Chapter 6 - THE WOMAN WHO CAME BACK FROM THE DEAD
My mother died when I was twenty-two.
A heart attack.
That was what the doctors had said.
I had never questioned it.
My father had.
But he had never told me why.
Now I understood.
He had been protecting me.
Or so I thought.
“Tell me everything,” I said to Claire.
She looked at my father.
He nodded.
Claire took a breath.
“Your mother discovered that the foundation was being used to move money.”
“By whom?”
“Martin Carter.”
I stared at the photograph.
“Ethan's brother.”
“Yes.”
“What did he do?”
“He created shell companies.”
Rebecca stepped closer.
“Why would my mother be involved?”
“She wasn't.”
Claire's voice shook.
“She discovered it.”
My father looked at her.
“How do you know?”
“My father told me.”
“Your father knew?”
Claire nodded.
“Your mother threatened to expose Martin.”
I stared at the photograph.
“What happened?”
Claire looked down.
“Martin disappeared.”
My father's face hardened.
“He died in a boating accident.”
Claire whispered:
“That is not what happened.”
The room went silent.
“What happened?” I asked.
Claire looked at me.
“Martin was killed.”
I couldn't breathe.
“By whom?”
She shook her head.
“I don't know.”
“Then how do you know he was killed?”
“Because my father helped cover it up.”
My father took a step forward.
“Claire.”
She flinched.
“I'm telling her the truth.”
I looked at my father.
“Did you know?”
He said nothing.
“Dad.”
He closed his eyes.
“I suspected.”
“You suspected?”
“I knew your mother was investigating the Carter family.”
“And you let me believe she died naturally?”
“You were twenty-two.”
“I was her daughter!”
His face broke.
“I was trying to keep you alive.”
I turned away.
For years, I had believed my father had simply accepted my mother's death.
Now I realized he had been afraid.
The photograph showed my mother standing beside Ethan.
I pointed at him.
“Why was he there?”
Claire answered.
“Because Ethan knew.”
“Knew what?”
“That his brother was stealing money.”
“And he said nothing?”
“No.”
I stared at the image.
“How old was Ethan?”
“Twenty-four.”
My stomach turned.
He had known before he married me.
He had known before he promised to protect me.
He had known while my mother was dying.
And then he had married her daughter.
Why?
The answer came from Rebecca.
“Control.”
I looked at her.
“Control of what?”
“Your mother left you the foundation.”
I froze.
“Ethan couldn't access it.”
“Not directly,” Rebecca said.
“But if he married you…”
He could gain influence.
Power.
Access.
I thought about the first time Ethan had met me.
It had been at a foundation event.
I had been grieving.
He had approached me with a glass of water.
He had said:
“Your mother was an incredible woman.”
I had thought he was being kind.
Now I wondered.
Had he been studying me?
Had he known who I was before I knew his name?
My phone rang.
A text message appeared.
YOU SHOULD HAVE LEFT THE PAST BURIED.
Then another.
YOUR MOTHER DIDN'T. LOOK WHAT HAPPENED TO HER.
I showed my father.
He immediately called the police.
Noah arrived before the police did.
I looked at him.
“How did you know?”
He held up his phone.
“Your father called me.”
I almost smiled.
“Why would he call you?”
“Because I was the firefighter at your elevator.”
My father looked at him.
“And because he trusts me.”
I stared at Noah.
“You're a firefighter.”
“Yes.”
“Why are you investigating my husband?”
“I'm not.”
“Then why are you here?”
Noah looked at the photograph.
“Because I was at the rescue scene.”
He paused.
“And because I saw your husband choose someone else.”
I didn't know what to say.
Noah continued.
“I don't know what your husband has done.”
“But?”
“But I know what I saw.”
The words were simple.
Yet they gave me something I hadn't had in days.
A witness.
Someone who had seen the beginning of my marriage ending.
The next morning, the police called.
They had found a body.
A man's body.
Near the river.
The body had been there for years.
The identity had not yet been confirmed.
But the police had found something in the man's pocket.
A watch.
My father recognized it immediately.
May you like
I had seen it in the photograph.
On Martin Carter's wrist.
