Chapter 9 - The Exhumation Order
The Starbucks on Commercial Street was crowded with waterfront tourists and financial district workers huddled over paper cups.
I sat at a high-top table near the rear exit, my wool coat zipped tight, a warm green tea untouched before me. Outside the rain-streaked window, two unmarked Ford Explorers idled near the curb, their municipal exempt plates barely visible beneath road grime.
At precisely 2:48 PM, the brass bell above the door jingled.
Violet stumbled inside.
She looked unrecognizable. The immaculate, blow-dried influencer who had strutted through my father’s living room like a runway model was gone. Her designer trench coat was splattered with mud, her blonde hair was knotted into a frizzy, damp bun, and her mascara was smudged in dark crescents beneath her bloodshot eyes. Under her arm, she clutched a sleek silver laptop case like a lifeline.
She scanned the room frantically until her eyes locked onto mine. A visible wave of relief washed over her face as she rushed toward my table, her cheap sneakers squeaking on the wet tile floor.
"Nora," she breathed, dropping into the metal chair opposite me. She smelled of stale tobacco and cheap vanilla body spray. "I got it. I got everything."
She unzipped the case and pulled out a rose-gold MacBook Pro and a heavy black external hard drive, sliding them across the table toward me.
"The master password is *Arthur2016*," Violet whispered, leaning in so close I could see the panic in her dilated pupils. "She used Dad’s name. Isn't that sick? She used Dad's name and the year he died as her encryption key."
I didn't touch the laptop. I looked at Violet, my face devoid of emotion. "What's on the drive?"
"The offshore transfers," Violet babied out, her hands trembling violently. "There’s a private Swiss folder labeled *HAYES_CONSULTING*. Over eight hundred thousand dollars went through an account in Grand Cayman between June and November of 2016. And... and there are emails, Nora. Emails between Mom and Dr. Hayes."
"What did the emails say, Violet?"
Violet swallowed hard, tears welling in her eyes again—real tears this time, born of absolute, paralyzing terror. "Hayes wanted out in September. He told her Arthur’s blood pressure was too unstable, that the visiting hospice nurses were starting to ask why Arthur was vomiting after every meal. Mom told him... Mom wrote back that if Hayes backed out before the will was executed, she would report his private prescription mill to the medical board. She blackmailed him into finishing it."
A cold, heavy stillness settled in my chest.
It was one thing to see Arthur’s suspicions recorded in a private journal. It was another to hear that my father’s death had been negotiated over email like a routine business contract.
"You knew," I said softly.
Violet’s breath caught. "No! I swear to God, Nora, I didn't know until three hours ago when I unlocked the drive! I thought she just cheated him out of money! I swear on my life I didn't know she poisoned him!"
"You stayed in that house for eight years," I said, my voice cutting through the hum of the café like a blade. "You wore the jewelry he bought for my mother. You drove the cars bought with his insurance payout. You spent his money while you watched me scrub his study, preserve his memory, and mourn him every single day."
"I was twenty-four!" Violet cried, drawing stares from a nearby table of businessmen. "I didn't have anywhere else to go! Mom said you were weak, that you were just like Arthur, that if we didn't take control you'd give everything away to charity!"
I pulled a pair of black leather gloves from my pocket, slipped them on, and pulled the laptop and the drive into my bag.
"Thank you, Violet," I said, standing up.
"Wait!" Violet scrambled to her feet, grabbing at my sleeve. "What about our deal? The trust fund! The restraining order! Julian has to tell the police to drop the eviction! Mom is going to kill me when she finds out I took this! Where do I go?"
I looked down at her hand on my coat until she slowly, reluctantly pulled her fingers away.
"I never agreed to a deal, Violet," I said. "I said meet me here. That was all."
"You... you lied to me?" Violet gasped, her jaw falling open. "You can't do this! I gave you the evidence!"
"And for that, the District Attorney might recommend five years instead of fifteen for conspiracy after the fact," I replied evenly.
Two plainclothes detectives stepped out from the shadows near the restrooms, flashing gold badges. One of them, a broad-shouldered woman with an unyielding expression, gently but firmly took Violet by the elbow.
"Violet Vance? I'm Detective Morales, Suffolk County Homicide. We need you to come with us to answer a few questions regarding the death of Arthur Vance."
Violet’s scream was muffled by the café’s background music as she was escorted through the rear exit into the rain.
I walked out the front door into the freezing wind, clutching the bag containing Eleanor’s final secrets. Julian was waiting by the curb, the door of the town car open.
"She gave it up?" Julian asked.
"She gave up everything," I said, sliding into the leather seat. "Emails, wire logs, Hayes's blackmail trail. The entire blueprint of how they murdered him."
Julian shut the door and looked at his watch. "The medical examiner has finalized the logistics. Mount Auburn Cemetery has been notified. The exhumation begins at dawn."
"I want to be there," I said.
Julian looked at me, his eyes heavy with concern. "Nora, you don't have to witness that. It’s traumatic. The state pathologists—"
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"I was there when he died," I cut him off, staring straight ahead into the rain-streaked traffic. "I held his hand when his heart stopped beating, while Eleanor cried fake tears in the hallway. I will be there when he rises back up to put her in a cage."
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