Chapter 4 - The Woman Who Was Supposed to Be Gone
The woman in the photograph stepped out of the bedroom and whispered:
“Lock the door.”
I didn't move.
She did.
She crossed the apartment quickly, pushed the door shut, turned the deadbolt, and slid a security chain into place.
Then she looked through the peephole.
“Rebecca?”
Her eyes closed.
Just for a second.
“Yes.”
I stared at her.
Eight years had changed her.
Her dark hair was shorter now, falling just below her jaw. Fine lines showed around her eyes. She looked thinner than the woman standing beside Grant in the photograph.
But it was her.
Rebecca Sloan.
The woman Richard believed had disappeared.
The woman Grant claimed had contacted him eleven months ago.
The woman who had apparently known my name before I knew hers.
“You're alive.”
Rebecca gave me a strange look.
“I've been alive the whole time.”
“Richard said—”
“I know what Richard says.”
“Grant said you disappeared.”
“I know what Grant says too.”
I glanced toward the metal lockbox.
“What is this?”
Rebecca's eyes followed mine.
“Insurance.”
“Against Grant?”
“Against Hayes Meridian.”
“That isn't an answer.”
“It will be.”
I stood.
My knees felt weak, but I refused to let her see it.
“Where's Ethan?”
Rebecca's expression changed.
“He contacted you?”
“He called me.”
“When?”
“Less than half an hour ago.”
“What did he say?”
“That he wasn't safe.”
Rebecca went pale.
“Did he tell you where he was?”
“No.”
She pulled out her phone.
Called.
Waited.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
“Damn it.”
“Rebecca.”
She ignored me and typed rapidly.
I stepped closer.
“Rebecca.”
Her head snapped up.
“I came here because your brother told me you left something for me. My husband's signature is on documents I never authorized. My name is attached to more than six million dollars in liabilities. His father hid a photograph of you inside a folder, and now I'm standing in an apartment with a woman everyone apparently thinks vanished eight years ago.”
I took a breath.
“So start talking.”
Rebecca studied me.
Then she looked toward the lockbox.
“Do you have the folder?”
I lifted it.
Her shoulders relaxed slightly.
“Good.”
“Why?”
“Because Vanessa got it out.”
“You know Vanessa?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“She contacted me three months ago.”
Every answer created another question.
“Why?”
“Because she found irregularities.”
“What kind?”
“Your name.”
My stomach tightened.
Rebecca walked toward the kitchen table and turned on a small lamp.
The apartment looked worse in the light.
The overturned furniture wasn't random.
Someone had searched the place.
Drawers had been emptied.
A sofa cushion had been cut open.
“Who did this?”
“I don't know.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Because whoever did it didn't find what they wanted.”
She pointed at the lockbox.
I looked at the tape bearing my name.
“You hid that?”
“Ethan did.”
“Why my name?”
“Because he was told that if anything happened to me, you were the only person who could safely open it.”
I stared at her.
“You've never met me.”
“No.”
“Then why would you trust me?”
Rebecca's mouth tightened.
“I don't.”
That answer surprised me.
“Then who does?”
“Your grandmother did.”
I stopped breathing.
“My grandmother died five years ago.”
“I know.”
“How did you know her?”
Rebecca pulled out a chair.
“Sit down.”
“No.”
“Claire.”
“Don't tell me to sit down. Tell me why you knew Evelyn Carter.”
Rebecca stared at me for a moment.
Then she spoke.
“Because your grandmother was one of the original investors in Hayes Meridian.”
I almost laughed.
“That isn't possible.”
“It is.”
“She was a school librarian.”
“She was also very good with money.”
“No.”
“She inherited property in Brooklyn from her father. She sold it in the late eighties and invested part of the proceeds.”
“In Richard's company?”
“In what became Richard's company.”
I shook my head.
“My grandmother would have told me.”
“Maybe she tried.”
A memory came back.
Grandma Evelyn sitting at her kitchen table two months before she died.
Her hands trembling slightly as she pushed a blue envelope toward me.
There's something about the Hayes family you should understand.
I had laughed.
Grant and I were newly married.
I thought she was being protective.
I had kissed her cheek and told her Richard wasn't Grant.
I never opened the envelope.
