Chapter 5 - THE WOMAN WHO KNEW MY HUSBAND'S SECRETS
“Rebecca Cross has been missing from your life for twelve years, and now her handwriting is inside my bedroom?”
I held the strip of paper between two fingers.
Dorian didn't answer.
He was staring at the photograph as though it might explain something if he looked long enough.
Caleb finally spoke.
“Rebecca never officially disappeared. She relocated with Sophie. Her address was protected through an arrangement Julian made before he died.”
“Then someone knows where she is,” I said.
“Someone certainly knows enough about her to imitate her handwriting,” Caleb replied.
Dorian looked up.
“You think it's forged?”
“I think we shouldn't assume anything until we speak to her.”
That sounded reasonable.
But reasonable explanations had stopped making me feel safe.
I sat on the edge of my bed.
“Dorian, why did the note say the date changed?”
He looked exhausted.
“The first photograph arrived in September. The threat named March nineteenth. Later, after you moved out, a second message arrived.”
I stared at him.
“You said nothing about a second message.”
“I know.”
“What did it say?”
His eyes met mine.
“Separation doesn't end a debt.”
I waited.
“That's all?”
He shook his head.
“There was another photograph.”
“Of what?”
“Your apartment building.”
I stood so abruptly that Caleb reached toward me.
“Someone knew where I moved?”
“Yes.”
“You let me live here?”
“Security was watching the building. I didn't know Martin's company had acquired the management contract.”
I looked around my little bedroom.
The books.
The flowers on the dresser.
The framed photograph of my mother.
I'd thought I was building a life that belonged to me.
Instead, somebody had been watching it.
“Both of you need to leave,” I said.
Dorian's expression tightened.
“Alina—”
“I need five minutes without someone deciding what's best for me.”
Caleb looked at Dorian.
Then he quietly stepped into the hallway.
Dorian remained.
I pointed toward the door.
“Please.”
He finally followed Caleb.
I sat down and cried.
Not because I was helpless.
Because I was angry.
Angry at whoever threatened me.
Angry at Dorian for shutting me out.
And angry at myself because I still wanted him to come back and hold me.
After a few minutes, I opened my jewelry box.
My wedding ring lay inside a velvet pouch.
Beneath it was a photograph of my mother on our wedding day.
She had been laughing as she straightened the collar of Dorian's tuxedo.
He had looked so young.
So happy.
I picked up the picture.
Something slid from behind it.
A small cream card.
I frowned.
I didn't remember putting it there.
Across the card, in neat handwriting, were four words.
Look inside your coat.
My hands began shaking.
I reached for the cream coat hanging beside the door.
The lining near the inner pocket felt unusually thick.
I pressed it.
Something crinkled.
I took a pair of nail scissors from my dresser and carefully opened a loose seam.
A folded sheet of paper slid into my hand.
It wasn't another threat.
It was a photocopy of a bank transfer.
The amount made my breath catch.
$4,800,000.
The recipient was listed as HARBOR RESTORATION TRUST.
The authorization carried two signatures.
Martin Vale.
And Dorian Cross.
My husband's name.
I stared at it.
The transfer was dated the week Julian died.
When Dorian returned, I handed him the paper.
“Tell me what this is.”
He examined it.
Then his face changed.
“Where did you find this?”
“In my coat.”
He looked at the signature.
“That's mine.”
My chest tightened.
“Did you authorize the transfer?”
“No.”
“But you recognize it?”
“I recognize the authorization system. I was still working under my father's financial authority then.”
Caleb took the document.
He studied it carefully.
“This isn't a normal company transfer,” he said. “Harbor Restoration Trust was an emergency fund Julian created.”
“For what?” I asked.
“For employees who were injured or threatened because of our shipping operations.”
Dorian shook his head.
“My father told me the fund had been closed.”
Caleb examined the account number.
“The money went through it anyway.”
I looked at my husband.
“Could Julian have been using it to move his family?”
“Possibly.”
“Then why did Martin sign?”
Nobody answered.
