Chapter 10: The Unfit Mother

The message I wanted Constance Ellison to find was a lie, and I wrote it myself.

It took Imogen Fisk forty minutes to turn it into something that looked real: a scanned memo on Locke Meridian letterhead, stamped *CONFIDENTIAL*, claiming that Seraphine Locke had located "a second ledger" proving the Halcyon Row transfers. At the bottom, a single line: *Original stored in Safe Deposit Box 114, Meridian Trust Bank, Fifth Branch.*

"There is no Box 114," Imogen said, sliding the file onto her tablet.

"That's the point." I said.

"And if she sends someone to look?"

"Then we'll know who she trusts to do her dirty work." I picked up my tea. "Send it to Marguerite's old email. The one the Ellisons share."

Rafferty watched from the corner of Vaughn's office, arms folded. "You're baiting a fox with an empty den."

"I'm baiting it with a den it's already afraid to find empty."

His mouth twitched. "Send it."

Imogen hit the key. A little blue bar crawled across the screen and vanished.

"Delivered," she said.

I should have felt triumphant. Instead my stomach rolled, and I sat down very carefully on the edge of Vaughn's leather couch.

"Mind-reading usage today: fourteen minutes," the system said. "Headache severity: moderate. Nausea: mild. Please eat something, Host."

"I know."

"Saltines are in your coat pocket."

I reached in. Sure enough, a sleeve of crackers. I ate. Rafferty looked away, politely, as if my nausea were a private matter.

***

The system's warning arrived at 6:12 the next morning, while I stood at the kitchen window of Apartment 4C watching pigeons fight over a crust.

"Scheduled event detected. Title: *Petition for Guardianship.* Filed by: Tobias Locke, with Delphine Locke as co-petitioner. Grounds: *the beneficiary's incapacity to protect an unborn child.* Hearing date: eight days from today."

My cup stopped halfway to my mouth. "Tobias filed it?"

"His signature appears on the petition. Delphine Locke prepared it."

I set the cup down very carefully. It was my father's name on the page not hers.

"In the original timeline," the system continued, "this petition is granted. The original Seraphine Locke is hospitalized under guardianship, sedated for 'rest,' and discharged on the night of the crash. She leaves the clinic in a state of confusion and walks onto Ravenscroft Road."

I closed my eyes.

They hadn't just killed her. They'd made sure she wasn't herself when it happened.

"Plot Archive," I said hoarsely. "Show me the witness list."

The blue panel unfolded. Names scrolled past. A psychiatrist I didn't know. A family friend. Delphine herself. A line item that read *Household Staff Witness (TBD).*

"TBD?"

"The Locke family has not yet confirmed a staff witness. Probability of selection: Mrs. Hale, ninety-one percent."

My blood ran cold. "They're going to use her."

"They will attempt to."

I grabbed my phone and dialed Odley before the system finished the sentence.

By nine, her whole team was in my living room. The apartment had never been so crowded. Odley stood by the radiator with her legal pad, Vaughn took the one good chair, and Dr. Nadia Vance perched on the arm of the couch with her medical bag at her feet, scowling at the petition like it had personally insulted her.

"Eight days," Odley said. "They've filed under emergency statute. The judge will want a psychiatric evaluation by day five."

"They'll fake it again," Vaughn said.

"They won't need to." Nadia held up the page. "Read the clause. *The court may order an independent evaluation at the petitioner's selected facility.* They pick the facility, Mr. Vaughn. They pick the doctor."

"Then we pick first," I said.

Everyone turned.

"We file a motion for a neutral evaluator." I pressed my palms against my knees to keep them steady. "I'll submit voluntarily. A court-appointed psychiatrist, no ties to either family. I'll sit for six hours if I have to."

Odley's pen paused. "That's risky."

"Which is riskier? Letting them choose the doctor, or proving I'm sane in front of someone they can't buy?"

"She has a point," Nadia said slowly.

"She has several," Vaughn admitted. "But the evaluator will ask about the pregnancy, the divorce, the move, everything. If you stumble..."

"I won't."

