Chapter 4
My mother died from a fall down the basement stairs.
That was what everyone had been told.
She was fifty-eight.
Healthy.
Careful.
The police called it a tragic accident.
Ryan had been the person who found her.
For fifteen years, I had believed he went to her house because she wanted help moving boxes.
Now I sat in the back of Sarah’s car staring at a photograph taken three weeks before her death.
Ryan.
Diane.
My mother.
A bank parking lot.
“What do we do?” I whispered.
Sarah looked at me.
“We do not jump to conclusions.”
“He lied.”
“We don’t know that yet.”
“He told me he barely spoke to my mother during those last months.”
Ruth’s face had turned pale.
“That was not true.”
I looked at her.
“What do you know?”
Ruth hesitated.
“Your mother called me four days before she died.”
My chest tightened.
“What did she say?”
“She said she had made a terrible mistake.”
“What mistake?”
“She wouldn’t tell me.”
I felt anger rising.
“You never told me this?”
“I tried.”
“When?”
“At the funeral.”
I stared at her.
“Ryan said you were upset and confused.”
Ruth nodded slowly.
“He took me aside. He said mentioning it would make your grief worse.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course he did.
Every road led back to him.
Sarah called Agent Mercer.
She spoke quietly for several minutes.
Then she hung up.
“He wants the messages forwarded immediately.”
I sent everything.
The unknown number texted again.
I can prove Ryan was inside your mother’s house before the time he gave police.
Sarah typed back from my phone.
Who are you, and why are you contacting Emily now?
The response came quickly.
Because I was afraid.
Then:
And because Ryan is about to blame everything on me.
Sarah frowned.
“You said her name is Lauren Price?”
I nodded.
She searched on her phone.
“Former executive assistant at Cole Development.”
“When?”
“Fourteen years ago.”
I stared.
“She worked for him when my mother died.”
“Yes.”
Another message arrived.
Meet me tomorrow at 9 a.m. Roosevelt Park. Come alone.
Sarah laughed once.
“No.”
I looked at her.
“I have to meet her.”
“You will not go alone.”
“She said—”
“I don’t care what she said.”
Ruth nodded.
“Neither do I.”
I looked between them.
“I spent fifteen years letting other people decide what I should know.”
Sarah softened.
“Then decide this: you want to be alive long enough to learn the truth.”
That ended the argument.
We drove to my house.
My house.
The words still felt strange.
Two black SUVs were parked outside.
Federal agents were inside collecting computers from Ryan’s home office.
The moment I entered, I saw suitcases near the stairs.
Jessica’s suitcases.
I stopped.
“What are those doing here?”
A housekeeper named Maria hurried from the kitchen.
Her face looked embarrassed.
“Mrs. Cole, I’m sorry.”
“Did Jessica move in?”
Maria looked down.
“Mr. Cole told us she would be living here after tonight.”
I almost laughed.
He had planned every detail.
Humiliate me.
Hand me divorce papers.
Have security throw me out.
Then bring Jessica home to sleep in my bed.
“Where are her things?”
“Guest suite.”
“Good.”
Maria looked confused.
“Good?”
“Put them outside.”
Sarah touched my arm.
“Emily.”
I looked at her.
“They’re her belongings.”
“Yes.”
“I’m not destroying them.”
“No.”
“I’m simply returning them.”
Ruth smiled.
“Very efficiently.”
Maria tried not to smile.
Twenty minutes later, four suitcases and six designer shopping bags sat beside the front gate.
I stood in my bedroom.
The room smelled like Ryan’s cologne.
Our wedding photo still sat on the dresser.
I picked it up.
I remembered that day.
Ryan crying as I walked down the aisle.
His hands shaking while he read his vows.
I had believed those tears meant love.
Maybe they had.
Maybe even men like Ryan could love something while planning to own it.
I removed the photograph from its frame.
Behind it was a tiny folded note.
I frowned.
I didn’t remember putting it there.
The paper was old.
I opened it.
Three words were written in my mother’s handwriting.
Trust your brother.
I sat down hard.
My brother.
Michael.
Ryan had hated Michael almost from the beginning.
Michael had called Ryan a fraud at our engagement party.
They nearly fought.
After Mom died, things got worse.
Michael accused Ryan of lying about her finances.
Ryan told me Michael was trying to steal my inheritance.
Eventually I chose my husband.
Michael left Chicago.
We had spoken maybe five times in fifteen years.
My hands shook as I searched for his number.
It was disconnected.
Ruth appeared in the doorway.
She saw the paper.
Her expression changed.
“Where did you find that?”
“Behind the wedding picture.”
She read it.
Then she sat beside me.
“Your mother trusted Michael.”
“I know.”
“Ryan didn’t.”
“I know that too.”
Ruth was silent.
I looked at her.
“Do you know where he is?”
She nodded.
My heart jumped.
“You speak to him?”
“Every week.”
I stared at her.
“He stayed in contact with you?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t either of you tell me?”
“Michael asked me not to.”
I stood.
