Woman on the Edge(22)

There’s silence on the other end of the phone. Did he hang up?

“Mr. Looms?”

“I’m a bit confused by this news, Ms. Kincaid. She told me you were willing to retain custody of her daughter should the need arise. And—” He stops.

“And what? Please, Mr. Looms. I don’t understand what’s happening.”

“Ms. Kincaid, if you’re not a friend of Nicole’s, what exactly is your connection to her?”

“I don’t know,” I whisper. “Until she spoke to me last night on the Grand/State platform, I’d never met her before in my life.”

There’s another long pause. “So you were there when it happened? When she … jumped?” I hear him shuffle papers. “Look, I need to figure this out, Ms. Kincaid. I assume you’re also not aware Nicole named you executrix of her daughter’s estate? I’m obliged to inform you as soon as possible because Nicole has considerable shares in Breathe, and those will need to be managed right away.”

“But … what about her husband?”

“Mr. Markham is currently in control of the shares and dividends from the stocks Nicole owned in trust for Quinn. But if he loses or severs his parental rights, and you retain guardianship, those will be your responsibility as well. There’s a lot of money at stake here, and a child. That’s a lot of responsibility for someone who didn’t know Nicole at all.”

He sounds accusatory, like this is part of my nefarious plan. My vision gets blurry, and I rub my eyes. Quinn has a father, and Nicole granted me custody? And why would she leave me in control of Quinn’s money, likely a fortune? And who is Quinn’s father, Mr. Markham? Is that who Nicole was running from?

Something else occurs to me. If anyone finds out that Nicole left me in charge of Quinn’s money, how much danger could I be in? Suddenly I feel very vulnerable and alone in my apartment.

“Who else knows about her will?” I ask as I scoot closer to the headboard. “Is there anyone in her family I can talk to about this?” My heart squeezes when I remember the soft warmth of her child. “Is Quinn okay?” I know I’m rambling, but I can’t stop myself from asking all the questions swirling in my mind.

The attorney clears his throat. “Quinn is fine. I can’t give you any contact information for her family members.” There’s a beat of silence before I hear him take a breath. “Look, I’m not sure what’s going on here. I don’t like what I’m hearing, but I’m obligated to send you the form for standby guardianship.” His voice sounds clipped. “If you can give me your email address, please?”

I care not a tiny bit about the money. I care that I’m exonerated and that the little girl that mother passed to me is safe.

Don’t let anyone hurt her.

“Is Quinn with her father now?”

“I can’t answer that.”

I try a different tack. “Do you know Amanda?”

“Who?”

“Forget it. I … I’d like to see the will.”

“I can’t send the entire will, but I’ll send you the petition of guardianship.”

“Thank you,” I say.

After I give him my email address, he abruptly hangs up.

Part of me wants to burrow under my cozy covers and avoid all of this, but I can’t. I pull my computer onto my lap. My in-box lights up with a new message, the subject: PETITION FOR GUARDIANSHIP. I open the file. This is real.

Petitioner Nicole Markham, under the penalties of perjury: Quinn Markham, whose date of birth is June 27, 2017, and whose place of residence is 327 East Bellevue Place, Chicago, Illinois, is a minor.

It is in the best interest of the minor that a guardian of the estate and person of the minor be appointed for the following reasons:

Morgan Kincaid is a loving, warm, compassionate, dedicated person who will serve in the best interests of Quinn Markham’s emotional and physical needs.

The person having custody of the minor will be Morgan Kincaid, friend of Nicole Markham, at the address of 5450 North Sheridan Road, Suite 802, Chicago, Illinois.



My skin crawls. Nicole knew where I live. East Bellevue Place. She lived in the Gold Coast. My old neighborhood. After I found Ryan dead, I never went back to our beautiful, showstopping home. I never belonged there in the first place. Am I going crazy and can’t remember her?

I check the time. I have to be at work soon, but I pull my computer closer and type in Nicole’s company, Breathe. A sob catches in my throat: link after link directs me to articles about its commitment to wellness and healing for women and girls who are victims of trauma. Maybe we’re connected through Haven House?

I gaze at a photo of Nicole Markham, beaming behind a podium as she holds a glass award in her hand. She looks healthy, happy, and successful. She looks like she has it all.

I trace her bright blue eyes and full lips with my fingertip. “What happened to you, Nicole? And who is Amanda?” I whisper.

An article in Page Six catches my eye.

An anonymous source confirms that Markham is housebound and unwell, struggling to care for her newborn daughter. She has not been seen in public since she left on a six-week, unpaid leave, negotiated with the board of directors. Should Markham not return to Breathe as CEO on July 31, she is at risk of being ousted from the company she founded.