Chapter 8 - The Truth About Camille
I had assumed Camille joined Patrick's plan after our engagement. The records suggested otherwise. She had attended meetings with Arthur before Isabella died, when I barely knew her beyond formal introductions at charity events.
Investigators interviewed the truck driver's cousin and obtained additional financial records. The cousin claimed the payment was for equipment. The invoices did not support his explanation. A former employee later described being told to destroy dispatch records from the night of the crash.
I asked Evelyn whether Camille had helped plan Isabella's death.
“We don't know,” she said. “And we won't say it until evidence supports it.”
That answer became my anchor. Grief wanted certainty. Justice required proof.
Camille's attorney offered a settlement: she would withdraw her custody-related allegations if I transferred a substantial ownership stake to a trust for her future children. The proposal was absurd, and it exposed how little she understood my priorities.
“Tell them no,” I said.
Evelyn did. Then she preserved the communication for the appropriate proceedings.
At the safe house, Rosie had a nightmare. She woke crying that she had broken the piano and Camille would take her rabbit. I sat on the floor beside her bed while Dr. Ellis's calming exercises played softly from Naomi's phone. Rosie counted the stars on her blanket until she could breathe steadily.
“Did Mom really die because she was weak?” she asked.
“No, sweetheart. Your mother was brave and kind. Camille said something cruel and untrue.”
“Was Mom scared?”
“I don't know what she felt in those last moments. I know she loved you every day she was here.”
Rosie reached for my hand. “Can you tell me a good story about her?”
I told her about the time Isabella baked a birthday cake that leaned so far sideways we called it the Tower of Pisa. Rosie laughed. I told another story, then another, until she fell asleep holding the rabbit.
In the hallway, Naomi waited with two mugs of tea. We sat without speaking for a while.
“I think she would be proud of you tonight,” Naomi said.
“Isabella?”
“Yes.”
I looked at the closed bedroom door. “I hope so.”
The next afternoon, investigators informed Evelyn that Arthur had agreed to provide information under a formal cooperation arrangement. He had retained records of Patrick's instructions, including a message directing him to arrange a medical evaluation that would portray me as unfit. Arthur claimed Camille had been responsible for implementing the pressure campaign against the children.
I wanted to hear him say it to my face. Instead I asked Evelyn to make sure the children would not be forced into unnecessary public testimony.
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Then came the hardest news. Arthur admitted he had known of a plan to frighten Isabella into abandoning her investigation. He denied knowing anyone intended to kill her. Whether that denial was true remained unresolved.
I stood at the window for a long time. The city outside looked exactly as it had before. I was the one who had changed.
