Chapter 3 - The Woman Before Me
The CT scan showed no skull fracture.
The doctor called that good news.
I did not.
Good news would have been waking up and discovering the entire dinner had been a nightmare.
Instead, I had eight stitches in my scalp, a concussion, dried blood beneath my fingernails, and a police officer standing outside my hospital room.
At 2:13 in the morning, Detective Ortiz entered.
Maya came with her.
I was surprised to see her.
“You should be with your family.”
Her expression tightened.
“My family is the reason I’m here.”
Ortiz closed the door.
“Ms. Bennett, are you comfortable with Mrs. Hale being present?”
“Yes.”
Maya sat.
She looked exhausted.
“What happened to Adrian?”
“Booked.”
Ortiz answered.
“Domestic violence assault. Additional charges will depend on the investigation.”
“And Charles?”
“Not arrested.”
“Eleanor?”
“No.”
Not yet.
Ortiz placed a clear evidence bag on the bedside table.
Inside was a photograph.
Me.
Walking into my condominium building.
I recognized the coat.
The green trench I had worn during a rainy spring four years earlier.
Seven months before meeting Adrian.
The photograph had been taken from across the street.
On the back, someone had written:
C.B. – HOME CONFIRMED.
A second line read:
NO ROOMMATE.
I stared at it.
“What is this?”
“We found it in your file.”
“Who took it?”
“We don’t know.”
“Why?”
“That is what we are trying to determine.”
Maya looked sick.
Ortiz removed another photocopy.
A bank statement.
Mine.
Not recent.
Four years old.
It listed balances from accounts I had never discussed with Adrian.
My personal brokerage account.
Emergency savings.
A trust distribution from my father.
I looked at Maya.
“They did this to you too?”
She nodded.
“My file had credit reports.”
“Tax records.”
“My parents’ mortgage.”
“My mother’s medical bills.”
She swallowed.
“Everything.”
Ortiz opened her notebook.
“Tell her what you told me.”
Maya stared at the floor.
“Four years ago, I went downstairs looking for Marcus.”
“Why?”
“He had been drinking.”
“That happened a lot back then.”
“I thought he had gone to the wine cellar.”
She paused.
“I saw the shelf open.”
“There’s a mechanism behind one of the bottles.”
“I went through.”
“The door at the end was unlocked.”
“Inside were cabinets.”
“Computers.”
“Boxes.”
“And files.”
I waited.
“I found mine.”
Her voice cracked.
“I thought Marcus had been spying on me.”
“Did you confront him?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“He swore he knew nothing.”
“And did you believe him?”
“Not then.”
“What changed?”
Maya looked toward Ortiz.
“Three days later, every copy I had made disappeared.”
My pulse quickened.
“From where?”
“My office.”
“Someone broke in?”
“No.”
“That was the terrifying part.”
“There was no forced entry.”
Nothing stolen.
Nothing moved.
Only the copies.”
Ortiz said quietly, “Who knew where you kept them?”
“Marcus.”
“Charles.”
“And Eleanor.”
I looked at her.
“Why Charles and Eleanor?”
“Because I confronted them.”
“And?”
“They told me I was confused.”
“They said the basement room was used for private family records.”
“They claimed the file on me had been created because Marcus was considering a prenup.”
I almost laughed.
“A prenup requires surveillance photographs?”
“Exactly.”
“What happened after that?”
Maya’s eyes shifted.
“I found another name.”
Ortiz leaned back.
“Tell her.”
Maya closed her eyes.
“Sophie Ward.”
The name meant nothing.
“Who is she?”
Maya looked at me.
“Adrian’s former fiancée.”
I stared at her.
“Adrian was engaged before me?”
“Yes.”
“He told me he had never been engaged.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Because Eleanor made us promise never to mention Sophie.”
The hospital room became painfully quiet.
“When?”
“Seven years ago.”
“What happened?”
Maya hesitated.
“They said Sophie left him.”
“Why?”
Maya looked at Ortiz.
Then back at me.
“Because Adrian hit her.”
I felt nothing at first.
Not shock.
Not pain.
Nothing.
My mind simply stopped.
“He told me he had never hit a woman before.”
Maya gave me a terrible look.
“He lied.”
“How badly did he hurt her?”
“I don’t know.”
“You do.”
“I don’t know all of it.”
“Maya.”
Her eyes filled.
“I saw her afterward.”
“Where?”
“At this house.”
“The vineyard?”
“Yes.”
She pressed her hands together.
“She was sitting on the basement stairs.”
“Her mouth was bleeding.”
“One eye was swollen shut.”
I could hear the heart monitor beside me.
Steady.
Mechanical.
Impersonal.
“What did you do?”
“I asked if she needed help.”
“She said yes.”
“And?”
Maya began crying.
“Eleanor came downstairs.”
“She told me Sophie had fallen.”
“I said I didn’t believe her.”
“Then Charles took me outside.”
“What did he say?”
“That families survive because people know when to remain silent.”
Ortiz’s expression sharpened.
“And after that?”
“Sophie disappeared.”
My mouth went dry.
“What do you mean disappeared?”
“Adrian said she broke off the engagement and moved east.”
“Did anyone hear from her?”
“Not that I know of.”
I looked at Ortiz.
“Was her file in the basement?”
“Yes.”
“Did you open it?”
“We are processing evidence.”
“That means yes.”
Ortiz studied me.
“Yes.”
“What was in it?”
“A settlement agreement.”
“Medical records.”
“Photographs.”
“Correspondence.”
“And?”
She hesitated.
“A handwritten document titled ‘Resolution Schedule.’”
“What does that mean?”
“We don’t know.”
My phone rang.
I flinched.
The screen displayed UNKNOWN CALLER.
Ortiz shook her head.
“Don’t answer.”
It stopped.
Then a text arrived.
I looked down.
One sentence.
YOU SHOULD HAVE TAKEN THE APARTMENT.
Ortiz saw it.
“Give me the phone.”
Another message came.
THE BASEMENT WILL RUIN EVERYONE.
Then:
INCLUDING YOU.
Maya stood.
“Oh my God.”
Ortiz immediately stepped into the hallway and called another officer.
I stared at the screen.
Another message appeared.
ASK CLAIRE WHY HER FATHER REALLY DIED.
My entire body went cold.
Maya looked at me.
“What does that mean?”
I could not answer.
My father had died six years earlier.
Heart attack.
Fifty-nine years old.
He had collapsed in his office.
There had been no mystery.
No investigation.
No reason for one.
At least that was what I had always believed.
The phone vibrated again.
This time there was an attachment.
A photograph.
My father.
Standing outside a restaurant.
Beside Charles Hale.
The timestamp was dated three weeks before my father died.
I stared at the image until my vision blurred.
I had never known they knew each other.
Ortiz returned.
“What is it?”
I handed her the phone.
She looked at the photograph.
Then at me.
“Did your father do business with the Hales?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
At least I had been.
Before tonight.
Maya whispered:
“Claire.”
I looked at her.
Her face had gone even paler.
“What?”
“I know that restaurant.”
“So?”
“It isn’t in San Francisco.”
“Where is it?”
“Napa.”
She stared at the photograph.
“Across the road from the Hale family attorney’s office.”
I looked again at my dead father standing beside Charles.
And beneath the photograph, the anonymous sender had added five words.
May you like
HE SAID NO BEFORE YOU DID.
---