After she died, my mother packed the apartment.
I never saw it again.
Rebecca watched my face.
“You remember something.”
“Keep talking.”
She nodded.
“Your grandmother invested $60,000 when Richard was almost broke. Not as a loan. Equity.”
“How much?”
“Twelve percent.”
I stared at her.
“Of Hayes Meridian?”
“Of its predecessor.”
“That would be worth—”
“A lot.”
My voice disappeared.
“Did she sell?”
“No.”
“Then where are the shares?”
“That is one of the things inside the box.”
I looked down.
The metal suddenly seemed heavier.
“Why would you have documents belonging to my grandmother?”
“Because she hired me.”
I stared at Rebecca.
“You worked for her?”
“I was finishing law school when I met her.”
“You're an attorney?”
“I was supposed to be.”
“What happened?”
She laughed without humor.
“Grant Hayes happened.”
I flinched.
Rebecca saw it.
“I'm sorry.”
“No, you're not.”
“No. I'm not.”
At least she was honest.
She sat down.
“Eight years ago, I discovered that Richard had quietly diluted several early investors through restructuring. Most were dead. Some had accepted settlements. Your grandmother hadn't.”
“And Grant?”
“He helped me investigate.”
That wasn't what I expected.
“Helped you?”
“Yes.”
“He knew?”
“Not at first.”
Rebecca's expression softened despite herself.
“He hated his father's way of doing business back then. Grant wanted to build something different.”
I almost smiled.
That sounded like the man I had married.
“What changed?”
“Fear.”
“Of Richard?”
“Of failure.”
Rebecca looked toward the window.
“Grant's first independent project was collapsing. He owed money everywhere. Richard offered to rescue him if he stopped helping me.”
My grandmother's $38,000 flashed through my mind.
The money I had given Grant.
The money he had cried when accepting.
“He didn't need Richard,” I whispered.
Rebecca looked at me.
“What?”
“I gave him money.”
“How much?”
“Thirty-eight thousand.”
Her face changed.
“When?”
“Seven years ago.”
“Claire, Richard paid Grant's creditors almost four hundred thousand dollars.”
I felt the room shift.
“No.”
“He took his father's deal.”
“But Grant told me—”
“I know what he told you.”
I pressed my hands against the table.
The lie felt different from everything else.
Not because of the amount.
Because I remembered that night.
Grant sitting on the floor of our apartment.
His face in his hands.
Me transferring nearly everything Grandma had left me.
He had looked at the confirmation screen and whispered:
You saved me.
Had he already been saved?
“What did he do to you?”
Rebecca's eyes hardened.
“He chose his father.”
“That's not disappearing.”
“No.”
“Then why did you leave?”
“Because I found something bigger.”
She looked at the lockbox.
“Your grandmother's ownership wasn't the only thing Richard had hidden.”
“What else?”
“An internal ledger.”
“Of what?”
“Payments.”
“To whom?”
“Inspectors. Officials. Consultants who didn't exist.”
My stomach tightened.
“Bribes?”
“Some.”
“And the rest?”
“Money moved through shell companies.”
“Where?”
Rebecca stared at me.
“Eventually? Into accounts connected to Grant.”
I shook my head.
“He wasn't running Hayes Meridian eight years ago.”
“He didn't have to be.”
“You're saying Grant stole money?”
“I'm saying someone made it look like he did.”
That stopped me.
“Richard?”
“I thought so.”
“Thought?”
Rebecca nodded.
“Until last year.”
The hotel photographs.
“Boston.”
“Yes.”
“You asked Grant for two million.”
“No.”
I stared.
“He said you did.”
“I asked him to bring two million dollars' worth of transaction records.”
My skin prickled.
“He made it sound like blackmail.”
“Of course he did.”
“Did you meet him?”
Rebecca looked away.
“Not exactly.”
“What does that mean?”
“I was in the room.”
My pulse accelerated.
“The photographs show him going inside.”
“I know.”
“He said you never showed.”
“I watched him enter.”
“Then why didn't he see you?”
“Because I wasn't alone.”
I waited.
Rebecca didn't continue.
“Who was with you?”
“Someone from Hayes Meridian.”
“Who?”
Before she answered, her phone buzzed.
