Chapter 4
I thought I had misheard him.
“What do you mean there’s no death certificate?”
Charles rubbed both hands over his face.
“Exactly what I said.”
“That’s impossible.”
Ryan had shown me pictures from his father’s funeral.
I had seen an old newspaper clipping Margaret kept inside a family Bible.
Thomas Hawthorne.
Beloved husband and father.
Gone too soon.
“People don’t just pretend someone died.”
Samantha gave Charles a cold look.
“Some people do.”
Detective Mills leaned forward.
“When did you learn this?”
“Years ago.”
“You didn’t report it?”
“I had no proof Thomas was alive. Only that I couldn’t locate a government record matching the death story Margaret told.”
I stood so fast the chair scraped backward.
“Everybody knew except me.”
“No,” Charles said. “Nobody knew what it meant.”
“You knew enough to be suspicious.”
“Yes.”
“And you did nothing.”
His face tightened.
“That is fair.”
I walked toward the corner of the room.
My hands were shaking.
My husband had married me for property.
His mother had attacked me.
His supposedly dead father might be alive.
And somehow all of it was connected to my dead father’s fortune.
I turned back.
“What is Northbridge Capital?”
Charles answered carefully.
“A private investment company formed twenty years ago.”
“By Thomas?”
“According to early corporate documents.”
“After he supposedly died?”
Charles nodded.
My stomach twisted.
“So he was alive.”
“Someone using his name was.”
Detective Mills asked, “Where is the company based?”
“Delaware registration. Offices have moved repeatedly.”
“Current owner?”
“Layered corporations.”
Samantha looked at me.
“Which is a way of saying it’s intentionally difficult to identify.”
Detective Mills closed the laptop.
“This is no longer just about an assault in a hotel room.”
My anger sharpened.
“It was never just about that.”
He met my eyes.
“No.”
The detective asked me not to contact Ryan.
I agreed.
Then I went home and did exactly the opposite.
Not because I wanted reconciliation.
Because I wanted answers.
Samantha argued with me for ten minutes.
“You don’t know what he knows.”
“That’s why I’m calling.”
“You could compromise the investigation.”
“I’ll let you listen.”
She shook her head.
“I still don’t like it.”
Charles surprised me.
“Neither do I.”
I stared at him.
“For once, nobody gets to make decisions for me.”
That ended the argument.
We returned to Mom’s house.
I changed into jeans.
Then I called Ryan.
He answered before the first full ring.
“Emily.”
His voice cracked.
I felt nothing.
“Where are you?”
“Home.”
“Our apartment?”
“Yes.”
I almost corrected him.
It was my apartment.
Not ours.
“What does your mother know about my father?”
Silence.
“Emily—”
“What does she know?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who is Northbridge Capital?”
Another silence.
Longer.
That told me everything.
“You know the name.”
“I’ve heard it.”
“From whom?”
“My mother.”
“Your father?”
He exhaled.
“My father is dead.”
“Are you sure?”
He said nothing.
My grip tightened around the phone.
“Ryan?”
“He’s dead.”
“Did you see the body?”
“Stop.”
“Did you?”
“I was twelve.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
His breathing changed.
“I saw a casket.”
“Open?”
“No.”
“Death certificate?”
“Why are you asking me this?”
“Because your father formed a company after he supposedly died.”
He went silent again.
Then he whispered, “What?”
I watched Samantha.
She was taking notes.
“That company has something to do with my trust.”
“What trust?”
“Don’t.”
“I swear, Emily. Mom told me you had investments. She said your father left money that became available after we married.”
“That isn’t how it works.”
“I know that now.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Convenient.”
“I was stupid.”
“You were criminal.”
“I never hit you.”
“You locked the door.”
“I know.”
“You watched.”
“I know.”
“You told her where not to leave bruises.”
His voice broke.
“I know.”
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then he said, “I’m sorry.”
The words did nothing.
He might as well have apologized for spilling coffee.
“Why did you marry me?”
“I loved you.”
“Wrong answer.”
“I did.”
“You planned to steal my apartment.”
He began crying.
I hated that a tiny part of me recognized the sound.
I had comforted him when his dog died.
When he lost a major client.
When he said he missed his father.
All those memories now felt contaminated.
“My mother said the apartment should become marital property,” he whispered. “She said your father got rich by destroying ours.”
I froze.
“What?”
“She said your father stole everything from my father.”
Charles looked at me sharply.
I put the call on speaker.
Ryan continued.
“She said the apartment was originally bought with money that belonged to us.”
“To you?”
