Chapter 5 - The Children Who Refused to Die
Nobody used the word miracle.
Dr. Cole wouldn't allow it.
“This is medicine,” she said. “Their bodies are responding.”
“To what?”
“The treatment. Supportive care. Nutrition. Possibly delayed marrow recovery.”
Marisol raised a hand.
“And my singing?”
Dr. Cole looked at her.
“That may constitute an additional medical emergency.”
Blythe laughed.
I almost hugged the doctor.
Almost.
The next week changed everything.
The ten-day deadline came.
And went.
Jonah was still here.
Blythe was still here.
Then came day eleven.
Day twelve.
Day fifteen.
Their blood counts continued improving.
They weren't cured.
We knew that.
There were still difficult treatments ahead.
But death was no longer sitting beside their beds counting down the hours.
One afternoon, I found Marisol packing.
“What are you doing?”
She froze.
“Leaving.”
“No.”
She looked at me.
“No?”
“You're employed.”
“I thought I was temporary.”
“You thought wrong.”
“Lawson.”
“You need money.”
“That's not why I stayed.”
“I know.”
She folded a sweater.
“The twins don't need me the way they did.”
“They'll disagree.”
“They have you.”
I laughed once.
“I'm terrible.”
“You're improving.”
“High praise.”
She smiled.
Then the smile faded.
“I don't belong here.”
“Why?”
She gestured around the room.
“Look at this place.”
“I own mirrors.”
“You know what I mean.”
“You arrived with one bag and challenged me in my own office.”
“You were being unreasonable.”
“You called me grumpy in front of my children.”
“You were grumpy.”
“You uncovered a security breach my entire organization missed.”
“That was luck.”
“And you made my children laugh when I couldn't.”
Her eyes dropped.
I stepped closer.
“So explain why you don't belong.”
Before she could answer, Prescott entered.
“Problem.”
Of course.
“What?”
“Crosby.”
Marisol stiffened.
“He's making a move.”
“Against us?”
“Against her.”
He placed an envelope on the table.
Inside was a photograph of Marisol leaving the estate.
Across it were three words.
SHE KNOWS TOO MUCH.
Marisol went pale.
“I'll leave Chicago.”
“No.”
“Lawson—”
“You're staying here.”
“I won't put the twins in danger.”
“Crosby already put them in danger.”
Prescott nodded.
“He wants her because she can connect him to Yates.”
Marisol looked at me.
“What are you going to do?”
“End this.”
She grabbed my wrist.
“No.”
My gaze dropped to her hand.
“Crosby wants you angry,” she said. “He wants you to do something stupid.”
“I don't do stupid things.”
Prescott coughed.
I looked at him.
“Something in your throat?”
“Nothing.”
Marisol almost smiled.
Then she became serious.
“Use what you have.”
“The document?”
“Yates.”
Prescott understood immediately.
“Federal investigators.”
I hated involving authorities in anything.
But this wasn't territory.
It wasn't pride.
It was my children.
“Do it.”
Prescott arranged everything.
Yates talked.
Records surfaced.
Payments.
Medical privacy violations.
Extortion.
Fraud.
Crosby had spent years believing fear made him untouchable.
Forty-eight hours later, federal agents arrested him leaving a private club downtown.
No war.
No blood in the streets.
Just handcuffs.
When Prescott told me, Jonah was sitting on the floor building a tower.
“Did we win?” he asked.
I looked at him.
“Yes.”
Blythe corrected him.
“Marisol won.”
Jonah considered it.
“Yeah.”
Marisol laughed.
I looked around the room.
Two weeks earlier, I had expected to bury my children.
Now Jonah was arguing about blocks.
Blythe was wearing the pink crown.
And Marisol Vega was standing in the center of my life as though she'd always belonged there.
I finally understood something.
Power had protected my empire.
It had never protected my family.
May you like
That required something entirely different.
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