Chapter 2 - The Woman in the Photograph
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Calvin stood barefoot in the doorway.
I sat beside his open desk drawer holding a photograph that apparently terrified my husband more than being caught speaking secretly to my best friend.
“Who is Claire?” I asked.
His eyes remained on the picture.
“Emily.”
“My name isn’t an answer.”
He rubbed both hands over his face.
“You went through my desk.”
“That’s what you want to discuss?”
“No.”
“Then who is Claire?”
Calvin shut the office door.
That small action frightened me.
Not because I thought he might hurt me.
I never had.
But because closing the door meant whatever came next belonged in a sealed room.
He sat opposite me.
“Claire Bennett.”
The name meant nothing.
“Who is she?”
“She worked with Stephanie.”
“When?”
“Years ago.”
“How many?”
“Seven.”
I studied him.
“How does someone Stephanie worked with seven years ago end up in a photograph with my husband three months ago?”
His jaw tightened.
“Because she contacted me.”
“Why?”
He looked away.
I held up the photograph.
“And why did someone hide this in your desk?”
“I hid it.”
The admission landed heavily.
“Why?”
“Because I didn’t want you involved.”
I laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
“You’re secretly meeting my best friend at hotels and hiding photographs involving strange women in your office, but you didn’t want me involved?”
“That hotel wasn’t what you think.”
“Then help me.”
He was quiet.
“Were you sleeping with Stephanie?”
“No.”
Too fast.
But his eyes did not move.
“Have you ever slept with Stephanie?”
“No.”
“Have you kissed her?”
“No.”
“Have you told her you love her?”
“No.”
“Then why is she telling you she misses you?”
His mouth tightened.
“Because we’ve been working on something.”
“What?”
“I can’t tell you everything.”
I stood.
“That is the wrong answer.”
“Emily.”
“No.”
I stepped around the desk.
“You don’t get to ask me for trust after lying to my face less than three hours ago.”
He looked miserable.
Good.
I wanted him miserable.
“She texted you. You told me it was work. Then you went into your office and told her she couldn’t come here because I was here.”
“I know.”
“You know?”
“I panicked.”
“Why?”
He hesitated.
That hesitation hurt.
“There are things you don’t know about Stephanie.”
My chest tightened.
“That sounds like the beginning of another lie.”
“It isn’t.”
“Then finish it.”
Calvin lowered his voice.
“Stephanie has been trying to find Claire for months.”
“Why?”
“Because Claire disappeared.”
The room changed.
Not physically.
But the argument I thought we were having shifted somewhere darker.
“What do you mean disappeared?”
“Stopped answering calls. Quit her job. Left her apartment. No forwarding address.”
“Did anyone report her missing?”
“She’s an adult. The police said there wasn’t evidence of a crime.”
“So Stephanie hired you?”
“No.”
“Then why are you involved?”
“Because Claire contacted me first.”
I stared.
“When?”
“Last year.”
“What did she want?”
Calvin looked toward the photograph again.
“She said she had information about Stephanie.”
My pulse slowed.
“What kind?”
“I don’t know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“She never told me directly.”
“Then why the hotel?”
“She asked to meet.”
“With Stephanie?”
“No. Stephanie followed me.”
That was the first thing Calvin said that didn’t immediately fit the version of the story I had built in my head.
I sat again.
“So Stephanie knows about Claire.”
“Yes.”
“And Claire knows something about Stephanie.”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“I don’t know exactly.”
“Calvin.”
“I’m telling you the truth.”
“You have not earned that sentence.”
He flinched.
I continued.
“What happened at the Bellweather?”
“Claire never entered the hotel. She met me outside. She gave me an envelope.”
“What was inside?”
Calvin did not answer.
My stomach sank.
“Where is it?”
“Gone.”
“What was inside?”
“Copies of financial records.”
I waited.
“Whose?”
“Stephanie’s company.”
Stephanie owned a boutique event planning firm called Westlake Events.
She had built it from nothing.
At least that was the story I knew.
“What kind of financial records?”
“Transfers. Vendor payments. Client deposits.”
“Why would Claire give those to you?”
“Because Stephanie’s company handled several events for properties my firm manages.”
The explanation sounded almost reasonable.
Almost.
“Was Stephanie stealing?”
Calvin rubbed his jaw.
“We thought she might be.”
We.
There it was.
“You and Claire?”
“And someone else.”
“Who?”
“I can’t—”
I stood again.
He stopped himself.
“Peter Lang.”
I knew the name.
Everyone in Calvin’s professional world knew it.
Peter was the managing partner at Halston Pierce, one of the largest property investment companies in the state.
He was also Calvin’s boss.
“Peter was involved?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Some missing money belonged to investment groups connected to Halston Pierce.”
“How much?”
Calvin paused.
“About $1.8 million.”
My mouth went dry.
“Stephanie stole almost two million dollars?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You implied it.”
“We didn’t know where the money went.”
I thought about Stephanie.
Birthday dinners.
Weekend trips.
Christmas mornings.
Her sitting on my kitchen floor drinking champagne while helping me choose wedding invitations.
She had been family.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because she’s your best friend.”
“That is exactly why you tell me.”
“I wanted proof.”
“Instead you lied.”
“Yes.”
The simplicity of his answer broke something in me.
“And tonight?”
“Stephanie found out I still had copies of some records.”
My gaze moved to his phone.
“She misses you?”
Calvin grimaced.
“She was trying to get me to meet her privately.”
“Why phrase it like that?”
“She knew you might see the message.”
That chilled me.
“What?”
“She wanted you suspicious.”
“Why?”
“I think she wants to separate us.”
I shook my head.
“That sounds convenient.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
He reached toward me.
I stepped back.
His hand dropped.
I asked, “Why would she want us separated?”
Calvin’s eyes filled with something I had rarely seen in him.
Fear.
“Because if you stop trusting me, you won’t believe me when I tell you what she did.”
My heartbeat climbed again.
“What did she do?”
Before he answered, my phone rang.
Unknown number.
Same number that had texted me.
Calvin saw it.
His face changed.
“Don’t answer.”
That guaranteed I would.
I pressed speaker.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Then a woman whispered:
“Emily?”
“Yes.”
Calvin stood abruptly.
“Who is this?”
The caller ignored him.
“My name is Claire Bennett.”
My knees weakened.
Calvin took one step toward the phone.
“Claire?”
Her breathing became ragged.
“I don’t have much time.”
“Where are you?” Calvin demanded.
Claire continued speaking only to me.
“Your husband doesn’t know the whole truth.”
I looked at him.
His face was pale.
“What truth?”
A sound came through the phone.
A door.
Footsteps.
Claire gasped.
Then whispered:
“Stephanie didn’t steal the money.”
The line crackled.
“Claire?”
“She moved it for someone else.”
“Who?”
Another sound.
A man’s voice in the distance.
Claire began crying.
“Emily, listen carefully.”
“I’m listening.”
“The person Calvin trusts most at work is the person you need to be afraid of.”
Calvin stared at the phone.
My mind found the name before she said it.
Peter.
Claire whispered one final sentence.
“Peter Lang knows you saw the photograph.”
The call disconnected.
Calvin grabbed his phone.
“We need to leave.”
“Why?”
He was already moving toward the bedroom.
“Because I never told Peter where we live.”
A second later, our doorbell rang.
Once.
Then twice.
Then someone outside called my husband’s name.
“Calvin?”
Calvin stopped breathing.
May you like
I recognized the voice.
Peter Lang was standing outside our front door.
