Chapter 11 - The Forty-Fifth Call
On Monday morning, I received a call from Travis.
His name appeared on my screen at exactly 6:15.
The same time I had called Abby every morning for years.
For a moment, I simply stared.
Then I answered.
"Travis."
There was a pause.
"Colonel."
His voice sounded smaller than I remembered.
"Where is my wife?"
I looked through the glass into Abby's room.
She was sitting beside a hospital advocate, reviewing a safety plan.
"She's safe."
"She needs to come home."
"No."
He exhaled sharply.
"You're making this worse."
I almost laughed.
"Am I?"
"Yes."
"How?"
"Abby needs stability."
"She has medical care."
"She needs her husband."
"She can decide that."
He fell silent.
Then he said, "Colonel, I know you're angry."
I looked at the notebook on my lap.
Sixty-one calls.
Nine conversations.
Forty-four lies.
"Angry doesn't begin to describe it."
"Can we talk like adults?"
I stared out the window.
"Go ahead."
"I made mistakes."
I said nothing.
"Things got out of control."
Still nothing.
"Mom was trying to help."
My fingers tightened around the phone.
"Your mother?"
"Yes."
"Was she helping when she took Abby's phone?"
Silence.
"Was she helping when she kept Abby from medical appointments?"
"That wasn't—"
"Was she helping when she told my daughter she would lose her baby?"
"Colonel, you're twisting—"
"Was she helping when someone forged my signature?"
The line went quiet.
A long silence.
Then Travis spoke.
Very softly.
"You don't understand what happened."
I looked down at the notebook.
"Then explain it."
He inhaled.
"I owed money."
I stayed still.
"A lot of money."
"I know."
He sounded surprised.
"You know?"
"More than you think."
"Then you know why I had to do something."
I closed my eyes.
There it was.
Not an apology.
An explanation that turned his choices into a necessity.
"You had to hurt my daughter?"
"No."
"Then what did you have to do?"
"I was trying to protect us."
I stared through the glass.
Abby was smiling at something the advocate had said.
A small smile.
But real.
"You were protecting yourself."
"That's not fair."
I almost dropped the phone.
"Fair?"
"Colonel—"
"Fair would have been telling Abby you lost your job."
He didn't answer.
"Fair would have been asking for help."
Still nothing.
"Fair would have been walking away before you put your hands on her."
His breathing became ragged.
"I didn't mean for it to happen."
I shut my eyes.
"Which time?"
Silence.
"Which bruise didn't you mean, Travis?"
He began crying.
I listened.
Not because I felt sorry for him.
Because I needed to hear whether there was anything beneath the tears.
Remorse.
Recognition.
Responsibility.
Instead, he said, "My mother said it would be fine."
My stomach turned.
"What would be fine?"
"The paperwork."
I sat upright.
"What paperwork?"
He hesitated.
"All of it."
I looked toward the hallway.
Detective Vega had warned me not to question him or attempt to collect a confession on her behalf.
I was not going to turn a spontaneous call into my own interrogation.
"Travis, anything you need to explain belongs with your attorney and the police."
"Please."
I stood.
"Do not contact Abby."
"Colonel—"
"Respect her decision."
Then he said something that made me stop.
"She wasn't supposed to get hurt."
I held the phone against my ear.
"What?"
"Not like that."
My blood ran cold.
"Travis."
He was breathing hard.
"Mom said we could get through October."
I shut my eyes.
"Goodbye, Travis."
I ended the call.
Then I immediately wrote down what I remembered, including his exact words and the time.
I forwarded the call information to Vega.
My hands were shaking.
Earl found me sitting alone near the elevators.
He took one look at me.
"Ma'am?"
"He called."
Earl sat.
"What did he say?"
I told him.
He listened without interrupting.
When I finished, he looked at the notebook.
"You gonna add that one?"
I stared at the pages.
Sixty-one calls.
Forty-four excuses.
And now one more conversation.
I opened to a blank page.
October 19.
6:15 a.m.
Travis called.
I held the pen over the paper.