That evening, Caleb arranged a secure meeting with someone who had known Julian personally.
Not a criminal associate.
Not a business rival.
A retired bookkeeper named Evelyn Porter.
She agreed to meet us at a quiet diner near the lake.
Dorian objected to my coming.
Then he remembered our agreement.
Instead of ordering me to stay, he asked whether I felt well enough.
It wasn't much.
But I noticed.
Evelyn was seventy-one, with white hair and a faded blue cardigan.
She recognized Dorian immediately.
“You look like your brother.”
He seemed startled.
“People usually say I look like my father.”
“Julian had your eyes.”
She invited us to sit.
When Caleb showed her the transfer, Evelyn's expression changed.
“Where did you get this?”
I explained.
She touched the paper.
“Julian found irregularities in the company's shipping accounts. Martin was moving money out of legitimate contracts and into shell companies.”
“Why?” Dorian asked.
“He was covering losses, paying people to remain quiet, and hiding things your father didn't want examined.”
Dorian leaned forward.
“Was my father involved?”
Evelyn looked at him sadly.
“Your father suspected something. I don't believe he understood how far it had gone.”
“What about Julian?”
“He was trying to stop it.”
“Then why did the money leave his trust?”
Evelyn hesitated.
“Because somebody used his emergency fund to pay for something he would never have approved.”
“What?”
“A shipment that should never have entered the harbor.”
The diner suddenly felt very quiet.
Dorian folded his hands.
“What kind of shipment?”
“I never saw the cargo. But Julian did. The morning after he inspected it, he told me he was going to report everything.”
“And three days later, he died,” Caleb said.
Evelyn nodded.
Then she looked at me.
“Mrs. Cross, may I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Has anyone given you tea, supplements, or anything to help you sleep recently?”
My pulse quickened.
“Why?”
“Rebecca told me something similar happened to her shortly before Julian died.”
Dorian sat forward.
“What?”
“She became dizzy. Exhausted. She thought she was ill. Julian eventually discovered someone had been interfering with what she consumed.”
I touched my stomach.
“Was she pregnant?”
Evelyn shook her head.
“Sophie was already a baby.”
“Who was doing it?” Dorian demanded.
“We never proved it.”
Evelyn opened her handbag.
She removed a small photograph.
It showed Rebecca holding Sophie in front of a grocery store.
An older woman stood beside them.
I recognized her immediately.
Margaret.
Rebecca's sister.
“Where was this taken?”
“Outside Milwaukee. Years ago.”
On the back was a telephone number.
“Rebecca gave me permission to share this if the past ever reached the next generation,” Evelyn said.
Dorian stared at the photograph.
“She's alive?”
Evelyn nodded.
“And she has been trying to keep Sophie safe all these years.”
“Does she know about the threats?”
“I don't know. But she knew someone was going to reopen Julian's case.”
She looked at me.
“That's why I agreed to meet you.”
Dorian took out his phone.
I expected him to call immediately.
Instead, he looked at me.
“Do you want to speak to her?”
I nodded.
“Yes.”
We called together.
Rebecca answered after several rings.
Her voice was cautious.
“Hello?”
Dorian closed his eyes.
“Rebecca. It's Dorian.”
A long silence followed.
Then a woman exhaled sharply.
“I wondered when you'd find the photograph.”
My skin prickled.
“You sent it?” I asked.
“Yes, Alina.”
“Why didn't you simply come to us?”
“Because I couldn't be certain whom Dorian trusted.”
Dorian leaned closer.
“Rebecca, who killed Julian?”
Her answer came without hesitation.
“I know who arranged the circumstances that led to his death. But I can't prove it alone.”
“Martin Vale?” Dorian asked.
Rebecca was silent.
Then she said something much worse.
“Martin wasn't acting alone.”
Dorian stared at the phone.
“Who helped him?”
Rebecca's voice trembled.
“The person who helped him is still being paid by someone in your household.”
May you like
And then she added:
“Dorian, before you trust another word Caleb says, ask him why he has been sending money to my daughter for twelve years.”
