39. Kane
KANE
I'm in my office when Yuri calls with the investigation results.
I pick up on the first ring. "Yeah."
I lean back in my chair. "She heard them."
"Had to. Same floor, three doors down, then suddenly she's two floors up. The clerk who processed the move is still there. Says she remembers the request. Woman came down to the desk, said there was noise on her floor, asked to be moved immediately."
"Did the clerk see anything?"
"No. But the timing fits. Leanne checked in around nine p.m. Connor and Vivian's room service order came up at ten-fifteen. If Leanne walked past their room on her way to hers, she would have heard them."
I close my eyes. "What about after?"
"Leanne checked out at six-thirty the next morning. Boyd and Vivian checked out at eight."
"So she left before they even woke up."
"Yeah."
I think about it. About Leanne sitting in that hotel room, knowing what was happening three doors away. About her moving her reservation and leaving early so she wouldn't have to face them after she caught them in the act.
And then about the months that followed. The slideshow. The napkin incident. The rehearsed forgiveness lines.
She's known since the funeral. Since the night they returned from burying Delilah's father.
And she's been covering for them ever since.
"Anything else?" I ask.
"We checked the credit card statements Boyd gave us. There's a charge at a Brooklyn florist on February sixteenth for two hundred and twelve dollars. Receipt shows a dozen white roses delivered to Leanne's house that afternoon."
"From Connor?"
"Yeah."
I process that. The roses were a payoff. Or an apology. Or both.
I wait for Yuri to continue. There's more. I can hear it in his pause.
"What else?" I ask.
"There are three room charges at the Marriott between February and April. All under Leanne's name. All on nights when Connor's phone location was at the hotel."
"She paid for the rooms."
"Looks like it. And there's something else. Delilah's credit card statements show charges at Bloomingdale's, Saks, two different restaurants—all on dates that match hotel bookings Connor made. Same days. Different times. Leanne's statements are a match to hers."
I lean in. "Leanne was taking shopping trips with Lilah on those days?"
"Yeah. Keeping her busy while Boyd and Vivian were at the hotel."
I close my eyes.
Leanne wasn't just covering for them. She was actively running interference. Making sure Lilah stayed distracted. Spending money to keep her daughter occupied while Connor and Vivian were together.
It's one thing to lie by omission. To see something and choose not to say anything.
It's another thing entirely to orchestrate the cover-up.
"How many times?" I ask.
"At least four that we can confirm. Could be more."
I sit back, trying to keep my voice level. "Is that all?"
"That's everything."
"Send me the report."
"Will do."
I hang up, the documents on my desk forgotten.
Delilah would forgive a lot. I know that about her. She forgave Connor's gambling, his carelessness. Even his emotional absence.
She even tried to forgive the affair, back when she thought it was recent. When she thought it was a mistake instead of a pattern.
But this? Her mother actively helping Connor and Vivian hide the relationship? Paying for hotel rooms? Taking Lilah shopping to keep her out of the way?
That's not something Lilah forgives.
That's something she'd cut her mother off for. Permanently.
I dial Delilah's number before I can talk myself out of it.
She picks up on the second ring. "Hey. What's up?"
I can hear noise in the background. Voices. Music.
"Where are you?" I ask.
"At the apartment. Priya and I are planning the menu for tonight. Hold on."
The noise gets quieter. A door closes.
"Okay," she says. "I'm in the bedroom now. What's going on?"
I don't answer her question right away.
I sit here, holding the phone, listening to her breathe on the other end. She's happy. I can hear it in her voice. The lightness. The excitement.
She's planning a Thanksgiving dinner at my house for people she chose. And then she's going to her mother's, hoping for something normal. Something ordinary. A holiday where her family actually treats her like she matters.
And I'm about to destroy that.
Because that's what this information will do. It won't just hurt her. It'll end whatever fragile hope she's still holding onto that Leanne might apologize. That her mother might finally admit she was wrong.
Delilah asked me to look into this. She wanted to know.
But she wanted to know because she thought it might give her clarity. She didn't expect it to be this bad.