Then wrote a sentence.
He still thinks this happened to him.
Earl read it.
He nodded.
"That sounds about right."
I closed the notebook.
A moment later, Detective Vega called.
"Colonel, we need to speak."
"What happened?"
"Rebecca Vale has contacted us through her attorney."
I sat upright.
"Is she cooperating?"
"She wants to make a statement."
"About Abby?"
"Yes."
"Will she admit what she did?"
"We haven't heard it yet."
I stared at the wall.
"Why now?"
Vega hesitated.
"Because Travis may have begun blaming her."
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
They had spent months working together.
But now that the money trail was being traced and Abby was safe enough to speak, everyone was looking for a way out.
"Detective?"
"Yes?"
"Do you think Rebecca will tell the truth?"
"I think she'll tell us a version of events that protects her."
I almost smiled.
"That's what I was afraid of."
Vega continued.
"There's one important development."
"What?"
"The financial investigation has identified evidence of altered records involving the first trust withdrawal."
I gripped the phone.
"Can you prove my signature was forged?"
"We have evidence supporting that conclusion, though the full analysis is ongoing."
I exhaled.
"And?"
"We've also identified a possible source for the altered records."
"Who?"
"Daniel Mercer."
My pulse quickened.
"How?"
"Electronic records and communications."
I closed my eyes.
The seminar.
The tablet.
The forwarded emails.
The trust.
My daughter's bruises.
Everything connected.
"Detective, I want to know one thing."
"Go ahead."
"Did Mercer know Abby was being hurt?"
There was a long pause.
"We have an email suggesting he knew she was being restrained and kept from independent contact."
I felt sick.
"When?"
"September."
I stared at the wall.
A month before I found her.
"And he said nothing?"
"That appears to be the case."
My throat tightened.
Then Vega said, "Colonel, there's something else in the correspondence."
"What?"
"Rebecca advised the others to stop discussing your daughter by name."
I frowned.
"Why?"
"She suggested using a reference number."
My hands turned cold.
"What number?"
Vega hesitated.
"Forty-four."
I stared at the notebook in my lap.
Forty-four.
For several seconds, I couldn't speak.
Then I asked, "Was that because of the calls?"
"We don't know."
I looked at the pages.
Forty-four repetitions of the same excuse.
Forty-four mornings of being kept outside my daughter's life.
And now the number appeared in their correspondence.
Whatever it meant, I knew one thing.
I would never hear the words She's asleep, Colonel the same way again.
That afternoon, Abby sat beside me with her lawyer.
Naomi explained the next stage.
Abby could provide a fuller statement when medically ready.
The protective-order process was moving forward.
Financial records were being preserved.
And the authorities were evaluating the conduct of several individuals.
My daughter listened carefully.
Then she said, "I want to know where my money went."
Naomi nodded.
"We're working on that."
"And I want my name taken off whatever they signed."
"We'll review each document."
Abby swallowed.
"And I want Travis to stop telling people I'm sick."
I took her hand.
Naomi leaned forward.
"Abby, you cannot control what he says."
My daughter's face fell.
"But you can tell the truth, preserve evidence, and ask the court for appropriate protections."
Abby nodded.
Then she looked at me.
"Mom?"
"Yes?"
"Will you come with me if I have to speak in court?"
I smiled through tears.
"Every time you ask."
She squeezed my hand.
"Even if I'm scared?"
"Especially then."
That night, Detective Vega sent a brief update.
Rebecca Vale's interview had begun.
Within the first hour, she claimed that Travis had misrepresented Abby's condition.
She also claimed Mercer had supplied the financial documents.
And she said Glenda had directed most of the arrangements.
Then she made one statement that changed everything.
According to Vega, Rebecca claimed there was a recording.
A recording made inside the Keene apartment.
I stared at the message.
The recording supposedly captured an argument between Glenda and Travis.
And in that argument, Travis had asked his mother a question.
What happens if Abby refuses to sign?
May you like
Glenda's reported answer contained only six words.
Then she doesn't get a choice.
