Chapter 2 - He Asked Where Daisy Was
Mason stared at the urn for three long seconds before looking toward Daisy’s empty bed. “What is that?” he asked. I said nothing. His eyes moved to the framed photograph taped beside the lamp, then back to me. “Elizabeth.” I placed the phone facedown on my knee. “You asked me to bring the girl home.” His expression tightened. “Where is Daisy?” I looked at the urn. “Home.” He actually shook his head, like reality was an employee giving him incorrect numbers. “Stop.” “She died Monday.” All color left his face.
“No.”
“She died Monday at eleven forty-seven in the morning.”
“No.” His voice became louder. “No. I authorized the treatment.”
“You authorized one bill this afternoon.”
“I approved everything Megan sent me.”
“The medication was denied seven days ago.”
His breathing changed. “No.”
I stood. “I called you seventeen times the first day. Nine the next. I sent messages. I went to your office. I begged you.”
Mason looked toward the door. Sabrina stood there now, pale and silent.
I continued, “Dr. Hart paid for one dose himself. We asked for another. It stayed under review until she died.”
Mason looked at Sabrina as though she might tell him this was not happening.
Sabrina whispered, “Mason…”
“Get out.”
She flinched.
“Now.”
Sabrina left.
Mason came toward me. “Why didn’t the hospital call me?”
“They did.”
“I would have answered.”
“They have records.”
His expression cracked.
I had watched Mason survive lawsuits, hostile negotiations, public scandals, and the death of his father without losing composure. Now he looked like a man discovering that money had failed to obey him.
“Let me see her.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“Her—” He stopped.
There was no her to see.
Only the urn.
Mason’s knees nearly buckled.
He gripped the dresser.
Then Brenda appeared behind him. “Mason, she just came home carrying—”
“Shut up.”
Brenda froze.
Mason looked at the urn again.
For a second, grief almost made him human.
Then he looked at me.
“Why did you cremate her without me?”
I actually laughed.
It came out broken.
“Without you?”
“You had no right.”
“I waited forty-eight hours.”
His jaw clenched.
“I was in Dallas.”
“You were at the Crescent Hotel with Sabrina.”
Silence.
Brenda stared at him.
Mason’s eyes narrowed. “Who told you?”
“That is what you’re asking?”
“You had her cremated while I was away.”
“Because you refused to answer.”
“I didn’t know she was dead.”
“Exactly.”
He raised a hand to his forehead.
“This is insane.”
“No, Mason. This is documented.”
That word hit him.
Documented.
For the first time, I saw calculation enter his grief.
He glanced at the old phone.
“What were you doing when I came in?”
“Calling someone.”
“Who?”
“My father’s attorney.”
His face changed instantly.
Not slightly.
Completely.
“Callahan?”
There it was.
He knew the name.
I said nothing.
Mason stepped closer. “Why did you call Callahan?”
“Why do you know who he is?”
His mouth opened.
Closed.
Then: “Your father’s estate.”
I stared at him.
“My father told me you never had control of my money.”
Mason’s expression became hard. “Your father was paranoid.”
“Was he?”
“Yes.”
“Then why are you scared?”
“I’m not.”
“You look scared.”
Brenda quietly stepped backward.
Mason lowered his voice. “Whatever Callahan told you, it’s complicated.”
“Explain.”
“Not tonight.”
I smiled faintly.
That phrase.
The Ross family’s religion.
Not tonight.
Not here.
Not in front of people.
Not while business mattered.
Not while family reputation was involved.
There was always a reason truth needed to wait.
“No,” I said. “Tonight.”
Mason looked toward Daisy’s urn.
Perhaps he understood that the woman he had controlled through delay was gone.
He sat heavily on the edge of the bed.
“Your father created a trust.”
“I know.”
“It had conditions.”
“What conditions?”
“You were supposed to receive full control at thirty-five.”
“I’m thirty-two.”
“He allowed an earlier transfer under certain circumstances.”
“Which?”
“Marriage.”
I felt cold.
“My marriage to you?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did I lose control after marrying you?”
“You didn’t.”
I stared.
“My expenses go through Megan.”
“That’s household management.”
“I needed authorization for Daisy’s medication.”
“That was not supposed to happen.”
“But it did.”
Mason stood. “I’m going to fix this.”
I nearly screamed.
“Fix what?”
He stopped.
“Our daughter is dead.”
His face collapsed again.
“There is no fixing that.”
The room went silent.
Then Mr. Callahan’s phone call returned.
I had forgotten he was still connected through the old phone.
His voice came faintly from the speaker.
“Miss Elizabeth?”
Mason turned.
I picked up the phone.
“Yes?”
“Do not sign anything your husband gives you.”
Mason went still.
Callahan continued, “And do not leave that house without Daisy’s medical records, your identification documents, and the trust key your father placed in the nursery.”
I frowned.
“What trust key?”
Mason’s face told me he knew.
I looked at him.
“What key?”
He said nothing.
Callahan’s voice lowered.
“Your father hid it where he believed only you would look after becoming a mother.”
I turned toward Daisy’s crib.
Her stuffed rabbit.
Her newborn box.
The old rocking chair.
I began searching.
Mason grabbed my wrist.
“Stop.”
I looked at his hand.
He released me immediately.
That was new.
“Elizabeth, listen to me. Callahan is trying to turn you against this family.”
“My daughter died because this family controlled whether I could buy her medicine.”
“That wasn’t the trust.”
“Then prove it.”
He did not move.
I opened Daisy’s newborn memory box.
Hospital bracelet.
First photograph.
A lock of hair.
Beneath them was a small brass key taped to the underside.
My hands began trembling.
Mason whispered, “Your father had no right.”
I looked at him.
“No right to what?”
He did not answer.
Callahan said through the phone, “The key opens a private deposit box at Lone Star Heritage Bank.”
I stared at the brass.
“What’s inside?”
“Original documents.”
Mason closed his eyes.
“What documents?”
Callahan paused.
“The ones proving Mason Ross signed away his right to manage a single dollar of your inheritance two weeks before he married you.”
I looked at my husband.
He looked back.
May you like
And suddenly Daisy’s denied medication was no longer just cruelty.
It might have been fraud.