"Seraphine." Odley's voice softened. "You'll be asked about the dinner. About leaving your husband, whether you feel safe."

"I do feel safe." I said.

"Do you?"

I thought of a dark car outside a courthouse, a GPS tracker in a silver ribbon, a stranger's thought slipping through the dark.

"No," I said. "But I'm not unstable. Those aren't the same thing."

Nadia let out a breath that was almost a laugh. "I'm going to remember you said that."

Odley tapped the legal pad. "Then we need three things. A neutral evaluator, a rebuttal to the staff witness, and a plan for what happens if the court appoints someone Delphine already owns."

"I'll handle the evaluator," Vaughn said. "I know two judges who owe me favors."

"I'll prepare a medical affidavit," said Nadia. "And I'll bring my own notes."

"And the staff witness?" I asked.

Nobody answered. I was already reaching for my phone. Mrs. Hale answered on the fourth ring.

"Madam?" Her voice sounded breathless, strained. "Madam, I can't talk long. Mr. Tobias is in the next room."

"They've asked you to testify."

A pause. Then, barely audible: "How did you know?"

"It doesn't matter." My throat tightened. "Mrs. Hale, you don't have to say yes. I need you to hear me. They'll ask you whether I seemed unwell. Whether I cried. If I was ever alone."

"Madam."

"You don't have to protect me. Say whatever keeps you safe." I said.

"Madam Seraphine." Her voice shook, and then, astonishingly, firmed. "I raised four children. I have buried a husband. I have been frightened before. I will tell them the truth."

My eyes stung. "The truth could cost you your job."

"They have already told me it will."

"What?"

"This morning." A soft, bitter breath. "Mr. Tobias called me into his study. He said the family had lost confidence in my discretion. That my employment would end on Friday unless I..." She stopped.

"Unless you what?"

"Unless I signed a statement saying you were unwell."

I gripped the edge of the table.

"I told him I would not," she said. "He wasn't angry. He looked ashamed. He said I had until Friday to think."

*Friday.* Three days.

"Mrs. Hale." I swallowed hard. "If you lose your position, you come to me. Do you understand? I don't care how small the apartment is."

"Madam, I couldn't."

"You can. You will." I said.

A long silence. When she spoke again, her voice was thick with tears.

"You remembered my daughter's name at Christmas," she said. "Nobody else did. I think I'd follow you anywhere."

I pressed my knuckles against my mouth.

"Hold on until Friday," I whispered. "I'll be ready."

***

Evander's message arrived that evening, brief and unadorned.

*Quinn found the delivery logs. The three settlement envelopes were signed for by someone named "C. Lund" at the east gate. No such employee exists. Handwriting matches Constance Ellison's driver.*

Another message, ten seconds later.

*I'm sorry.*

I stared at those two words for a long while. Then I typed:

*Don't say sorry. Do something about it.*

His reply was instant.

*I'm trying.*

I set the phone face-down on the counter and stood for a moment in the quiet kitchen, hand pressed to my stomach, breathing through the nausea.

"Regret Index: thirty-one percent," the system said softly. "Subject has not slept in thirty-six hours."

"I didn't ask." I said.

"You wished to know."

I didn't answer.

At 10:41 p.m., my burner buzzed again.

*Imogen. The memo was opened. Twice. First from an IP in the Ellison estate. Second from a mobile in Greenwich Village.*

*Whose mobile?*

*Registered to a man named Desmond Pike. A private investigator.*

I went still.

*Pike has a record. Licence suspended for harassment. He was hired three days ago.*

*By whom?*

A pause that stretched too long.

The reply came slowly, as though even Imogen had typed it twice before sending.

*Tobias Locke.*

I read it three times. My father had hired a man to find me. To locate the daughter he had asked a court to declare unfit.

In the dark window, my reflection stared back with my mother's eyes, and for the first time since I'd woken in this world, I felt something close to hate.

Then, beneath it, a smaller thought rose, uninvited.

*Why would he do it quietly? Why would Tobias hire Pike without telling Delphine?*

I turned from the window.

Somewhere in that question lay a door, and I had no idea what was on the other side.