Chapter 7: The Ultrasound

Veronica lived in the glass tower by the river, the same one where I had watched her get into a Bentley.

Bennett pulled the car up to the curb outside it at ten past ten.

Eleven photographers stood on the sidewalk, in a bunch, with long lenses.

They had come for her statement, and they were waiting for her to come down and give them more.

"Stay in the car," Bennett said to me.

"No."

He looked at me in the mirror.

"I'm not hiding in a car," I said. "She said I faked a certificate."

Teagan squeezed my hand from the back seat.

Beatrice, beside her, was already opening her door with her cane.

"We'll go in together," she said. "I am eighty years old and I have always wanted to arrive with a scene."

We walked up to the glass doors, the four of us, and the cameras swung round.

The doorman in white gloves stepped aside for Beatrice Hargrove without being told.

Veronica came out of the elevator at that moment, in the white coat and the sunglasses, with a man in a gray suit at her elbow.

Her lawyer, I guessed.

She saw us and her whole face tightened.

"You don't belong here."

"I'm told," said Beatrice, "that you are expecting my great-grandchild."

The cameras clicked.

Veronica took off her sunglasses.

Her eyes were red and wet, and she dabbed them with a folded tissue.

"I didn't want it to come out like this," she said, in a small, brave voice. "But I'm eight weeks along. Gavin doesn't know yet."

"How wonderful," said Beatrice. "May I see the proof?"

The lawyer cleared his throat.

"Mrs. Hargrove, my client is under a great deal of strain."

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