Chapter 4 - The Debt Was Never the Reason
Fay read the message twice.
Then she handed it to Conrad.
He didn't pretend not to understand.
That hurt more than the words.
“You know something.”
“Not here.”
“You know.”
“Fay.”
She stepped away from him.
Music continued.
Guests laughed.
Waiters moved through the room.
Suddenly every polished surface felt false.
“What did my mother steal?”
Conrad lowered his voice.
“I don't know.”
“But you knew this marriage wasn't only about Dad's debt.”
“Yes.”
Fay stared at him.
Eight months.
Eight months of believing she understood the bargain.
Maybe cold.
Maybe transactional.
But honest.
“You lied.”
“I withheld something.”
She laughed once.
“That is the most Conrad Harwick sentence you've ever said.”
He took her elbow.
She pulled free.
“Don't touch me.”
His hand dropped.
“Your mother worked for my aunt.”
Fay froze.
“My mother ran a diner.”
“Before that.”
“My mother died when I was nineteen.”
“I know.”
“What did she do for Vivienne?”
“Accounting.”
Fay's stomach tightened.
Her mother, Kathleen Donahue, had hated numbers.
At least Fay thought she had.
Conrad continued.
“Vivienne discovered money moving through several Harwick companies. She believed my father was hiding assets.”
“And my mother?”
“Helped her document them.”
“Why didn't anyone tell me?”
“Because after Vivienne died, your mother disappeared from Chicago for almost a year.”
“She went to Wisconsin.”
“That's what she told you.”
Fay stepped back.
“What are you saying?”
“I'm saying there are gaps.”
“And you married me to fill them?”
“At first.”
The honesty cut.
“At first?”
Conrad looked at her.
Something unspoken moved between them.
Fay refused to let it soften her.
“You used me.”
“Yes.”
“Did my father know?”
“No.”
“Did you?”
“I knew Kathleen had left something behind. I believed marrying you might bring whoever had it into the open.”
“And congratulations. It worked.”
“Fay—”
She turned.
Across the ballroom, the balcony doors moved.
Fay ran.
Conrad followed.
They reached the balcony.
Empty.
But a clutch purse rested beside the railing.
Inside was Mallory's identification.
And blood.
“Conrad.”
He immediately called Luca.
Within minutes, security locked down the hotel.
No Mallory.
No woman.
Only another message.
This one tucked inside Mallory's wallet.
SHE KNOWS WHERE KATHLEEN'S BOOK IS.
Conrad stared at it.
Fay said, “Who?”
He looked at her.
“You.”
“I don't.”
“Maybe you do without knowing.”
Fay thought of her mother's belongings.
Most remained in storage above the old diner.
Boxes she had never opened.
They left the fundraiser.
At the diner, Fay unlocked the back door.
The building had been closed since her marriage.
Conrad's men searched first.
Clear.
Fay climbed the narrow stairs.
Dust covered everything.
Her mother's boxes waited exactly where Fay remembered.
Christmas decorations.
Tax records.
Recipes.
Photographs.
Conrad watched her open one after another.
Nothing.
Then Fay found her mother's recipe book.
Old.
Grease-stained.
Blue cloth cover.
She smiled despite herself.
“Mom wrote everything in here.”
Conrad opened it.
Recipes.
Measurements.
Notes.
Then numbers.
Pages of them.
Bank accounts.
Dates.
Initials.
Conrad went still.
“This is it.”
Fay stared.
“My mother hid financial records inside recipes?”
“She was smarter than everyone thought.”
“She was smarter than I thought.”
A photograph slipped from the book.
Kathleen stood beside Vivienne.
Alive.
Smiling.
Between them was a young Conrad.
On the back:
IF ANYTHING HAPPENS, FAY GETS THE BOOK.
Fay sank onto a chair.
“My mother knew you.”
“Yes.”
“You knew her.”
“When I was young.”
“And you never told me.”
“I hadn't seen that photograph.”
“But you recognized her name.”
“Yes.”
Fay closed her eyes.
“How much of my life did you investigate before marrying me?”
Conrad didn't answer quickly enough.
“All of it?”
“I had to know who I was bringing into my family.”
“I wasn't entering your family, Conrad. I was becoming your wife.”
“I know that now.”
“Do you?”
His phone rang.
Luca.
Conrad answered.
“What?”
A pause.
His expression changed.
“Where?”
Another pause.
“We're coming.”
He hung up.
“They found Mallory.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Your father's house.”
Fay frowned.
Her father had moved to Florida after the wedding.
The house was empty.
They arrived twenty minutes later.
The front door stood open.
Mallory sat in the dining room.
Alive.
Untouched.
Terrified.
She looked at Fay.
“I didn't write those notes.”
Conrad stepped forward.
“Who did?”
Mallory began crying.
“She said she wanted Fay to hate you.”
“Who?”
“She never gave me her real name.”
Conrad put the photograph of Vivienne on the table.
Mallory recoiled.
“Her?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
Mallory pointed toward Fay.
“She looks like her.”
Silence.
Fay whispered, “Like me?”
Mallory nodded.
“She said you'd understand when you saw her face.”
A floorboard creaked upstairs.
Conrad turned.
Luca drew his weapon.
Another creak.
Someone was walking toward the staircase.
Fay stared upward.
A woman's shadow appeared against the wall.
Then a voice said, “Fay?”
May you like
Fay stopped breathing.
Because the voice sounded exactly like her mother.
