed.

Text from Flynn: How are you holding up? Don't forget we have the Sterlings' dinner party tomorrow night.

I stared at the message.

My foster mother was dead. Possibly murdered.

And he was worried about a dinner party.

I texted back: *I'll be there.*

Then I drove to Safe Storage Solutions, unit 447, to find out what Gloria had been so desperate to tell me.

And to find out if my husband had killed her to keep her silent.