Chapter 4 - The Woman in the Photograph
“That isn't possible,” Adrian said.
It was the first time Charlotte heard genuine shock in his voice.
Marco looked equally unsettled.
“Our man knows what Elena looked like.”
“She died five years ago.”
“I know.”
Charlotte grabbed her coat.
“Argue in the car.”
Adrian didn't stop her.
They left immediately.
During the drive, Charlotte called her mother repeatedly.
No answer.
Adrian sat beside her, unnaturally still.
Charlotte looked at him.
“You saw her body?”
“Yes.”
“At the funeral?”
“Yes.”
“Could there have been a mistake?”
“No.”
But his answer lacked certainty.
Charlotte touched his arm.
He looked down at her hand.
She almost withdrew it.
Instead, she left it there.
“You don't have to pretend this doesn't scare you.”
Adrian met her eyes.
“I learned a long time ago that fear becomes dangerous when other people can see it.”
“I can already see it.”
Something passed between them.
Then the car stopped.
Charlotte's mother's apartment door was open.
Adrian went in first.
“Mom?”
Charlotte called.
“Kitchen.”
Her mother sounded completely normal.
Charlotte rushed in.
Margaret Hayes sat at the table.
Across from her sat a woman.
Not Elena.
Older.
Perhaps sixty.
Charlotte stopped.
Adrian entered behind her.
The woman looked at him.
Her face went pale.
“Adrian.”
He stared.
“Ruth.”
Charlotte looked between them.
“Who is she?”
Her mother answered.
“An old friend.”
Adrian's voice was cold.
“She worked for my family.”
Ruth lowered her eyes.
“Until Elena died.”
Charlotte turned to her mother.
“You knew Elena?”
Margaret looked exhausted.
“Yes.”
“How?”
“She came to Bellamy's.”
“Why?”
Margaret looked at Adrian.
“Because she was afraid.”
Adrian pulled out a chair.
“Tell me everything.”
Five years earlier, Margaret explained, Elena had entered Bellamy's shortly before closing.
She carried an envelope.
She said someone inside her family was stealing money through shell companies and using Adrian's signature without his knowledge.
“She was collecting proof,” Margaret said.
“Why come to you?” Adrian asked.
“She didn't. She came to Charlotte's father.”
Charlotte froze.
“My father?”
Margaret nodded.
“He was an accountant before he got sick.”
Charlotte knew that.
What she didn't know was that her father had occasionally reviewed private financial records for wealthy clients.
“Elena trusted him,” Margaret continued. “She asked him to examine several transactions.”
Adrian leaned forward.
“What did he find?”
Margaret looked at Charlotte.
“Victor.”
Silence.
“He found transfers connected to Victor's companies.”
“Why wasn't I told?”
“Elena said she needed undeniable evidence first.”
Adrian stood and walked away.
Charlotte could see anger building behind his composure.
“What happened to the documents?”
Margaret looked toward Ruth.
Ruth finally spoke.
“Elena gave them to me.”
Adrian turned.
“And?”
“I hid them.”
“Where?”
Ruth's eyes filled with regret.
“Where Victor would never look.”
Bellamy's Diner.
Charlotte understood before she said it.
“My diner.”
Margaret nodded.
“Your father built a compartment beneath the old office floor.”
Charlotte stared.
She had worked there for seven years.
She had never known.
“Why did the photograph say Elena knew about me?”
Margaret took Charlotte's hand.
“Because your father worried about what would happen if anyone discovered he had helped her. Elena promised that if anything happened, she'd make sure you were protected.”
Charlotte felt sick.
“My father died six months after Elena.”
“Yes.”
“Was his illness really—”
“Yes,” Margaret said quickly. “It was. Don't turn everything into a conspiracy.”
Charlotte almost laughed from sheer relief.
Adrian looked at Ruth.
“Why appear now?”
“Because Victor knows the records still exist.”
“How?”
“I don't know.”
Adrian's eyes hardened.
“Someone told him.”
Ruth nodded.
“I think so.”
They returned to Bellamy's before sunrise.
Charlotte unlocked the office.
The room contained little more than filing cabinets and a battered desk.
Margaret pointed toward the floor.
“Under there.”
Marco removed several boards.
Beneath them was a metal box.
Charlotte knelt.
Her father's handwriting was on the lid.
FOR C.H. IF NECESSARY.
Charlotte touched the letters.
C.H.
Charlotte Hayes.
Adrian crouched beside her.
“You don't have to open it.”
“Yes, I do.”
Inside were ledgers.
Bank records.
Photographs.
A flash drive.
And an envelope addressed to Adrian.
He opened it.
Elena's handwriting filled two pages.
Adrian read silently.
Charlotte watched his expression break by degrees.
At the end, he closed his eyes.
“What did she say?”
“She knew Victor was stealing.”
“That isn't all.”
“No.”
Adrian handed Charlotte the letter.
Elena had written that Victor wasn't working alone.
Someone Adrian trusted was helping him.
Someone inside Adrian's closest circle.
Charlotte looked toward Marco.
Marco's face tightened.
Adrian didn't.
He trusted Marco.
Or wanted to.
“There's a name?” Charlotte asked.
“The second page says she stored it separately.”
“Where?”
Adrian pointed to one sentence.
The name is hidden where Adrian will remember the last day we were still a family.
Adrian stared at the words.
“I know where.”
“Where?”
“My father's house.”
Marco immediately objected.
“Victor controls the property now.”
“Then he'll expect us.”
“Yes.”
Adrian looked at Charlotte.
“You stay here.”
She laughed.
“No.”
“This isn't your fight.”
“My father's handwriting is on that box.”
“That doesn't make it safe.”
“I kissed you with two men watching us in an alley.”
“I remember.”
“Good. Then stop expecting me to hide.”
Adrian stepped closer.
“This isn't bravery anymore.”
“What is it?”
“Danger.”
Charlotte held his gaze.
“Then don't go alone.”
For several seconds, neither moved.
Finally Adrian said, “You are the most difficult woman I've met.”
“You've known me less than a day.”
“It's been a very educational day.”
Despite everything, Charlotte smiled.
They left an hour later.
Adrian's father's former estate stood outside the city.
The house had been empty for years.
Inside, dust covered everything.
Adrian led Charlotte upstairs.
“The last day we were still a family was my father's birthday.”
He opened a study.
An old chessboard sat on a table.
Adrian stopped.
“Elena beat me here.”
Charlotte examined the pieces.
One black king had a scratch underneath it.
An E.
“Elena,” Charlotte whispered.
Adrian lifted the piece.
Something rattled.
He unscrewed the base.
A tiny memory card fell into his palm.
Charlotte stared.
“Five years.”
Adrian inserted it into Marco's laptop.
One video file appeared.
Elena filled the screen.
She looked frightened.
“If you're watching this, Adrian, I failed.”
Adrian stopped breathing.
Elena continued.
“Victor isn't the person you should fear most.”
She looked away from the camera.
“The person helping him has access to your home, your schedule, your accounts.”
Charlotte looked toward Marco.
Adrian remained motionless.
Elena leaned closer.
“His name is—”
The screen went black.
“File corrupted,” Marco said.
Then a floorboard creaked upstairs.
Everyone froze.
They weren't alone.
A voice came from the hallway.
“Adrian?”
Adrian's face drained of color.
Charlotte had never heard the voice before.
But Adrian had.
He whispered one name.
May you like
“Elena?”
The study door slowly began to open.
