Victor silently mouthed, extortion.
I leaned closer to the phone.
“And if I refuse?”
His tone dropped.
“Then tomorrow morning, the world meets Emilia. And not the sanitized version you prefer.”
The room turned colder.
He continued, “Unstable heiress hides dead child. Secret trauma concealed from husband. Board forced to review fitness. It writes itself.”
I closed my eyes.
For one second, I was back in that hospital room.
Emilia’s impossibly small hand wrapped around my finger.
My grandfather beside me, crying without sound.
The monitor slowing.
The nurse whispering, “She knows you’re here.”
Then I opened my eyes.
And I was not in the hospital anymore.
I was in my home.
Surrounded by witnesses.
Listening to a man threaten the memory of a child he had never deserved to know.
“Ronald,” I said softly, “you should have asked one question before making this call.”
“What question?”
“Whether Emilia was really hidden.”
