Chapter 2 - Twelve Minutes
The paramedics would not let Olivia stand.
That annoyed her.
Good.
Anger meant she was still herself.
They placed her carefully on a stretcher, positioned her comfortably, monitored her vital signs, and moved quickly without pretending any of us could know what the pregnancy had endured until a physician evaluated her.
Ethan climbed into the ambulance.
I wanted to go.
A police officer stopped me.
“You’re a witness?”
“And victim.”
He looked at my split lip.
“Right.”
“I’m going with her.”
“We need your statement.”
“At hospital.”
He considered.
“Give me five minutes.”
Five became twelve.
Those twelve minutes mattered.
Melissa had disappeared.
The loading area outside the service door was empty.
Her car remained in the employee lot.
No one knew where she went.
Detective Nora Keene arrived before I left.
Forty something.
Dark blazer.
Hair tied back.
No wasted movement.
She looked inside stockroom but did not step over the threshold.
“Who entered after incident?”
“Me. Olivia. Melissa. Ethan.”
“Anyone else?”
“Paramedics.”
“Second rope touched?”
“Ethan pulled it.”
“Ultrasound?”
“I picked it up.”
“Where now?”
I pointed.
An officer had placed it in a paper evidence sleeve.
Keene nodded.
“Good.”
“Melissa ran.”
“We’re looking.”
“She attacked a pregnant woman.”
“I understand.”
“You need to find her.”
“We’re doing that.”
Her calm irritated me.
Later, I would be grateful for it.
She asked:
“Why were you called to the room?”
“Text from Olivia.”
“Phone?”
I handed mine.
She photographed screen.
“Did Olivia actually send it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Good answer.”
That stopped me.
I had been about to say no.
But I did not know.
At the hospital, Olivia went directly to obstetric triage.
Dr. Hannah Price explained what they knew and what they didn’t.
Olivia had bruising and superficial abrasions.
No obvious fracture.
No immediate evidence of placental separation on initial assessment.
Fetal heart tracing was reassuring at that moment.
She would remain under monitoring.
“Can you tell if the baby is okay?” Ethan asked.
“We can tell you what we see now,” Dr. Price answered. “We cannot reconstruct every risk from what happened or promise outcomes based on one examination.”
Grounded.
Careful.
Olivia began crying anyway.
Ethan held her hand.
I sat near doorway with gauze against my mouth.
Detective Keene arrived at 6:11.
She asked Olivia whether she wanted Ethan present.
“Yes.”
Me?
“Yes.”
Then:
“Olivia, I’m going to ask only what you remember. If you’re uncertain, say uncertain.”
Olivia nodded.
“What brought you to Carter House today?”
“I had an ultrasound appointment.”
“Scheduled?”
“Yes.”
“Routine?”
“Yes.”
“What happened afterward?”
“I went to restaurant.”
“Why?”
“To show Ethan.”
“Did you know Claire wanted to speak with you?”
Olivia looked at me.
I had not told police yet about invoices.
“I texted her yesterday.”
“About?”
“Something at restaurant.”
Keene turned toward me.
“What?”
I swallowed.
“Vendor payments.”
Ethan stared.
“What vendor payments?”
That was first time he heard.
I felt sick.
“I found irregular invoices.”
“When?”
“Two weeks ago.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because Melissa’s name was involved.”
His face tightened.
“What do you mean?”
Keene lifted a hand.
“One person at a time.”
I explained.
Three months of invoices.
A vendor called Riverbend Hospitality Solutions.
Consulting.
Equipment sourcing.
Event logistics.
Total around $86,000 that I had personally noticed.
All approved under Melissa’s purchasing code.
Some supporting documents looked duplicated.
I had asked Olivia because she was family and I needed another person to tell me whether I was overreacting before accusing a co-owner.
Olivia had looked at copies the previous night.
She was not accountant.
But she recognized one address.
“It was Melissa’s old apartment building,” she said.
Ethan stared.
“You knew this?”
“Since yesterday.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“Because Claire said she was still checking.”
I said:
“I wanted facts.”
Keene nodded.
“Reasonable.”
Then she asked Olivia:
“When you arrived today?”
“Melissa was waiting.”
“Where?”
“Office.”
“Alone?”
“I think.”
“What happened?”
“She asked if Claire had shown me invoices.”
“And?”
“I said yes.”
“What did Melissa say?”
Olivia closed eyes.
“She said Claire was trying to steal Ethan’s restaurant.”
I laughed despite my lip.
“That’s insane.”
Keene looked at me.
“Please.”
I stopped.
Olivia continued.
“I told her I didn’t believe that.”
“Then?”
“She asked where copies were.”
“I said Claire had them.”
“What happened after?”
“She took my purse.”
Ethan’s grip tightened around Olivia’s hand.
“She took the ultrasound?”
“Yes.”
“Phone?”
“Yes.”
“Did she physically force you to stockroom?”
Olivia started shaking.
Dr. Price paused interview.
“Enough for now.”
Keene immediately stopped.
Good.
Before leaving, she looked at me.
“Claire, do not access restaurant records from home tonight.”
“Why?”
“Preservation.”
“They’re my operational records.”
“They may be evidence.”
“Okay.”
“And do not contact Melissa.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
Ethan asked:
“Can I?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because anything she says to you can complicate things.”
At 8:40, police found Melissa.
Not in hiding.
At a motel six miles away.
She surrendered after calling an attorney.
She told police Olivia attacked her first.
That I entered with a weapon.
That the rope was part of a “stupid prank” nobody was meant to take seriously.
Keene did not tell us all that that night.
Her lawyer told Ethan.
By midnight, Ethan was sitting in the hospital hallway staring at the floor.
“She says we’re framing her.”
I sat across.
“Why?”
“Because of Dad’s shares.”
“What?”
“She says you and Olivia are trying to force her out.”
“No.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
He looked at me.
“Yes.”
Then he asked:
“What exactly did you find?”
I hesitated.
“Three vendors.”
“Three?”
I had told police one.
Riverbend.
There were two others.
Larkin Food Systems.
Blue Arc Events.
Same billing patterns.
Different addresses.
Combined questionable payments:
Over $190,000.
I had not confirmed ownership.
That was why I had waited.
Ethan went pale.
“Why wasn’t I seeing this?”
“Your controller signs monthly reports.”
“Graham?”
“Yes.”
Graham Voss.
Forty six.
Worked for Thomas Carter before Ethan and Melissa inherited restaurant.
Trusted.
Invisible.
The man who knew every number.
Ethan stood.
“I need to call him.”
“No.”
“Claire.”
“Keene said don’t touch records or people.”
His phone rang.
Graham.
We both stared.
Ethan answered.
“Graham?”
His voice came frantic.
“Ethan, I just heard. Is Olivia alive?”
“Yes.”
“Thank God.”
“What do you know?”
“Nothing. I’m at home.”
Then:
“I checked security remotely. Claire, you need to know something.”
I leaned closer.
“What?”
“The stockroom camera went offline at 4:31.”
Fourteen minutes before my first text.
“Why?”
“That’s what scares me.”
A pause.
“It wasn’t a power failure.”
“What was it?”
“Someone with administrator access disabled it.”
Only three people had that level of access.
Me.
May you like
Ethan.
And Graham.