She checked it.
Her face drained.
“What?”
“Ethan.”
“Is he okay?”
She showed me.
A text.
DON'T COME LOOKING FOR ME.
Rebecca immediately called.
Straight to voicemail.
“That's not how he texts.”
“What do you mean?”
“He uses punctuation.”
I stared at her.
“You're serious?”
“Ethan is fifteen and annoyingly precise. He wouldn't write that without a period.”
She called again.
Nothing.
I grabbed my phone.
“I'll call the police.”
Rebecca stopped me.
“No.”
“Your brother said he isn't safe.”
“And the last time I trusted the police, evidence disappeared.”
“Then what are we supposed to do?”
“Open the box.”
I stared at her.
“You said Ethan told me not to.”
“He said not yet because he thought someone was here.”
“You were here.”
“He didn't know that.”
Rebecca crouched beside the lockbox.
A keypad was embedded in the lid.
“What's the code?”
“I don't know.”
“It's your box.”
“Your grandmother chose the code.”
“She died before this box was here.”
“The contents were transferred into it later.”
“How am I supposed to know?”
Rebecca pointed at the photograph Richard had hidden.
“Date.”
I turned it over.
April 17.
“0417?”
“Try it.”
I entered the numbers.
Red light.
Wrong.
“Maybe year.”
Wrong.
“Your grandmother left instructions,” Rebecca said. “She said you'd understand.”
“I don't.”
“Think.”
I almost shouted at her.
Instead I looked at the tape.
CLAIRE HAYES.
Not Claire Carter.
Hayes.
Grandma had known I would marry Grant.
What number would she expect me to remember?
Then it came.
My wedding date.
June 12.
I entered it.
Green.
The lock clicked.
Rebecca and I looked at each other.
I opened the lid.
Inside were three folders.
A flash drive.
A handwritten ledger.
And a sealed blue envelope.
My heart stopped.
The same blue stationery my grandmother had used.
My name was written across it.
Claire.
I reached for it.
Rebecca touched my wrist.
“Maybe read the financial documents first.”
“No.”
“Claire, whatever she wrote—”
“I've spent all night letting other people decide what I should know.”
Rebecca released me.
I opened the envelope.
The paper smelled faintly old.
Grandma's handwriting covered two pages.
My darling Claire,
If you are reading this, then either I finally found the courage to tell you everything, or someone else found the courage after I was gone.
I swallowed.
Rebecca remained silent.
I continued.
Richard Hayes did not build his company alone. Years ago, I trusted him with money and, more foolishly, with friendship. I believed our agreement would protect both families. I was wrong.
I read faster.
There were references to shares.
Meetings.
Promises.
Then Grant's name appeared.
My heart tightened.
Grant does not know the whole truth about what Richard did. If you love him, remember that before judging him for his father's sins.
I stopped.
Rebecca leaned closer.
“What?”
I handed her the page.
She read.
Her eyebrows drew together.
“This doesn't make sense.”
“What?”
“She thought Grant didn't know.”
“Maybe he didn't.”
“By the time she wrote this, he did.”
“When did she write it?”
I checked the date.
Five years ago.
Two years into my marriage.
I continued.
There is another reason I have remained silent. Richard made me believe exposing the truth would destroy something more precious than money. I now believe silence may have been the greater mistake.
Below that was a name.
Rebecca Sloan.
I looked up.
Rebecca had gone completely still.
“She knew you.”
“Yes.”
“She says you tried to warn her.”
“I did.”
The letter continued.
If Rebecca ever returns, listen to her. But do not trust documents merely because they bear a Hayes signature. By then, signatures may be the most dangerous weapon they have.
My skin went cold.
At the bottom was a final instruction.
The original ownership agreement is not in this box. I placed it where Richard could never retrieve it without exposing what he had done.
There was no location.
Only three words.
Claire will know.
I stared.
“I don't know.”
Rebecca took the letter.
“There has to be something.”
My phone vibrated.
A message from Grant.
PLEASE TELL ME WHERE YOU ARE.
I ignored it.
Another.
MY FATHER IS LYING TO YOU.
Then Richard.
CLAIRE, DO NOT TRUST REBECCA.
I showed Rebecca.
She laughed bitterly.
