Chapter 8
I stared at Ryan.
For a moment, everything else disappeared.
My dead father.
My mother.
Margaret.
Daniel.
The trust.
All of it.
There was only my husband.
And one word.
“Affair?”
Ryan looked ashamed.
“I didn’t believe her.”
“You had divorce papers.”
“I said I didn’t file them.”
“You had them drawn up.”
“Yes.”
My voice rose.
“So you believed her enough to hire a lawyer.”
“Sarah, listen.”
“No. You listen.”
Emma flinched.
I saw it.
I forced my voice lower.
“Lauren, take Emma upstairs.”
Emma grabbed my hand.
“No.”
“Baby.”
“Don’t make Daddy go away.”
Ryan’s face crumpled.
I knelt.
“Daddy isn’t going anywhere right now.”
“Promise?”
I looked at Ryan.
The pain in his eyes nearly destroyed me.
“I promise he’ll be here when you wake up.”
That was all I could promise.
Lauren took Emma upstairs.
The moment she disappeared, I turned back to Ryan.
“Who did she accuse me of sleeping with?”
“Your boss.”
I almost laughed.
“Michael?”
“Yes.”
“Michael is sixty-four years old and has been married for forty years.”
“I know.”
“He invited us to his anniversary party.”
“I know.”
“You knew all that and still prepared divorce papers?”
Ryan wiped his face.
“Mom sent me photographs.”
“What photographs?”
He took out his phone.
He opened an old message thread.
Margaret.
Images.
Me entering a hotel.
Michael entering the same hotel.
Me hugging him in the lobby.
I remembered immediately.
A work conference.
Michael’s wife had collapsed earlier that morning.
The hug happened after he learned she was okay.
I looked at Ryan.
“You never asked me.”
“I was going to.”
“When?”
“I don’t know.”
“You gave your mother divorce papers.”
“She said she knew a lawyer who could review them privately.”
“You gave her legal documents instead of talking to your wife.”
“Yes.”
His answer was barely audible.
I laughed once.
Then started crying.
Ryan stepped forward.
I moved back.
“Don’t.”
He stopped.
Officer Harris quietly moved the other officers into the living room.
Daniel and Henry followed.
For once, they gave us privacy.
Ryan whispered, “I was ashamed.”
“You should be.”
“I know.”
“She manipulated you.”
“I know.”
“And you let her.”
“Yes.”
There was no defense in his voice.
It made my anger harder to hold.
“I never wanted to leave you.”
“You prepared to.”
“I was scared.”
“So you hid it.”
“Yes.”
“Like your father hid the storage key.”
Ryan looked up.
That hit him.
“Like your mother hid the DNA test.”
“Sarah.”
“Like my mother hid Daniel.”
“I know.”
I shook my head.
“We are all drowning in things people were too afraid to say.”
He started crying.
“I love you.”
“I know.”
That hurt worst of all.
“I love you too.”
He looked hopeful.
I stopped it.
“That doesn’t fix this.”
“I know.”
“I need you to understand something.”
“Anything.”
“If we survive whatever this is, our marriage still might not.”
His face collapsed.
But he nodded.
“I understand.”
A knock sounded at the front door.
Officer Harris returned.
“Arizona police reached Patricia.”
I wiped my face.
“She’s safe?”
“They have her.”
“Good.”
“She agreed to come here.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
Daniel stepped into the hallway.
“We don’t have until tomorrow morning.”
Officer Harris turned.
“You’re going to stop making decisions in my investigation.”
Daniel ignored her.
He looked at me.
“Victoria knows Margaret failed.”
“So?”
“So she will change strategies.”
“What does that mean?”
“She’ll stop trying to make you sign.”
Henry said, “And start trying to inherit your interest.”
My blood turned cold.
Ryan stepped beside me.
“If Sarah dies, who gets the trust?”
Everyone went silent.
I looked at Daniel.
“Who?”
He didn’t answer.
“Daniel.”
He closed his eyes.
“Emma.”
The room changed.
Ryan’s face became terrifying.
“No.”
Daniel nodded.
“Claire amended the trust after Emma was born.”
“How would my dead mother amend anything after Emma was born?”
Daniel looked confused.
“Not Claire.”
“Who?”
“The trustee.”
“What trustee?”
Henry swore under his breath.
Daniel looked at him.
“You didn’t tell her?”
Henry shook his head.
“I didn’t know Claire had changed trustees.”
I slammed my hand onto the table.
“Stop. Who controls this trust?”
Daniel answered.
“A corporate trustee administers it.”
“Name.”
“Rothwell Fiduciary.”
Ryan pulled out his phone.
He searched.
His face went pale.
“What?”
He turned the screen toward me.
Rothwell Fiduciary Services.
Chief executive officer:
Victoria Whitmore.
I stared.
“That can’t be legal.”
Henry said, “It may not be.”
Daniel looked furious.
“She bought Rothwell two years ago through a shell company.”
“And nobody noticed?”
“I didn’t.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Your whole family apparently communicates through secret corporations.”
Daniel ignored the insult.
“If Sarah dies, Emma becomes beneficiary.”
“And Victoria remains trustee?”
“Yes.”
Ryan’s jaw clenched.
“So she doesn’t need Sarah’s signature if Sarah is dead.”
Daniel shook his head.
“She would still need court approval because Emma is a minor.”
“But she could control the process.”
“Yes.”
Ryan grabbed his jacket.
“We’re leaving.”
Officer Harris blocked him.
“Where?”
“Somewhere nobody knows.”
“That is exactly how people get hurt.”
“You want us to stay in the house someone broke into?”
“No. I’m moving you to a protected location.”