“Of course he did.”
“Emily—”
“No. I’m tired of secrets.”
“He believed Ryan monitored your calls.”
I stopped.
“What?”
Ruth looked toward the hallway.
“He said every time he tried to contact you, Ryan somehow knew.”
I remembered arguments.
Ryan accusing me of caring more about Michael than our marriage.
Ryan asking why Michael had emailed me.
Ryan knowing about calls I never told him about.
I had thought it was coincidence.
I felt sick.
“Where is he?”
“Denver.”
“Call him.”
Ruth did.
Michael answered on the second ring.
“Hey, Grandma.”
His voice hit me like a memory.
Ruth looked at me.
“Michael, someone wants to speak to you.”
A pause.
Then she handed me the phone.
I couldn’t speak.
Neither could he.
Finally he said, “Emily?”
My throat closed.
“Hi.”
Another pause.
“I saw the news.”
“Apparently everyone did.”
“Are you safe?”
I almost cried.
Fifteen years.
And his first question was whether I was safe.
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“I think so.”
He exhaled.
“Then listen carefully.”
My body went still.
“Okay.”
“Do not be alone with Ryan.”
“Why?”
“Because Mom was afraid of him.”
The room seemed to shrink.
“When did she tell you that?”
“The week before she died.”
I gripped the phone.
“What exactly did she say?”
“She said Ryan had used your identity to move money through a company account.”
My eyes filled.
“She knew about the forged signatures?”
“Some of them.”
“Why didn’t she tell me?”
“She was trying to get proof.”
Michael’s voice broke.
“I was supposed to meet her the night she died.”
I covered my mouth.
“What?”
“She called me around seven. She said she had everything. She told me to come over at ten.”
“What happened?”
“When I arrived, police were there.”
I could barely breathe.
“Ryan told me he found her.”
“Yes.”
“Did you believe him?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because he told police he arrived at nine forty-five.”
I waited.
Michael continued.
“But Mom called me at nine twelve.”
My knees weakened.
“What did she say?”
“Only one sentence.”
“What?”
Michael’s voice became quiet.
“She said, ‘Ryan knows I found it.’”
I closed my eyes.
Ruth began crying.
Michael continued.
“Then the call ended.”
“Why didn’t you tell the police?”
“I did.”
“What?”
“I told Detective Harris that night.”
I looked at Ruth.
She looked equally shocked.
“What happened?”
“They said they would investigate.”
“And?”
“Two days later, Ryan told me you didn’t want me at the funeral.”
My heart cracked.
“I never said that.”
“I know now.”
“No, Michael. I never said it. I waited for you.”
He was silent.
“I thought you hated me.”
“I thought you chose him.”
Tears ran down my face.
“I did choose him.”
There was no point lying.
“I’m sorry.”
Michael exhaled slowly.
“We can deal with us later.”
That hurt.
But he was right.
“What proof did Mom find?”
“I don’t know.”
“She must have hidden it somewhere.”
“I think she did.”
“Where?”
“Ryan searched her house after she died.”
“How do you know?”
“I saw him.”
My pulse jumped.
“What?”
“The night after the funeral. I drove past Mom’s house. Ryan’s car was outside.”
“He told me he was with Diane that night.”
“He wasn’t.”
Another lie.
I looked around my bedroom.
Everything I had known was unraveling.
Michael said, “There’s one more thing.”
“What?”
“Mom had a safety deposit box.”
I stood straighter.
“Where?”
“A bank downtown.”
“Do you have the key?”
“No.”
“Who does?”
“I thought you did.”
I shook my head even though he couldn’t see me.
“I’ve never heard of it.”
Ruth suddenly stood.
“Wait.”
She hurried toward my closet.
I followed.
“What?”
She pulled open an old cedar chest that had belonged to my mother.
Ryan hated it.
He once tried to convince me to throw it away.
Ruth moved blankets aside.
Then she pressed along the wooden lining.
A narrow panel popped loose.
I stared.
Inside was a small brass key.
A number was engraved on it.
417.
Ruth looked at me.
“Your mother showed me this hiding place when she was sixteen.”
I took the key.
My hands trembled.
Michael’s voice came through the phone.
“What happened?”
“We found a key.”
Silence.
Then:
“Emily.”
“Yes?”
“Don’t go to that bank without federal agents.”
Before I could answer, glass shattered downstairs.
Ruth jumped.
I dropped the phone.
A woman screamed.
Then came the sound of running footsteps.
Sarah shouted from the hallway.
“Emily! Lock the door!”
I grabbed Ruth and pulled her inside my bedroom.
I slammed the lock.
Someone ran up the stairs.
Fast.
Heavy.
I held the brass key in my fist.
The footsteps stopped outside my door.
The handle turned.
Once.
Twice.
Then Ryan’s voice came from the other side.
“Emily.”
My blood froze.
“Open the door.”
I said nothing.
His voice softened.
“Please.”
Ruth stared at me.
I shook my head.
May you like
Ryan continued.
“I know you found the key.”
