Chapter 8 - THE LIE MY HUSBAND TOLD TO PROTECT ME
I watched the video three times.
Then I called Ethan.
“Where are you?”
“Manhattan.”
“Stay there.”
“What happened?”
“I found my father’s archive.”
Silence.
“Claire.”
“You met Mercer eight months ago.”
Another silence.
“Tell me now.”
He did.
Not immediately.
But eventually.
Mercer approached Ethan after I became pregnant.
He claimed my father had blackmailed Richard Whitmore.
He produced documents making Daniel appear corrupt.
He warned Ethan that if I learned the details, our marriage would collapse.
The envelope contained those documents.
“You believed him.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because some of the signatures looked real.”
“Did you investigate?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“I discovered one invoice was forged.”
“When?”
“Four months ago.”
My chest tightened.
“You knew Mercer lied four months ago?”
“Yes.”
“And you said nothing.”
“I started investigating him.”
“Without me.”
“I was trying to protect you.”
“Stop saying that.”
“Claire.”
“People use protection as an excuse when they want control.”
Silence.
Ethan knew I was right.
“What did you discover?”
“Pierce.”
“What about him?”
“Payments.”
“From Mercer?”
“Through consulting companies.”
“How much?”
“Almost two million over ten years.”
“What for?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you tell police?”
“No.”
I closed my eyes.
“Why?”
“I wanted proof.”
“You had evidence.”
“I wanted enough to destroy them.”
That sounded like his father.
Like mine.
Men collecting proof until proof became dangerous.
“You should have told me.”
“I know.”
“Did you know Evelyn was being drugged?”
“No.”
“Did you know about the amended will?”
“Not until last week.”
“Did you know Celeste wanted to hurt me?”
“No.”
I believed him.
That was the worst part.
I believed him.
Ethan had lied.
But not about the shove.
Not about my father.
He lied because he thought carrying the danger alone was strength.
We were both guilty of that.
“I’m coming home.”
I told him.
“Claire.”
“What?”
“I need to tell you something else.”
Of course.
“What?”
“The envelope Mercer gave me.”
“Yes?”
“There was a photograph inside.”
“Of?”
“You.”
My stomach tightened.
“When?”
“Before we met.”
I stared at the cabin wall.
“How long before?”
“Almost a year.”
Mercer had been watching me before Ethan knew me.
“Doing what?”
“Leaving your mother’s house.”
I felt cold.
“Why would he watch me?”
“I think he knew Daniel left evidence to you.”
That explained everything.
My marriage may not have brought me into danger.
I had been in danger already.
Ethan was simply the doorway they watched me walk through.
Then Ortiz’s phone rang.
She answered.
Her expression changed.
“What?”
She listened.
“Lock the scene down.”
She ended the call.
“Claire.”
“What happened?”
“Pierce is dead.”
I stared.
“How?”
“Found in his office.”
“Suicide?”
“Looks that way.”
“Looks?”
Ortiz nodded.
“There's a note.”
“What does it say?”
She hesitated.
Then:
“I drugged Evelyn Whitmore alone.”
I laughed.
“No.”
Ortiz agreed.
“Too convenient.”
“Mercer.”
“Maybe.”
Then she added:
“The note also says Celeste had no knowledge of the medication.”
That surprised me.
Celeste may have pushed me.
But someone was trying to separate her from the larger conspiracy.
Either because it was true.
Or because Celeste was still useful.
We drove back to New York.
Halfway there, Ethan called again.
His voice was urgent.
“Do not go to the apartment.”
“Why?”
“Someone broke in.”
“What did they take?”
“Nothing obvious.”
“Then what?”
He paused.
“They left something.”
“What?”
“A photograph.”
My throat tightened.
“Of?”
“Our ultrasound.”
Someone had drawn a red circle around my daughter.
May you like
Beneath it were three words.
STOP DIGGING, CLAIRE.
