Chapter 2 - The Woman Who Was Dead
Conrad read the signature twice.
Vivienne Harwick.
His aunt.
His father's younger sister.
Dead eleven years.
At least according to the grave Conrad visited every November.
Fay reached for the letter.
“Give it back.”
He lifted his eyes.
“Where did you get this?”
“In the first dress box.”
“And you didn't tell me?”
“I thought it was some horrible joke.”
“What does the rest say?”
“You read enough.”
“No.”
“Conrad.”
He unfolded it.
Fay turned away.
The letter was short.
Fay—
You may carry the Harwick name, but don't mistake paperwork for belonging. Conrad requires a woman who can stand beside him without becoming a joke. Return the dresses. Save yourself the humiliation.
V.
Conrad's face showed nothing.
That frightened Fay more than anger would have.
“Every box?”
“No.”
“Which ones?”
“The first. Third. And today's.”
“Show me.”
“I threw the others away.”
“Today's.”
She pointed toward the vanity.
Conrad opened the drawer.
Another card waited inside.
This one contained only a sentence.
He will eventually understand why everyone is staring.
Conrad closed his eyes.
For one second.
When he opened them again, something colder had replaced the confusion.
“Who has access to deliveries?”
“Half your staff.”
“Not anymore.”
“Don't start firing people.”
“Someone is entering my home.”
“Our home.”
His gaze shifted toward her.
Fay folded her arms.
“It's our home when someone insults me, apparently.”
He deserved that.
He knew it.
He hated knowing it.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
Fay looked at the dresses scattered across the room.
“Because I believed them.”
The answer landed harder than accusation.
Conrad said nothing.
She picked up the red gown.
“When I married you, I knew what people thought.”
“I don't care what people think.”
“I do when they're looking at me.”
“Why?”
“Because I'm human.”
He almost responded.
Stopped.
Fay continued.
“I walked into your first charity dinner and heard two women wondering whether your marriage was punishment for something.”
His jaw hardened.
“Names.”
“No.”
“Fay.”
“No.”
“One of these days you're going to stop protecting people who hurt you.”
“One of these days you're going to understand that destroying everyone who hurts me doesn't make me feel safe.”
That stopped him.
She placed the gown across a chair.
“You sent me dresses in sizes I haven't worn since I was twenty-eight.”
“I gave my assistant your measurements.”
“Which measurements?”
Conrad frowned.
He didn't know.
That was the problem.
He had delegated kindness.
He had treated affection like procurement.
Select item.
Approve invoice.
Arrange delivery.
Problem solved.
Except Fay had never been a problem.
He looked around.
Some dresses had seams pulled apart where she had tried them.
One had a zipper that clearly never closed.
Another had been carefully repaired.
“You tried all of them?”
She laughed softly.
“What did you think I did?”
“I thought you opened the boxes and returned them.”
“No. I tried.”
Her voice became smaller.
“Every single time.”
Conrad imagined her alone in this room.
Pulling expensive fabric over her body.
Finding another anonymous note.
Standing before the mirror.
Believing someone who wanted her humiliated.
Something in him twisted.
He picked up his phone.
Fay caught his wrist.
“Don't.”
“I need to make a call.”
“To whom?”
“Security.”
“Conrad, please.”
He looked at her hand around his wrist.
Fay released him.
“Someone knows what gets delivered here,” he said. “Someone knows enough about my family to use Vivienne's name.”
“Maybe Vivienne isn't dead.”
“She is.”
“You sound certain.”
“I saw her body.”
Fay went still.
Conrad rarely discussed his family.
His father had built the Harwick organization from trucking contracts, union relationships, and businesses that blurred lines respectable people pretended were bright.
Vivienne had been different.
Educated.
Elegant.
Dangerous in quieter ways.
She had controlled the family's legitimate companies.
Then one night her car went through a guardrail outside Lake Geneva.
Conrad had identified her body.
He remembered the silver bracelet.
The burn on her left hand.
The small cross at her throat.
“She died,” he said.
“Then someone wants you to think she didn't.”
His phone vibrated.
A message from Luca, his security chief.
Need you downstairs. Now.
Conrad typed back.
Why?
A photograph appeared.
It showed the townhouse service entrance.
Timestamp: 10:42 p.m.
A woman in a dark coat stood beside the delivery door.
Her face was turned from the camera.
But one detail was visible.
A silver bracelet.
Conrad enlarged the image.
His pulse changed.
Fay saw his expression.
“What?”
“Stay here.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Fay.”
“You kicked down my door thirty seconds after I told you to leave me alone. You've used up your authority for tonight.”
Despite everything, Conrad nearly smiled.
Nearly.
They went downstairs together.
Luca waited in the security room.
A former detective, he had worked for Conrad long enough to know when explanations should be brief.
“Camera caught her twenty minutes before you came upstairs.”
“How'd she get through the gate?”
“That's the problem.”
Luca pulled up another feed.
The gate never opened.
The woman appeared first near the kitchen entrance.
As though she had already been inside the property.
Fay leaned closer.
“Can you see her face?”
Luca changed cameras.
Kitchen.
Hall.
Service corridor.
The woman moved deliberately, avoiding every clear angle.
Then she stopped.
Looked directly toward a camera.
And raised one hand.
A silver bracelet flashed.
Conrad whispered, “No.”
Fay looked at him.
“What?”
“That bracelet.”
“You recognize it?”
He didn't answer.
The video continued.
The woman approached the camera.
Her face almost entered view.
Then the feed went black.
Luca said, “Someone disabled six cameras for exactly ninety-three seconds.”
“Inside access.”
“Yes.”
A sound came from the hallway.
Three knocks.
Everyone froze.
Not the front door.
The study.
Conrad turned.
Nobody should have been inside the study.
Luca drew his weapon.
Conrad moved first.
Fay followed despite his glare.
The study door stood closed.
Three more knocks sounded from inside.
Conrad reached for the handle.
It turned before he touched it.
May you like
The door began opening.
And from the darkness inside, a woman's voice said his childhood name.