“Of course.”
Then another message appeared.
Unknown number.
It was a photograph.
Ethan.
He was sitting in what looked like an office.
Alive.
A newspaper lay on the desk in front of him.
Today's date.
Rebecca grabbed my phone.
“Oh, thank God.”
Then she zoomed in.
Her relief vanished.
“What?”
She enlarged the background.
A framed photograph hung on the wall.
Hayes Meridian headquarters.
“This is inside the company.”
“How do you know?”
“I've been there.”
A message appeared beneath the photograph.
BRING THE BOX TO HAYES MERIDIAN. 9 A.M. COME ALONE.
Rebecca shook her head.
“No.”
“They have Ethan.”
“We don't know that.”
“He's inside their building.”
“Which has hundreds of employees.”
“At three in the morning?”
She had no answer.
I looked inside the lockbox again.
“What's on the flash drive?”
Rebecca plugged it into an old laptop.
Several folders appeared.
FINANCIAL.
OWNERSHIP.
BOSTON.
REBECCA.
CLAIRE.
My name.
I clicked it.
“Wait,” Rebecca said.
Too late.
There were dozens of scanned documents.
Bank records.
Trust statements.
Property records.
Then a video file.
Dated twelve days ago.
The same day my supposed signature appeared on the penthouse transfer.
I clicked play.
Security-camera footage filled the screen.
Grant's study.
Our penthouse.
I recognized the desk.
The lamp.
Even the photograph of us from Napa.
A man entered.
Not Grant.
He sat behind Grant's desk.
Opened a folder.
Removed several documents.
Then placed a transparent sheet over a page and carefully traced something.
My signature.
I leaned closer.
“Who is that?”
Rebecca froze the image.
The man's face turned partially toward the camera.
I knew him.
Martin Keller.
The attorney from upstairs.
“No.”
Rebecca whispered, “There.”
Martin finished copying my signature.
Then someone else entered the study.
Only an arm appeared at first.
A dark suit.
A silver cuff link.
Martin stood immediately.
The second man stepped fully into frame.
Richard Hayes.
My breath left me.
Richard inspected the document.
Then nodded.
Rebecca stared at the screen.
“Grant didn't forge your signature.”
“No.”
“His father did.”
The video continued.
Richard handed Martin another folder.
Martin left.
Richard remained.
Then Grant entered.
My heart began pounding.
He saw the documents.
Picked one up.
Read it.
I waited for outrage.
Instead Grant closed his eyes.
Then he took a pen.
And signed beneath my forged signature.
I couldn't breathe.
“He knew.”
Rebecca said nothing.
The video had no audio.
Grant and Richard argued.
Grant pointed toward my forged signature.
Richard said something.
Grant shook his head.
Then Richard placed another document in front of him.
Grant read it.
His anger disappeared.
He looked terrified.
“What did Richard show him?”
Rebecca leaned closer.
The paper wasn't visible clearly.
But one line could be read when Grant lifted it.
BENEFICIARY: CLAIRE E. HAYES.
My stomach dropped.
“Beneficiary of what?”
Rebecca paused the video.
“I don't know.”
A sound came from the apartment hallway.
Both of us froze.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Then another.
Someone stopped outside the door.
Rebecca closed the laptop.
I grabbed the lockbox.
The doorknob moved.
Once.
Twice.
Then came three knocks.
Rebecca looked through the peephole.
Her face changed.
“Who is it?” I whispered.
She backed away from the door.
Before she could answer, a man's voice came through from the hallway.
“Claire, open the door.”
I knew that voice.
Grant.
I moved toward the peephole.
Rebecca caught my arm.
“Don't.”
Then another voice came from behind Grant.
Older.
Calm.
Richard.
“Tell her why you signed it, son.”
Grant didn't answer.
Richard knocked once.
“Tell Claire what happens to her if Hayes Meridian collapses.”
I stared at the door.
Grant finally spoke.
His voice was barely audible.
“Claire, there's something in your grandmother's trust you were never supposed to find.”
The doorknob moved again.
Then my phone lit up with a new message from Ethan.
DON'T OPEN THE DOOR.
May you like
A second message appeared.
THAT ISN'T RICHARD STANDING WITH GRANT.
