Chapter 3 - The Name Nobody Used
“Connie.”
Conrad stopped breathing.
Nobody called him that.
Nobody living.
The door opened another inch.
Luca raised his gun.
“Come out.”
Silence.
Conrad pushed past him and entered.
Empty.
The windows were locked.
No person stood behind the desk or curtains.
But something rested on Conrad's chair.
A photograph.
He approached slowly.
Fay remained in the doorway.
The photograph showed Conrad at nine years old beside Vivienne.
She had one arm around him.
He was smiling.
Conrad Harwick almost never smiled in childhood photographs.
On the back were five words.
ASK HIM ABOUT THE FIRE.
Fay read them over his shoulder.
“Who?”
Conrad knew.
His father.
Victor Harwick had died three years earlier.
Or so the world believed.
Conrad suddenly questioned everything.
Over the following forty-eight hours, the townhouse transformed.
Security doubled.
Deliveries stopped.
Employees were interviewed.
Conrad slept little.
Fay slept less.
Yet the most dangerous change was quieter.
Conrad began watching his wife differently.
He noticed when she tugged at her clothes before entering a room.
When she positioned herself behind chairs in photographs.
When she refused dessert if strangers were nearby, then ate leftover pie standing barefoot in the kitchen at midnight.
He noticed how often she apologized for taking up space.
And once he noticed, he couldn't stop.
On Saturday morning, he found her making pancakes.
“You have a cook.”
“I also have hands.”
“You're supposed to be resting.”
“From what?”
“Everything.”
She looked at him.
“That sounds terrible.”
He leaned against the counter.
“Come with me.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere.”
“That explanation might work on your employees.”
“Please.”
Fay blinked.
Conrad rarely said please.
Twenty minutes later, his car stopped outside a small tailor's studio in Lincoln Park.
No marble.
No champagne.
No intimidating employees.
A handwritten sign read ROSA'S ALTERATIONS.
Fay stared.
“What is this?”
“A mistake I'm correcting.”
Inside waited Rosa Alvarez, sixty-eight, five feet tall, wearing measuring tape around her neck.
She looked Conrad up and down.
“You're late.”
Fay nearly choked.
Conrad said, “Three minutes.”
“Late is late.”
Rosa turned to Fay.
“You must be the wife.”
“Apparently.”
“I like her already.”
For the first time in days, Fay laughed.
Rosa didn't bring out a gown.
She brought fabric.
She asked Fay what she liked.
Not Conrad.
Fay.
“What makes you comfortable?”
“I don't know.”
“Then we'll find out.”
For two hours, Conrad sat in a chair while Fay chose fabrics, necklines, sleeves.
At first she kept looking toward him.
Eventually she stopped.
That mattered.
When they left, Fay was quiet.
“Why?” she finally asked.
“Why what?”
“Why did you do that?”
“Because I kept buying dresses for a woman who existed in my head instead of asking my actual wife what she wanted.”
Fay looked at him.
“That almost sounded emotionally intelligent.”
“Don't spread it around.”
She smiled.
A real one.
Conrad felt absurdly victorious.
Then his phone rang.
Luca.
“We found the delivery leak.”
Conrad's smile vanished.
“Who?”
“Your assistant, Mallory.”
Fay heard.
Her face fell.
Mallory had handled Conrad's household purchases for five years.
“Where is she?”
“Missing.”
“When?”
“Since last night.”
“Find her.”
“We found something else.”
Luca sent a document.
Conrad opened it.
Bank transfers.
Mallory had received payments for months.
The sender was V.H. Holdings.
Vivienne Harwick.
Fay stared.
“That's impossible.”
Conrad scrolled.
Then stopped.
One payment had a memo.
FUNDRAISER — PHASE TWO.
The fundraiser was tomorrow.
Conrad called the foundation chairman.
“Cancel it.”
Fay grabbed his phone.
“No.”
He stared at her.
She ended the call before it connected.
“Have you lost your mind?”
“Probably. Eight months married to you.”
“Someone is targeting you.”
“Then hiding gives them what they want.”
“I don't care.”
“I do.”
“Fay—”
“No. Tomorrow I walk into that ballroom.”
“Why?”
Her eyes held his.
“Because I'm tired of disappearing before anyone actually asks me to.”
Conrad had no answer.
The next evening, Rosa personally delivered Fay's gown.
Deep wine-colored silk.
Structured perfectly for her body.
No attempt to make her smaller.
No attempt to hide her.
Fay stared at herself.
Then she cried.
Rosa hugged her.
Conrad pretended to examine his cufflinks until he could trust his face.
At eight, they entered the fundraiser together.
Conversation dipped.
Fay felt it.
Her fingers tightened around Conrad's arm.
He covered her hand.
“Don't.”
“Don't what?”
“Shrink.”
She looked up.
“You belong exactly where you're standing.”
Fay's eyes glistened.
Then applause began.
Not universal.
Not immediate.
But real.
Fay exhaled.
Across the ballroom, a waiter approached.
He carried champagne.
And an envelope.
“Mrs. Harwick?”
Fay accepted it.
“Who sent this?”
The waiter pointed toward the balcony.
A woman stood there.
Silver bracelet.
Fay looked down at the envelope.
Her name was written across it.
Inside was one sentence.
YOUR HUSBAND DIDN'T MARRY YOU TO SAVE YOUR FATHER.
Fay lifted her head.
The balcony was empty.
May you like
Then she saw the second line.
HE MARRIED YOU BECAUSE OF WHAT YOUR MOTHER STOLE.
