Chapter 3 - The Woman Who Knew Too Much| Margaret caught my wrist and pulled me toward the crowded staircase.
“Don't look at him,” she whispered.
“I need to know what's happening.”
“You need to stay alive long enough to find out.”
We descended into the lower concourse, where commuters moved around us with the impatient rhythm of a city that never stopped. Margaret kept walking until we reached a coffee shop beside the subway entrance.
She chose a table near the back, ordered two coffees, and placed her handbag between her feet.
The man in the dark coat did not follow us inside.
For the first time, Margaret seemed able to breathe.
“Your mother discovered financial fraud at the Bellweather Trust,” she said. “Millions of dollars were supposed to help children. Instead, money was routed through shell companies and private accounts.”
“Who was responsible?”
“Victor Moretti handled the financial arrangements. Adrian's father, Dominic Romano, controlled the shipping companies that moved the money. Several politicians protected them.”
“And my mother?”
“She found proof.”
Margaret opened her handbag and removed a small photograph. It showed a young Eleanor sitting at a desk, surrounded by papers. On the back, in handwriting I recognized immediately, were the words: If anything happens to me, find the girl.
“Which girl?” I asked.
Margaret shook her head.
“Your mother never explained. She said the information was hidden in a place no one would think to search.”
“Did she die because of the investigation?”
“I believe she was forced off the road. I can't prove it.”
My throat tightened.
“Why didn't you tell the police?”
“I tried. The detective assigned to the case suddenly retired. The documents I submitted disappeared. Two weeks later, someone broke into my apartment and left photographs of my grandchildren on the kitchen table.”
She spoke without tears, as if she had repeated the story to herself so many times that crying had become impossible.
“I was afraid,” she admitted. “I still am.”
I looked at the photograph of my mother.
“What does Adrian know?”
“More than he admits. His father died before the investigation was completed, but Adrian inherited the businesses, the debts, and the people who expected him to continue the same arrangements.”
“Then why marry me?”
Margaret hesitated.
“I don't know whether he knew who you were when he met you.”
The answer hurt more than I expected.
Adrian and I had met at a hospital fundraiser. I had been helping my aunt organize donations when a man in an expensive suit offered to carry a box. He had stayed to stack chairs after everyone else left. He had listened when I spoke about my mother and promised that I would never have to face life's difficulties alone.
I had believed him.
“Your mother may have kept a copy of the evidence,” Margaret continued. “If she did, it could still be hidden somewhere.”
“I don't have anything of hers.”
“Look again.”
A chair scraped across the floor behind us.
Margaret's expression changed.
“Leave now,” she said. “Take the subway. Don't go directly to your apartment.”
“What about you?”
“I have my own way home.”
She pushed a folded piece of paper across the table. It contained an address in Queens and a name: Daniel Price, former Bellweather auditor.
“If you find him, tell him Eleanor sent you.”
Before I could ask another question, she stood and walked toward the opposite exit.
I waited five minutes, then left through the subway entrance.
My train was crowded. I stood near the doors, watching the reflections in the glass.
At the next station, a man stepped aboard and moved toward me.
He was not the man from Grand Central.
He was younger, clean-shaven, and wearing a gray suit.
He leaned close enough for only me to hear.
“Mrs. Romano,” he said quietly, “your husband would like you to come home.”
“Tell him I don't have a husband.”
The man's expression remained polite.
“Then perhaps you'd prefer to hear what happened to your mother.”
He handed me a business card.
On it was a name I recognized from the photograph.
Victor Moretti.
May you like
Beneath the name was a handwritten message.
Adrian didn't order your mother's death. But he knows who did.
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