Chapter 4 - The Visit
On Thursday afternoon, four days after the surgery, Victor was moved from the intensive recovery ward to a private suite on the sixth floor of Mass General.
He was sitting up in bed, dressed in a silk robe he had insisted his assistant bring from home, eating a bowl of broth while reading The Wall Street Journal on his tablet. His skin was clear, his color healthy—the pink flush of proper kidney function restored to his cheeks.
The heavy oak door swung open.
Rita Miller stepped into the room. She was wearing a beige trench coat over a terracotta silk blouse and high-waisted trousers. She held a crystal vase containing twelve long-stemmed white calla lilies.
“You look like a man who just inherited a kingdom,” Rita said, setting the vase on the windowsill. She leaned down, kissing Victor lingeringly on the mouth.
Victor reached up with his left arm—the one without the IV port—and wrapped it around her waist, pulling her closer. “I feel like one. The doctor says my blood work is better than it’s been in ten years.”
“And Sarah?” Rita asked, pulling back slightly, her hazel eyes scanning the empty room. “Where is the dutiful wife?”
Victor dismissively waved his hand. “She went home yesterday afternoon. She was having some pain at the incision site. You know Sarah—she gets overwhelmed very easily. She’s probably in bed at the Brookline house, nursing a cup of chamomile tea and weeping over her old photo albums.”
Rita smiled, sitting on the edge of his mattress, her fingers playing with the collar of his silk robe. “Did she say anything about the desk?”
“Which desk?”
“The roll-top in the study,” Rita said, her eyes narrowing slightly. “The one where your father-in-law kept the title deeds and the original trust charters. When we file the final quitclaim with the city housing board next week, we need the original 1998 land grant certificate.”
Victor chuckled, leaning back against his pillows. “Rita, the deed is already filed. Your notary stamp is on the county record. Once I step out of this hospital on Monday, we sign the secondary transfer to Miller & Hayes, and we draw the two-million-dollar equity loan against the property. Sarah won't even know what happened until the first mortgage statement arrives in her name.”
“She gave you her kidney, Victor,” Rita said, a faint, mercenary edge touching her laugh. “Don't you feel even a tiny bit guilty?”
“Why should I?” Victor said, his voice dropping into that arrogant tone Sarah had heard through the curtain. “I gave her twenty-two years of my social standing. I put her name on party invitations with the governor. I bought her three foreign trips a year. She was a quiet, plain woman from a dying banking family when I found her. I gave her a life.”
He reached out, taking Rita’s hand, his fingers running over the gold watch on her wrist.
“Besides,” Victor added, “she owes me. If it wasn't for me, she’d be sitting in that cavernous old house by herself, getting old with her mother’s tea set.”
In the corner of the room, tucked neatly into the black plastic housing of the wall-mounted smoke detector, a two-millimeter pinhole lens captured every word.
Three miles away, sitting at her dining room table in Brookline, Sarah watched the high-definition video feed on her laptop screen.
She sat with a pen in her hand, taking notes in a small black notebook.
Timestamp: 14:22:04. Victor Vance acknowledges unauthorized filing of forged quitclaim. Rita Miller confirms knowledge of fraudulent property transfer. Intent to secure illegal equity loan established.
Sarah closed her notebook, took a sip of water, and called her legal team.
“Daniel,” she said into her headset. “We have the audio and video of their admission. Prepare the criminal complaint for forgery, conspiracy, and fraud.”
May you like
“We can have the police meet him when he gets discharged on Monday,” Daniel said, excitement tight in his voice.
“No,” Sarah said quietly. “Not Monday. Let him come home first. I want him to unlock the door himself.”
