Chapter 2 - The Man Beside the Car
For several seconds, I forgot Garrett was watching me.
Christopher's face filled my screen.
The photograph was grainy, probably taken from a distance, but there was no mistaking him.
“What was my husband doing with you?”
“Ex-husband,” Garrett corrected quietly.
I looked up sharply.
“Answer me.”
Garrett stared at the photograph.
“I don't remember seeing him that night.”
“You know him.”
“I know who he is.”
“That isn't what I asked.”
He rubbed one hand over his face.
Eight months of pain had carved itself into him in ways photographs didn't show.
“I met Christopher Miller twice through ApexBio.”
“Before your accident?”
“Yes.”
“What about the night of your accident?”
“I don't know.”
I hated that answer.
For twelve years, I'd heard versions of it.
I don't know why I'm late.
I don't know why Brenda texted.
I don't know what you want me to say.
“I need the truth, Garrett.”
“So do I.”
He explained that the last ninety minutes before the crash were fragmented.
He remembered leaving a private business dinner.
He remembered driving.
He remembered rain beginning to hit the windshield.
Then nothing until the hospital.
Investigators had concluded he'd lost control on a curve.
No second vehicle had been identified.
“Why would Christopher be there?”
Garrett shook his head.
“ApexBio wanted our neural rehabilitation division. I refused.”
“And Christopher?”
“He worked under one of their senior acquisition directors.”
My stomach sank.
Christopher had told me his promotions came from “operations restructuring.”
I had never asked what that meant.
Garrett reached toward my phone.
“Send that picture to yourself somewhere safe.”
“I already have it.”
His eyebrow lifted.
“Caregiver habit?”
“Divorced-woman habit.”
For the first time, something almost like amusement touched his face.
It disappeared quickly.
The next morning, I behaved as though nothing had happened.
Garrett did the same.
At breakfast, Douglas talked about the company's quarterly report.
Gertrude asked whether Garrett had slept well.
Evelyn watched everyone.
When I wheeled Garrett toward the library, she followed me.
“Rebecca.”
I stopped.
Evelyn glanced toward the staircase.
“May I speak to you?”
Garrett looked at his mother.
Something unspoken passed between them.
I followed her into a small sitting room.
She closed the door.
“You received a message last night.”
My pulse quickened.
“How would you know?”
“I saw your face this morning.”
That answer was too simple.
“You're observant.”
“I've spent forty-six years raising two sons who believe they can lie to me.”
She sat.
“Garrett trusts you.”
“He told me he doesn't.”
“That means he does.”
I remained standing.
Evelyn looked suddenly older.
“Something happened to my family after the accident. Douglas became obsessed with the company. Gertrude began controlling who could see Garrett. And Garrett stopped telling me anything.”
“Why?”
“I think he's protecting me.”
“From whom?”
Evelyn looked toward the closed door.
“My other son.”
That afternoon, Garrett's physical therapist arrived.
His name was Marcus Hale.
Douglas accompanied him upstairs.
I immediately disliked that.
During the session, Garrett performed exactly as his family expected.
Minimal movement.
Limited response.
When Marcus asked him to attempt dorsiflexion, Garrett barely moved.
But I knew what he could do.
Marcus knew too.
I saw it in his eyes.
Afterward, while Douglas took a call, Marcus passed me in the hallway.
Without looking at me, he whispered:
“Laundry room. Five minutes.”
I waited seven.
Then I went downstairs.
Marcus stood beside the washing machine.
“His recovery is further along.”
“I know.”
His eyes snapped toward me.
“He showed you?”
“Yes.”
Marcus exhaled.
“Then we're running out of time.”
“For what?”
He handed me a folded sheet.
It was a rehabilitation assessment.
Garrett's name.
Six weeks earlier.
RIGHT LOWER EXTREMITY: VOLUNTARY MOTOR RESPONSE OBSERVED.
Someone had crossed out the sentence.
Below it was a second signature.
Douglas Corbin.
“He altered a medical record?”
“It's a photocopy. I don't know who altered the original.”
“Why keep this?”
“Because two days after I wrote it, I was told not to return.”
“But you're here.”
“Garrett's mother insisted.”
A door slammed upstairs.
Marcus lowered his voice.
