Chapter 3 - The Photograph Before Midnight
Robert took the phone from my hand.
“What is this?”
Susan reached for it.
He pulled it away.
“No.”
I'd never heard him speak to her that way.
Nathaniel tried to sit up.
The monitor protested.
I put a hand against his shoulder.
“Stay down.”
“Hannah, listen—”
“I've been listening for eight years.”
Robert enlarged the photograph.
Susan.
Nathaniel.
Khloe.
Inside the apartment.
On a table behind them sat several folders.
Not wine glasses.
Not candles.
Documents.
I zoomed in.
One folder carried the Turner Development logo.
Another had a bank name.
A third contained my name.
HANNAH TURNER.
My anger changed shape.
This wasn't simply an affair.
Maybe there was an affair.
Maybe there wasn't.
But something else had been happening.
“Why is my name on that file?”
Nathaniel looked at Susan.
She shook her head.
That tiny gesture told me everything.
They were still coordinating.
“Stop.”
My voice wasn't loud.
It didn't need to be.
Susan froze.
“No more signals. No more protecting each other.”
Robert looked devastated.
“What is going on?”
Susan sat down.
Nathaniel closed his eyes.
Finally Susan spoke.
“Three months ago, Nate discovered irregularities in the company accounts.”
Robert frowned.
“What irregularities?”
“Transfers.”
“How much?”
She didn't answer.
I did.
“Enough to need my name?”
Susan looked at me.
“Your name wasn't supposed to be involved.”
“Yet it was.”
Nathaniel whispered, “I used your information.”
The room went silent.
“For what?”
“A holding company.”
My stomach dropped.
“You forged my signature?”
“I thought I could fix it.”
“That wasn't my question.”
“Yes.”
Robert swore under his breath.
Susan started crying.
I felt strangely calm.
“How much?”
Nathaniel looked away.
“How much, Nate?”
“Two-point-four million.”
Robert nearly fell back into the chair.
I stared at my husband.
“You moved $2.4 million through a company using my identity?”
“I didn't steal it.”
“Then where did it come from?”
“Investors.”
“And where is it now?”
“I don't know.”
That was when Khloe returned.
She stood outside the ICU room.
Still wearing the navy pajamas.
But now she was holding a laptop.
“I do.”
Everyone turned.
Susan stood.
“You need to leave.”
Khloe looked at me.
“No. I should have told her months ago.”
“Khloe.”
“Stop threatening me.”
Robert stared at his wife.
“Threatening her?”
Khloe entered.
Her hands shook.
She put the laptop on the rolling tray.
“Nate hired me because I found something at Turner Development.”
Nathaniel whispered, “Khloe.”
She ignored him.
“I wasn't originally his assistant.”
I looked at her.
“What were you?”
“Junior accounting analyst.”
Susan's face hardened.
Khloe continued.
“I found transfers routed through shell entities. One of them was registered using your information.”
She looked at me.
“I confronted Nate.”
“And?”
“He said he was investigating.”
Nathaniel nodded.
“I was.”
“Why hide it from me?”
“Because whoever was moving the money had access to our house.”
I stopped.
“Our house?”
“Your Social Security information. Tax records. Signature samples.”
My mind raced.
Those weren't at Turner Development.
They were in our home office.
“So you thought someone close to us was involved.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
He looked at his mother.
Susan stood.
“Don't you dare.”
Robert turned toward her.
“Susan?”
She shook her head.
“You don't understand.”
Nathaniel whispered, “Dad, she took the files.”
Robert stared at his wife.
“What files?”
Susan backed toward the door.
Khloe opened the laptop.
“I copied everything.”
A spreadsheet appeared.
Transfers.
Dates.
Account numbers.
Corporate entities.
Then names.
My name.
Nathaniel's.
Susan's.
And another name I didn't recognize.
EDWARD VALE.
“Who's Edward Vale?”
No one answered.
Khloe clicked another folder.
Security footage appeared.
Our house.
My home office.
Timestamped six months earlier.
A figure entered.
Not Nathaniel.
Not Susan.
A man.
He opened my filing cabinet using a key.
Robert leaned closer.
The man turned toward the camera.
Robert's face drained of color.
“No.”
I looked at him.
“You know him?”
He sat down.
“That man died twelve years ago.”
Susan began moving toward the door.
I blocked her.
“Who is he?”
Robert looked at Susan.
Then at Nathaniel.
Finally at me.
“My brother.”
I stared at him.
“You told me your brother died.”
“We thought he did.”
Khloe clicked another file.
“This recording was made three weeks ago.”
Edward Vale entered Turner Development after midnight.
He met Susan.
Robert covered his mouth.
The video had no sound.
But Susan handed Edward an envelope.
He handed her a key.
Nathaniel whispered, “That's why I went to Khloe's apartment. She had the copy.”
I looked at the pajamas.
“And those?”
Khloe flushed.
“Nate got sick. He vomited on me. I changed into clothes he kept in his emergency gym bag.”
It was plausible.
Not proven.
But plausible.
“Why did you wait to call 911?”
Khloe began crying.
“I didn't.”
I stared at her.
“The call was at 3:08.”
“Yes.”
“He was sick before two.”
“Yes.”
“Then why—”
“Because someone took my phone.”
Silence.
“Who?”
Khloe looked at Susan.
Susan whispered, “Don't.”
Khloe reached into the pocket of the navy pajamas.
She removed a tiny USB drive.
“Nate didn't collapse naturally.”
I looked at Nathaniel.
Then at her.
“What are you saying?”
Khloe plugged the drive into the laptop.
A video file appeared.
The timestamp read 1:31 A.M.
Khloe pressed play.
Nathaniel stood in her kitchen drinking from a glass of water.
A figure entered behind him.
The person's face remained outside the camera frame.
May you like
A hand reached toward Nathaniel's glass.
And dropped something inside.
