Chapter 4 - The Woman My Dead Wife Trusted
The photograph slipped from my hand.
I stared at it lying on the floor.
I didn't recognize the place.
I didn't recognize the moment.
But I recognized the people.
My wife.
And the man standing beside her.
The man who had comforted me after her death.
The man who had stood beside my family when I was falling apart.
The man I trusted more than anyone.
My closest friend.
Nathan Cross.
For two years, Nathan had told me the same thing.
"Isabella loved you until the end."
For two years, he had shaken my hand at her funeral.
For two years, he had looked me in the eyes and promised me he would help protect Daniel.
And now I was staring at a photograph of him standing beside my wife in secret.
My hands tightened.
"Where was this taken?"
Clara didn't answer.
I looked at her.
"Where?"
She swallowed.
"Your wife's private house."
I froze.
"What private house?"
The question came out quietly.
But everyone in the room felt the anger behind it.
Because I knew Isabella.
I knew every property we owned.
Every account.
Every investment.
Every place where she could have gone.
At least, I thought I did.
"She had a place I didn't know about?"
Clara looked down.
"Yes."
That answer hurt more than I expected.
Not because Isabella had a secret.
But because after everything we shared, I realized there was an entire part of her life I had never seen.
I picked up the photograph again.
Nathan was smiling.
Isabella was smiling.
They looked like two people who shared a history.
A history I was not part of.
"Was she having an affair?"
The words left my mouth before I could stop them.
Daniel looked at me.
Clara immediately shook her head.
"No."
Her answer was instant.
Certain.
"Then explain this."
"Because Nathan wasn't the person Isabella trusted."
She paused.
"He was the person she was investigating."
The room went silent.
I looked at her.
"What did you say?"
Clara walked toward the desk.
She opened the folder Isabella left behind.
Inside were documents.
Pages.
Photographs.
Notes written in my wife's handwriting.
I grabbed the first page.
The words made my stomach tighten.
"Hale Foundation Financial Review."
I looked up.
"My company?"
Clara nodded.
"Your wife discovered money was being moved without your permission."
I laughed once.
Not because it was funny.
Because it was impossible.
"Nobody moved money without me knowing."
"That is what Isabella thought too."
I turned another page.
Numbers.
Transfers.
Accounts I didn't recognize.
Companies I had never heard of.
My company had hundreds of accounts.
But these were different.
Hidden.
Carefully hidden.
"Who had access?"
Clara looked at me.
"You need to ask who didn't."
I stared at her.
"What does that mean?"
"It means the person doing this wasn't outside your company."
A cold feeling moved through me.
"Someone close."
Clara nodded.
"Someone you trusted."
I looked again at Nathan's photograph.
My mind replayed every conversation.
Every moment.
The night Isabella died.
Nathan was the first person who arrived at the hospital.
He held my shoulder.
He told me not to blame myself.
He told me accidents happened.
At the time, I thought he was saving me.
Now I wondered if he was making sure I stopped looking.
Daniel suddenly moved.
He pulled my sleeve.
I looked down.
He pointed at the photograph.
Not Nathan.
Not Isabella.
The background.
A small detail behind them.
A building.
A symbol on the wall.
I leaned closer.
I knew that symbol.
My company logo.
But older.
From before I became the owner.
"Where did you see this?"
I asked Daniel.
He couldn't answer.
His breathing became faster.
His eyes filled with fear.
Clara immediately knelt beside him.
"Daniel."
She touched his shoulder.
"He remembers."
I looked at her.
"What does he remember?"
She hesitated.
Then she said:
"The night Isabella died."
My entire body went still.
For two years, everyone told me Daniel didn't remember anything.
That trauma had erased the night from his mind.
That he was too young.
That his silence was his way of escaping pain.
But Clara was telling me something different.
My son remembered.
He had been trapped with a memory he couldn't explain.
"Tell me."
Clara looked at Daniel.
Then at me.
"That night, Daniel saw something."
"What?"
She took a deep breath.
"He saw someone arguing with your wife."
"Who?"
She didn't answer.
Because Daniel did.
Not with words.
With his finger.
He pointed at the photograph.
At Nathan.
My chest tightened.
"No."
The word came out before I could control it.
Because accepting it meant accepting that the man who helped me bury my wife might have been the reason she was gone.
I walked to the window.
I needed air.
I needed distance.
I needed one moment where my entire world wasn't collapsing.
But then I saw something outside.
A black vehicle parked near the gate.
The lights were off.
The engine was running.
Someone was watching the house.
I turned back.
"How long have you known about this?"
Clara didn't respond.
That was enough.
"You knew."
"I knew Isabella was afraid."
"But you didn't tell me."
"Because she made me promise."
I stared at her.
"She made you promise to let me live a lie?"
"No."
Clara's voice became emotional.
"She made me promise to keep Daniel alive."
The words stopped me.
"What does that mean?"
Before Clara could answer, every light in the mansion suddenly went dark.
The room disappeared into darkness.
Daniel grabbed Clara's hand.
I reached inside my jacket for the weapon I always carried.
Then I heard it.
A sound from the hallway.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Careful.
Someone was inside the house.
Someone who knew exactly where my office was.
I moved toward the door.
Clara whispered behind me.
"Preston, don't open it."
I looked back.
"Why?"
Her face was pale.
Because she knew something I didn't.
"Because Isabella wasn't trying to hide this file from the person who killed her."
A pause.
"She was trying to hide it from the person who would come looking for it."
The footsteps stopped outside my office.
The door handle slowly began to turn.
May you like
And then a familiar voice whispered my name from the other side.
"Preston..."
