Chapter 3 - The Hospital Room in Bern
At 8:15 a.m., my phone chimed. It was the embassy official again.
"Mrs. Bennett?"
"I'm here."
"The rescue operation was successful. Both individuals were extracted from the snowpack. The male subject, Evan Bennett, suffered a mild concussion and hypothermia, but he is fully conscious. The female subject suffered a fractured femur and severe exposure. She is currently in stable condition at the regional hospital in Bern."
"Did they find out who she is?" I asked.
"Yes," the officer replied. "Her actual passport was located in her luggage at the chalet. Her name is Madison Cole. However... when the local authorities asked Mr. Bennett for his wife's contact information, he handed them Ms. Cole's ID and claimed she was Claire Bennett."
A sharp, humorless laugh escaped my throat.
He had lied to the Swiss police. He had given them Madison's face with my name, attempting to keep his affair hidden from the medical logs and press.
"Does Evan know I was called?" I asked.
"No, ma'am. He believes the emergency contact reached was his mother, who confirmed the identity."
"Good," I said smoothly. "Keep it that way."
I immediately booked a first-class seat on a 1:00 p.m. flight from JFK to Zurich, followed by a private driver to Bern.
Before leaving for the airport, I made three stops.
First, to Evan’s corporate headquarters in Midtown. I walked directly into the executive office of his CEO, Harold Vance—who also happened to be Arthur's cousin.
I laid the dashcam footage, the credit card statements, and Madison Cole’s travel expense reports flat on Harold’s mahogany desk.
"Madison billed her plane ticket to Switzerland as a 'regional recruitment trip,'" I told Harold. "And Evan authorized it using company funds."
Harold looked at the video of his employee laughing while holding my credit card. His face turned thunderous. "Corporate embezzlement. Wire fraud. Misuse of company accounts." He looked up at me. "He's terminated immediately, Claire. His access badge is already revoked."
My second stop was at Evelyn’s cozy brownstone in Brooklyn—the one I paid the property taxes on.
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I walked up the front steps, unlocked the door with my spare key, and found Evelyn sitting in the parlor sipping Earl Grey tea while watching the morning news.
When she saw me standing in her hallway, her teacup rattled so violently against the saucer that hot liquid spilled over her knuckles.