Daniel said, “Use mine.”
Everyone turned.
“No,” I said.
“It has private security.”
“No.”
“Sarah.”
“I am not trusting my daughter’s life to anyone with the last name Whitmore.”
He looked wounded.
I didn’t care.
Officer Harris nodded.
“We have a safe apartment used for protected witnesses.”
“That.”
Ryan agreed immediately.
We packed in ten minutes.
Emma woke while I was putting clothes into a bag.
“Are we going on vacation?”
I looked at her bruised hands.
“No, baby.”
“Then where?”
“Somewhere safe.”
She thought about that.
“Daddy too?”
I looked toward the door.
Ryan stood there.
“Yes.”
Emma smiled.
“Good.”
The safe apartment was forty minutes away.
No one followed.
At least not visibly.
It was small.
Two bedrooms.
No family photographs.
No decorations.
Exactly what safe was supposed to look like.
Emma fell asleep between Ryan and me in the larger bed.
Neither of us touched.
At 3:17 a.m., my phone vibrated.
Patricia.
I answered quietly.
“Hello?”
“Sarah?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry to call.”
“It’s okay.”
“I remembered something.”
I sat up.
Ryan opened his eyes.
“What?”
Patricia’s voice trembled.
“The night your mother died, Margaret wasn’t carrying medication.”
My heart pounded.
“What was she carrying?”
“I told police it was a pharmacy bag because that’s what I thought.”
“And now?”
“I remembered the logo.”
“What logo?”
“Whitmore Research.”
Daniel’s company had once owned a medical research subsidiary.
I knew that from commercials.
“What was inside?”
“I still don’t know.”
Ryan sat up.
Patricia continued.
“But there’s something else.”
“What?”
“When Margaret came out of Claire’s room, she wasn’t alone.”
My body went cold.
“Who was with her?”
“A young man.”
Ryan stared at the phone.
“What young man?”
“I never knew his name.”
“Describe him.”
“Twenty-two or twenty-three. Brown hair. Tall. Very nervous.”
Ryan’s face drained of color.
He was twenty-four when my mother died.
Patricia continued.
“He kept saying, ‘This wasn’t supposed to happen.’”
I looked at my husband.
His lips parted.
“No.”
I whispered, “Was it Ryan?”
Patricia went silent.
Ryan closed his eyes.
“Patricia,” I said. “Was the young man my husband?”
“I saw his picture tonight.”
My heart stopped.
“Yes.”
Ryan made a broken sound.
I moved away from him.
He reached for me.
“Sarah, I swear to God—”
Patricia said, “He was there.”
I stood.
Ryan stood too.
“I don’t remember this!”
“Don’t come closer.”
“I have never been inside St. Catherine with your mother.”
Patricia whispered, “He was there, Sarah.”
I gripped the phone.
“Did he enter her room?”
“Yes.”
Ryan shook his head violently.
“No.”
“Did he touch her?”
“I don’t know.”
“What did you hear?”
Patricia took a breath.
“Your mother shouted one sentence.”
“What?”
“She said, ‘Ryan, you need to know what your father did.’”
Ryan went still.
Completely still.
Then his face changed.
Not recognition.
Terror.
“I remember.”
I stared.
“What?”
He grabbed the side of his head.
“Oh my God.”
“What do you remember?”
He looked at me.
“My mother took me to a hospital.”
My blood froze.
“When?”
“I didn’t know why.”
“You just said you were never there.”
“I forgot.”
“How do you forget something like that?”
“I don’t know!”
Patricia was still on the line.
Ryan started pacing.
“I was twenty-four. Mom told me Dad was having some kind of breakdown. She said there was a woman at the hospital threatening him.”
“My mother.”
“I didn’t know who she was.”
“You saw her.”
“I…”
He squeezed his eyes shut.
“She was thin. No hair.”
Cancer treatment.
My mother.
“What happened?”
“Mom gave me something in the parking lot.”
My stomach dropped.
“What?”
“A drink.”
“What kind?”
“Coffee.”
He started shaking.
“After that, everything gets strange.”
Patricia whispered, “Oh God.”
I looked at the phone.
“What?”
She said, “Sedatives.”
Ryan stared.
“What?”
“Whitmore Research was testing a short-acting sedative then. It could cause confusion and memory gaps.”
I felt sick.
Ryan touched his face.
“I remember sitting in a hallway.”
“What else?”
“Mom arguing with someone.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“Think.”
He closed his eyes.
Then suddenly he whispered,
“Victoria.”
I stopped breathing.
“What?”
“Victoria Whitmore was there.”
Patricia gasped.
“You saw her?”
Ryan nodded, forgetting she couldn’t see.
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
He looked at me.
“I remember Mom handing Victoria a bag.”
My heart pounded.
“The pharmacy bag?”
“Maybe.”
“Then?”
“Victoria went into your mother’s room.”
I nearly dropped the phone.
Patricia whispered, “No.”
I looked at Ryan.
“Margaret didn’t kill my mother.”
He shook his head.
“I don’t think so.”
“Victoria did.”
A loud sound came through Patricia’s line.
A door opening.
She stopped talking.
“Patricia?”
No answer.
“Patricia!”
A man shouted in the background.
Then Patricia screamed.
The call ended.
I immediately dialed back.
Nothing.
Ryan called Officer Harris.
I stared at the dark bedroom doorway.
Emma slept behind us.
Then my phone vibrated.
A message from Patricia’s number.
One photograph.
Patricia sitting in the back seat of a car.
Terrified.
A hand covered her mouth.
May you like
Underneath the photograph were seven words.
BRING SARAH TO WHITMORE HOUSE. COME ALONE.