And if I tell Delilah that right now, the day before our dinner, twenty-four hours before Thanksgiving at Leanne's house, I'll ruin everything.
I can't do that to her.
Not today.
"Kane?" Lilah says. "You still there?"
I clear my throat. "Yeah. Sorry. I just—wanted to check if you need anything picked up for tonight."
"For tonight?"
"The dinner. I'm heading out in a bit and thought I'd grab anything you're missing."
She's quiet for a second. Then she says, "Oh. No, I think we're good. Priya's got the turkey situation under control, and Anton's handling sides."
"You sure?"
"Yeah. But thank you for asking."
I bend forward and rest my elbows on the desk. "And we're still on for tomorrow? At your mom's?"
"Yeah. I think so. She texted this morning to confirm I'm coming. And she actually sounded... normal. She didn't pull the passive-aggressive act on me or mention Vivian and Connor. Not even once."
I clench my fist under my desk. "That's good."
"Yeah. I'm hoping maybe she'll surprise me. You know? Maybe she'll actually apologize. Or at least act like she's glad I'm there."
My chest tightens.
She's hoping. Again.
And I'm holding the information that will kill that hope permanently.
"I'm sure it'll be fine," I say.
"You think?"
"Yeah. And if it's not, we leave. Like we talked about."
"Right. Yeah. Okay." She pauses. "You sound weird. Are you sure everything's okay?"
"I'm fine. Just tired."
"You need to take a break, Mr. Workaholic."
"I will. After tonight."
"Promise?"
"Yeah. I promise."
For a few seconds, I just listen to Lilah breathe.
"I love you," she says eventually.
"I love you too."
"Okay. I'll see you later."
"See you later."
I hang up before she can ask anything else.
Then I sit there, staring at my phone, hating myself for lying.
Because that's what I just did. I lied.
Not directly. But by omission. Which is essentially the same thing.
I told her I'd stop keeping things from her. That I'd be honest. That we'd handle everything together.
And now I'm doing what I promised I wouldn't.
I'm deciding for her. Withholding information because I think I know what's best.
But I can't tell her. Not yet.
Not when she's this happy.
I'll tell her after Thanksgiving. After she's had the chance to see her family one more time. To give her mother one more opportunity to do the right thing.
And if Leanne doesn't apologize? If Thursday goes how I expect it will?
Then I'll tell Delilah everything.
And she'll finally be done.
Before I lose nerve, I call Yuri.
He picks up immediately. "Yeah?"
"Hold the report."
"Hold it?"
"Yeah. Don't send it to Skye. Don't mention it to Niko. Don't do anything with it until I say otherwise."
When Yuri speaks next, he sounds stunned. "You're not telling her."
"Not yet."
"Kane—"
"I'm postponing. That's all."
"For how long?"
"Until after Thanksgiving."
"Why?"
"Because she's happy. And I'm not going to ruin that twenty-four hours before it happens."
"And if she finds out you knew and didn't tell her?"
I don't answer.
Yuri exhales. "This is the exact shit you promised not to pull."
"I'm not lying to her. I'm just waiting."
"That's splitting hairs."
"Maybe. But it's the choice I'm making."
"It's your call," he says. "But you're playing a dangerous game."
"I know."
"And if this blows up—"
"Then it's on me."
He mutters a particularly colorful curse in Russian, then hangs up.
I set down my phone and close the report.
I'm not lying to her. I'm just choosing the timing.
That's what I tell myself.
I stand and cross to the window. Outside, the city is gray and cold. Traffic moves slowly on the street below.
I think about Delilah at the bakery, making her shopping list. About Wednesday's dinner. About the pie she wants to bake.
About Thursday, when she'll walk into her mother's house hoping for something Leanne will never give her.
And I think about the report sitting in my email. About the hotel records and the florist receipt and the proof that Leanne has been lying for two years.
I could tell her tonight. After dinner. Show her the evidence and let her decide what to do with it.
But I won't.
Because she's happy.
And she deserves one more day of that before everything falls apart again.