Chapter 6 - The Alphabet BoardThe communication board arrived just after noon.
It was a laminated sheet with letters arranged in rows, numbers along the bottom, and simple words printed in blocks: YES. NO. PAIN. WATER. STOP. AGAIN.
Priya held it where I could see.
“We’ll go slow,” she said. “I’ll point. You blink when I reach the letter.”
It was exhausting.
People who have never lost speech imagine communication as a matter of wanting words badly enough. They do not understand the cruelty of needing language one letter at a time while pain keeps pulling you underwater.
But I had built cases from fragments.
A wire transfer here.
An invoice there.
A date that did not match.
A name spelled incorrectly on purpose.
I could build my own rescue the same way.
Priya pointed.
A.
B.
C.
I blinked.
C.
Again.
O.
N.
S.
E.
R.
V.
A.
T.
O.
R.
Y.
By the time I spelled the first word, sweat had gathered beneath my hairline.
Jonah wrote it down.
“Conservatory,” he said.
Ellison leaned forward.
“Voss estate conservatory?”
I blinked twice.
Priya continued.
D.
E.
S.
K.
Jonah’s pen moved quickly.
“Desk.”
I blinked twice.
“False bottom?” he asked.
My eyes filled.
Two blinks.
He knew me well enough to guess where I would hide something: not in the obvious safe, not in a drawer with a lock, not in any place rich people thought important. In forgotten wood. In practical inconvenience. In a place Cordelia would overlook because she had always confused elegance with value.
Ellison stood. “I’ll get a warrant.”
Jonah looked at her. “Move fast.”
She nodded. “Already drafting.”
But fast is different when the other side has money.
Within an hour, the hospital’s legal department received a letter from Voss counsel demanding that no unauthorized parties be allowed near “Mrs. Voss” due to alleged exploitation by a hired investigator. The letter suggested Jonah had manipulated a neurologically impaired patient. It described Cordelia’s presence as “maternal concern” and Adrian’s distress as “misunderstood panic.”
By two, a statement appeared online.
The Voss Foundation announced that Cordelia and Adrian were “fully cooperating” after a “deeply unfortunate misunderstanding” in Lillian Voss’s hospital room. It asked for privacy. It praised the medical staff. It hinted at “predatory individuals seeking to profit from tragedy.”
By three, two donors called the hospital asking whether Lillian was mentally competent.
By four, a cable news producer left a message with the police department.
By five, I learned something else.
Cordelia had been released pending formal charges.
Adrian too.
The prosecutor wanted more before arraignment.
More.
The word landed in my body like another fall.
Detective Ellison delivered the news herself, which I respected and hated at the same time.
“This is not over,” she said.
I stared at the ceiling.
Jonah stood at the window, silent.
Ellison continued. “The recording is powerful, but their attorneys are already challenging consent, chain of custody, medical competency, and whether Cordelia’s statements were ‘hypothetical.’ Adrian is claiming shock and coercive influence by his mother.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course he was.
Even now, Adrian’s defense was childhood.
“My team is moving on the estate warrant,” Ellison said. “But the judge wants a tighter affidavit. We’re getting it.”
I opened my eyes and looked toward Jonah.
He understood.
“If Cordelia knows about the drive,” he said, “she’ll empty that desk before sunset.”
Ellison’s phone buzzed. She checked the screen. Her face hardened.
“What?” Jonah asked.
“The Voss estate just reported a burglary.”
A chill moved through the room.
Ellison read silently for another second.
“They’re claiming several rooms were vandalized by an unknown intruder sometime last night.”
Jonah laughed once, without humor. “Convenient.”
“What does that mean?” Priya asked.
It meant the drive was gone.
Or would be soon.
It meant Cordelia had begun destroying evidence while accusing the world of attacking her.
It meant she had walked out of attempted murder and gone straight back to work.
I tried to move.
Pain detonated across my ribs.
The monitor spiked.
Priya touched my shoulder. “No. Don’t.”
But rage is movement when the body has none.
I looked at the alphabet board.
Priya lifted it quickly.
A.
B.
C.
I blinked.
C.
A.
M.
E.
R.
A.
Jonah leaned in. “Camera?”
Two blinks.
He frowned. “In the conservatory?”
One blink.
No.
Priya kept pointing.
F.
R.
A.
M.
E.
“Frame,” Jonah read.
My eyes locked on his.
He went very still.
“The portrait frame?”
Two blinks.
“Which portrait?”
The answer was almost funny.
Almost.
Cordelia had spent her life beneath the painted eyes of dead Voss men. She would never imagine that one of those portraits had watched her back.
I spelled the name slowly.
E.
L.
I.
A.
S.
Jonah looked up.
“Elias Voss.”
I blinked twice.
The oldest portrait in the conservatory hallway.
The one facing my study door.
Three months earlier, after I noticed files moved on my desk, Jonah had installed a pinhole camera in the lower edge of the frame. It fed to a storage card hidden inside the frame backing and uploaded stills whenever the estate Wi-Fi held.
Cordelia knew about my audits.
She knew about Jonah.
But she did not know she had been watched by her own ancestor.
For the first time all day, Jonah smiled.
Not kindly.
Hungrily.
“I’ll get it,” he said.
Detective Ellison blocked him with one hand.
“No. We get it legally.”
Jonah’s smile disappeared. “Legally may be too late.”
Ellison stepped closer. “If you contaminate that evidence, her lawyers will bury it.”
“And if Cordelia burns it?”
The room tightened.
Then Priya, who had been silent, said, “What if she can’t?”
Everyone looked at her.
She swallowed. “The Voss estate is private property. But the hospital security footage showed Mrs. Voss attempting to harm a patient. If Lillian is under protective custody now, wouldn’t any item necessary to establish ongoing threat be urgent?”
Ellison stared at her.
Priya flushed. “My brother’s a public defender. Family dinners are exhausting.”
May you like
Jonah looked at Ellison.
Ellison was already dialing.
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