“To our family.”
“Did she tell you to date me?”
“No.”
“Think carefully.”
“No.”
“Who invited you to that charity fundraiser?”
Silence.
“Ryan.”
“My mother gave me the ticket.”
Samantha closed her eyes.
There it was.
He had been placed in my path.
Maybe he hadn’t known at first.
Maybe Margaret had.
“What did she tell you about me before we met?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
“Ryan.”
“She showed me a picture.”
I stopped breathing.
“What picture?”
“A picture from your company website.”
“So you knew who I was.”
“I knew your name.”
“And my father?”
“She said your family owed ours money.”
“How long before meeting me did she show you the picture?”
He did not answer.
“How long?”
“Two months.”
I shut my eyes.
Our accidental meeting had been planned.
Even if Ryan convinced himself otherwise.
“You targeted me.”
“I didn’t think of it like that.”
“Of course you didn’t.”
“Emily, please.”
“Where is Margaret?”
“At her house.”
“Is she alone?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you know where Northbridge Capital is?”
“No.”
“Did your mother ever mention my thirtieth birthday?”
He hesitated.
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
“That we needed to be married before then.”
“Why?”
“She said it would protect our claim.”
I looked at Charles.
He whispered, “There is no legitimate claim.”
“Anything else?” I asked Ryan.
“She wanted us to take the honeymoon overseas.”
My skin prickled.
“Where?”
“Switzerland.”
“That was her idea?”
“Yes.”
I had thought Ryan chose it because I once said I wanted to see the Alps.
“When were we supposed to leave?”
“Tomorrow night.”
I looked at Samantha.
Her face had gone hard.
“Why Switzerland?”
“I don’t know.”
“Ryan, did your mother give you any documents to take with us?”
He didn’t respond.
“Answer me.”
“Yes.”
“What documents?”
“I never opened the envelope.”
“Where is it?”
“At my place.”
“Do not touch it.”
He laughed without humor.
“You think I’m going to destroy evidence?”
“I watched you help your mother assault me twelve hours ago.”
That ended his indignation.
“Fair.”
I hated him for saying that word.
Like this was a disagreement between reasonable people.
“Send me a picture of the envelope.”
“Okay.”
“And Ryan?”
“Yes?”
“If you warn your mother about this call, I will tell the police.”
He was quiet.
Then he said, “She already knows they’re investigating.”
“How?”
“She got a phone call after we came home.”
“From who?”
“I don’t know.”
I looked at Detective Mills’s business card on the table.
Someone was feeding Margaret information.
“Ryan.”
“What?”
“Get out of that apartment.”
“Why?”
“Because if your mother is willing to hurt me for money, what do you think she’ll do to you if she thinks you’re talking?”
He almost laughed.
Then stopped.
“Emily.”
“What?”
“There’s someone at the door.”
My stomach dropped.
“Who?”
He moved quietly.
I could hear his footsteps.
Then nothing.
“Ryan?”
He whispered.
“It’s Mom.”
Samantha motioned for me to stay calm.
“Don’t open it.”
Margaret knocked.
“Ryan!”
He breathed into the phone.
“She has a key.”
A second later, I heard the lock turning.
Ryan swore.
The door opened.
Margaret’s voice came through clearly.
“Who are you talking to?”
“Nobody.”
“Give me the phone.”
“No.”
A struggle.
Ryan shouted.
Then the call disconnected.
I immediately called Detective Mills.
He told us officers were being sent.
Twenty minutes later, he called back.
Ryan was gone.
Margaret was gone.
The apartment was empty.
The envelope Ryan mentioned was missing.
But the security camera in the building lobby had captured Margaret arriving.
And leaving.
Ryan was walking beside her.
No one appeared to be forcing him.
Samantha looked at me.
“He chose her.”
Maybe.
But something bothered me.
“Play the call again.”
I had recorded it.
We listened.
At the end, Margaret entered.
Who are you talking to?
Nobody.
Give me the phone.
No.
A sound.
A shout.
Disconnect.
I replayed it.
Again.
Again.
Then I heard something beneath Ryan’s shout.
A man’s voice.
Low.
Calm.
Almost impossible to hear.
“Take him downstairs.”
Charles went pale.
“What?”
I turned up the volume.
The voice came again.
Take him downstairs.
Charles’s coffee cup slipped from his hand.
It hit the table.
“Charles?”
He stared at my phone.
“You recognize him.”
He looked at me with fear.
“I think I do.”
“Who?”
May you like
He swallowed.
“Thomas Hawthorne.”
