Chapter 9 - THE WOMAN IN THE OLD PHOTOGRAPH|
I didn't ask Alexander what Sophia meant.
I didn't want another explanation from a man whose explanations always arrived after the damage.
Instead, I went home with Evelyn and began sorting through my mother's old records.
The property trust had been established years before my marriage. My mother had placed the building into a charitable holding company, with strict rules about how its value could be used.
The money was supposed to support housing programs for women leaving abusive situations.
Someone had been trying to divert it.
Evelyn found an old letter from my mother tucked inside a folder.
“Claire,” she said, “you should read this.”
The letter was addressed to me.
It had been written six months before my mother died.
My darling girl,
If anyone ever tells you that you must surrender something simply because they have more money, more influence, or a louder voice, remember that your name is not a decoration. You have the right to decide what it means.
I read the sentence twice.
My mother had always believed I would become stronger than she had been.
I pressed the letter against my chest.
Evelyn turned another page.
There was a photograph attached to the back.
My mother stood outside the old riverfront building beside a young man in a dark coat. He looked familiar, though I couldn't place him.
“Do you know him?” Evelyn asked.
I shook my head.
Then I noticed the date.
It was from twenty years earlier.
I turned the photograph over. My mother's handwriting identified the man as Daniel Reynolds.
Sophia's father.
I looked up.
“Why was my mother with Sophia's father?”
Evelyn searched the trust records.
“Daniel Reynolds was one of the original investors.”
“Was he involved in the property?”
“According to this, he helped establish the charitable fund.”
I remembered Sophia saying that Alexander and she had a history I couldn't understand.
Maybe she wasn't referring only to romance.
I called Nathan.
He answered after two rings.
“Claire?”
“Did you know Sophia's father was connected to my mother's fund?”
There was a pause.
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“I didn't know how much you knew.”
“Tell me now.”
Nathan lowered his voice.
“Daniel Reynolds was a financial adviser to Alexander's grandfather. He died in an accident when Sophia was a teenager. After that, she left Chicago.”
“What kind of accident?”
“A car crash.”
“Was Alexander involved?”
“No. But his family was.”
I looked at the photograph.
“Explain.”
“Daniel had discovered that money was being moved through several properties. He was going to report it. The night before he planned to meet investigators, his car went off the road.”
My stomach tightened.
“Was it an accident?”
“Officially, yes.”
“And Sophia believes the Morettis killed him.”
Nathan didn't answer.
I understood.
The next morning, I met Sophia at the riverfront building.
She had agreed to meet only after I told her I had found the photograph.
She arrived alone.
When I showed it to her, her face changed.
“Where did you get this?”
“My mother's records.”
She touched the edge of the photograph.
“My father kept a copy of this.”
“Why was he working with my mother?”
“Because he believed the trust was being used to hide money.”
I stared at her.
“Then why are you trying to take it over?”
“I'm trying to get the records.”
“By forging my signature?”
Her eyes filled, but her voice remained steady.
“I didn't forge anything.”
“Your attorney filed the documents.”
“Someone used my name, too.”
I studied her.
For the first time, she looked less like a rival and more like a woman who had been carrying a secret for too long.
“Who killed your father?” I asked.
Sophia looked toward the river.
“I don't know.”
Then she turned back to me.
“But I know who paid the man who handled the accident report.”
She named a man I had never heard before.
May you like
And then she said something that made my blood run cold.
“He was Alexander's grandfather's closest adviser.”