“Rebecca, his accident wasn't the first strange thing.”
“What do you mean?”
“Three months before the crash, Garrett ordered an internal audit.”
“Of what?”
Marcus hesitated.
“I don't know. But afterward he told me that if anything happened to him, I should never assume Douglas was protecting the company.”
Footsteps approached.
Marcus left through the service corridor.
I folded the paper into my pocket.
That evening, I entered Garrett's room.
“I talked to Marcus.”
Garrett looked irritated.
“I told him not to involve you.”
“People keep deciding things for me. I'm getting tired of it.”
He studied me.
I showed him the assessment.
Garrett closed his eyes.
“So Douglas knew.”
“Apparently.”
He opened them.
“There was an internal audit.”
“I heard.”
His expression changed.
“Marcus told you?”
“Yes.”
Garrett wheeled himself toward a cabinet.
“Eight months ago, I found irregular payments from Corbin Medical to three consulting firms.”
“How much?”
“Just over fourteen million dollars.”
I stared.
“Where did it go?”
“I was trying to find out.”
“And then you crashed.”
“Yes.”
I thought about Christopher beside Garrett's car.
“Was ApexBio involved?”
“I suspected one consulting firm had ties to them.”
Garrett opened the cabinet.
Inside was a small safe.
He entered a code.
Empty.
His face went still.
“What was supposed to be there?”
“A flash drive.”
“When did you last see it?”
“Before the accident.”
“Who knew?”
“No one.”
He looked at me.
“Except Douglas.”
A knock came.
Gertrude entered without waiting.
“I hope I'm not interrupting.”
“You are,” Garrett said.
Her eyes moved between us.
Then to the open safe.
For half a second, her expression changed.
Fear.
Not surprise.
Fear.
“I came to tell you Douglas has arranged a board meeting tomorrow.”
Garrett's jaw tightened.
“About what?”
“Your future.”
She smiled carefully.
“Professionally.”
After she left, Garrett whispered, “They're moving faster.”
“So should we.”
The next morning, I went downstairs before sunrise.
Someone was already in the kitchen.
Douglas.
He poured coffee.
“Couldn't sleep?”
“New house.”
He nodded.
“You're doing good work with Garrett.”
“Thank you.”
“Thirty-five thousand a month is generous.”
There it was.
Not a compliment.
A warning.
“I didn't set the salary.”
“My mother did.”
He took a sip.
“You were recently divorced.”
I met his eyes.
“How do you know that?”
“We vet employees.”
“Caregivers aren't usually interrogated about their marriages.”
“This isn't a usual household.”
He stepped closer.
“If Garrett tells you strange things, remember he's been through trauma.”
“Are you saying he's confused?”
“I'm saying recovery isn't always mental as well as physical.”
I smiled politely.
“I'll keep that in mind.”
As I turned away, Douglas said:
“Christopher made the same mistake.”
I stopped.
Slowly, I looked back.
“What mistake?”
Douglas seemed to realize he'd said too much.
He set down his cup.
“Trusting Garrett.”
My heart pounded.
“You know my ex-husband.”
“I know many people.”
I walked away before anger betrayed me.
At 10:14 a.m., my phone rang.
Christopher.
I hadn't spoken to him since the divorce paperwork.
I answered.
“Rebecca?”
His voice sounded frightened.
“How did you get this number?”
“Please listen. Are you working for Garrett Corbin?”
I said nothing.
Christopher inhaled sharply.
“You need to leave that house.”
“Why?”
“Because Garrett isn't the only person lying to you.”
“Were you with him the night of his accident?”
Silence.
“Christopher?”
“Yes.”
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“Why?”
“I can't explain over the phone.”
“Try.”
“I was supposed to give him something.”
“What?”
“A file.”
My breath caught.
“About Douglas?”
Christopher went silent again.
Then he whispered:
“Rebecca, I wasn't having an affair with Brenda when you found those messages.”
I almost laughed.
“I saw them.”
“I know.”
“You admitted it.”
“Because the truth was worse.”
My skin went cold.
“What truth?”
A sound came from his end.
A door opening.
Christopher whispered my name.
Then the call disconnected.
A second later, a text appeared.
One address.
One time.
May you like
And four words:
COME ALONE. GARRETT CAN'T KNOW.
