angelic

Chapter 2 - FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS

Sophia was admitted overnight for dehydration, malnutrition, and a respiratory infection.

The pediatrician documented bruises in different stages of healing. None alone proved abuse. Together, they required explanation.

Child-protection investigator Nora Bell interviewed me first.

“Why was your daughter living with Victoria?”

After Amelia died, I had taken emergency control of Sterling Hotels’ London reconstruction. Victoria offered to keep Sophia at the Grand, where tutors, physicians, and staff surrounded her.

I visited twice during the first six months.

Both times Sophia looked healthy.

Then Victoria shortened calls, blaming therapy and school routines. I accepted photographs and progress reports because work gave me somewhere to hide from grief.

“I sent five thousand dollars monthly for Sophia’s direct care,” I said.

“Did you verify how it was spent?”

“No.”

The word felt like a confession.

Victoria arrived with an attorney and produced invoices from Bright Horizons Child Services.

Private tutoring.

Nutrition planning.

Grief therapy.

Clothing.

The totals matched my transfers.

The company address led to an office suite that had closed two years earlier.

Victoria blamed an accountant.

Sophia’s forensic interview took place without me in the room.

Investigators told me only what concerned her immediate safety.

She slept in a small room behind the hotel laundry.

Food arrived when she completed chores.

If she complained, Victoria said her father had chosen hotels over her.

The moldy bread was not the first thing she had taken from the trash.

Police requested footage from the service corridor.

The previous thirty days had been erased that morning.

Hotel systems recorded the deletion under Victoria’s administrative account.

She claimed technicians were clearing storage before the gala.

Then Reed brought me an envelope recovered from the laundry room.

It contained ten unopened letters addressed to me in Sophia’s handwriting.

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Across the final one she had written:

DADDY, I THINK GRANDMA KNOWS I REMEMBER THE BLUE BOTTLE.

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