Chapter 2 - The Photograph of My Dead Wife
I snatched the photograph from Darlene's desk.
Sarah stood outside a downtown hotel wearing the navy coat I'd bought her for our second anniversary.
She looked nervous.
Beside her stood Adrian Stanley.
Forty years old.
Oakridge's executive vice president.
And Darlene's younger brother.
I had seen his face in business magazines.
I'd never seen him beside my wife.
"Explain."
Darlene watched me carefully.
"Sarah worked at Oakridge five years ago."
"I know."
"She worked in corporate compliance."
"She was a financial analyst."
"Her official title was financial analyst."
I stared at her.
"What does that mean?"
Darlene opened another file.
"She had been assigned to review vendor payments."
I looked down at the photograph.
Sarah had died after a collision on the West Side Highway.
Police said the other driver had run a red light.
He was never identified.
Abigail had been four.
I had spent three years teaching her that Mommy wasn't coming home.
Now this billionaire was telling me Sarah had been investigating her brother.
"What did she find?"
Darlene hesitated.
"I don't know everything."
"Then why bring me here?"
"Because I've found irregular payments connected to the same accounts Sarah was reviewing."
I shook my head.
"You're saying Adrian killed my wife?"
"No."
The answer came quickly.
"I'm saying her death deserves another look."
I stared at her.
She continued.
"Two days before Sarah died, she requested a private meeting with my father."
"Your father?"
"Harold Stanley."
The company's founder.
He had died eight months earlier.
I looked toward the city.
"Did she meet him?"
"There's no record."
"Then how do you know?"
Darlene pushed another document forward.
A calendar entry.
SARAH TURNER — URGENT.
My breathing changed.
I remembered Sarah coming home late that week.
She had kissed Abigail.
Then told me she was worried about something at work.
I'd asked whether she wanted to talk.
She said:
"Not until I know for sure."
Three days later, she was dead.
I sank into the chair.
Darlene sat opposite me.
"I know this is a lot."
I laughed bitterly.
"You don't know anything about me."
She looked toward the folder containing my personal information.
Then closed it.
"You're right."
That surprised me.
She continued.
"My investigator went too far obtaining those records. I should not have put your daughter's medical information on my desk."
I stared at her.
"Then why did you?"
"Because I was trying to control a situation I'm terrified of losing."
Her voice changed.
Just slightly.
The Iron Queen disappeared for one second.
Then returned.
I stood.
"If I'm going to help, there are conditions."
She raised an eyebrow.
"You're negotiating?"
"Yes."
"With me?"
I looked toward the briefcase.
"You can keep your money if you don't like it."
Something resembling amusement crossed her face.
"Go ahead."
"My daughter stays out of this. No more private investigations into her."
"Agreed."
"I get independent legal advice before signing anything."
"Agreed."
"No pretending to be your fiancé unless you explain exactly why."
She hesitated.
Then sat back.
"My father's will gives Adrian and me voting control through a family trust. The board can initiate an independent review of my leadership if there is documented concern about my ability to perform my duties."
"Because of your injury?"
"The accident has become their excuse."
I thought about her back.
"Can you work?"
"Yes."
"Then why hide it?"
She looked away.
"Because Adrian has spent months collecting photographs of every difficult day I've had."
I frowned.
"That sounds like harassment."
"It is."
"And a fake fiancé fixes that?"
"No."
She looked back.
"But it may encourage Adrian to make a mistake."
I stared.
She continued.
"Adrian believes I won't trust anyone close to me. He expects me to appear alone at tomorrow's gala."
"So I show up."
"Yes."
"And everyone thinks we're engaged."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because I'm going to announce that I'm changing my estate arrangements."
I looked at her.
"What?"
"Adrian expects to inherit control if anything happens to me."
My stomach tightened.
"And you want him to think that changed."
"Exactly."
I stood silently.
Then said:
"That's a dangerous game."
Darlene smiled without humor.
"My entire life has become one."
I thought about Sarah.
Abigail.
The photograph.
Finally, I nodded.
"I'll consider the security job."
Darlene looked surprised.
"But the engagement?"
"I haven't agreed."
"Understood."
I pointed toward the briefcase.
"And put that away."
She closed it.
For the first time, she almost smiled.
"You're an unusual employee, Mr. Turner."
"You're an unusual boss."
She laughed.
It was a quiet sound.
Almost involuntary.
Then she pressed a button.
Her assistant entered.
"Arrange a meeting with independent counsel for Mr. Turner. His employment status is not to be changed without his consent. And have our privacy officer review how that background file was obtained."
The assistant nodded.
When she left, Darlene looked at me.
"One more thing."
I stopped.
"What?"
"Tomorrow night, Adrian will ask about your wife."
My chest tightened.
"Why?"
"Because he remembers her."
I stared.
"How well?"
Darlene's expression darkened.
"Well enough that when I showed him her photograph last week, he told me to burn it."
I left the office feeling as though the entire building had changed.
That evening, I picked Abigail up from school.
She climbed into my old truck.
"Daddy!"
"Hey, peanut."
She held up a drawing.
It showed three people.
Me.
Abigail.
And Sarah.
Above us was a yellow sun.
"Teacher said draw your family."
I smiled painfully.
"It's beautiful."
She looked at me.
"Do you think Mommy can see it?"
My throat tightened.
"I hope so."
She thought for a moment.
"Then put it by the window tonight."
I nodded.
"Deal."
At home, I taped the drawing beside the kitchen window.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
A man's voice spoke quietly.
"Blake Turner?"
"Who's this?"
"You need to stay away from Darlene Stanley."
My stomach tightened.
"Who is this?"
The man ignored me.
"Your wife should have stayed away too."
The call ended.
I stared at the phone.
Then looked toward Abigail.
She was sitting on the living room floor, arranging stuffed animals for a pretend birthday party.
Someone knew I had spoken to Darlene.
May you like
Someone knew about Sarah.
And someone had decided my daughter and I were worth watching.
