Chapter 3 - THE MAN IN THE PHOTOGRAPH
"Daniel Mercer couldn't have signed those papers," Ethan said. "He was dead before the operation."
He stood behind the same marble desk where he'd once negotiated the terms of our divorce.
His black shirt was unbuttoned at the collar.
He looked as if he hadn't slept.
Vanessa sat near the window, one hand resting over her stomach.
The diamond engagement ring on her finger was large enough to finance a small retirement.
She looked at me with open dislike.
"Why is she here?"
"Because Claire found the records," Ethan replied.
"I delivered your fertility report," I corrected. "I didn't conduct your medical investigation."
Ethan ignored that.
He pushed a folder across the desk.
"Read."
I opened it.
The documents described emergency treatment following an injury seventeen years earlier.
Ethan had suffered severe abdominal trauma at a warehouse.
He'd undergone surgery while unconscious.
The records contained a signature authorizing treatment on behalf of a family representative.
Daniel Mercer.
I looked up.
"How old were you?"
"Eighteen."
"And Daniel?"
"Nineteen."
"Why would he have authority to sign anything?"
"He shouldn't have."
Vanessa shifted.
"The doctors probably made a mistake."
Ethan turned toward her.
"Daniel disappeared the night of the fire."
I looked at the document again.
The operation had taken place the following afternoon.
"Then someone used his name."
Ethan's jaw tightened.
"Exactly."
For the first time since our divorce, I saw something besides anger in his face.
Fear.
Ethan Blackwood could face rival crime families, federal investigators, and men who carried guns beneath tailored jackets without blinking.
But a seventeen-year-old medical record had frightened him.
That interested me far more than it should have.
"Why did you bring me here?" I asked.
"Because you have the watch."
My hand moved instinctively toward my handbag.
Vanessa noticed.
"What watch?"
Ethan stared at me.
"The silver pocket watch my father owned."
I hadn't mentioned it to Martin.
"How did you know I still had it?"
"You never throw anything valuable away."
I couldn't argue with that.
"Why do you want it?"
"It belonged to Daniel before my father took it."
The room went quiet.
I slowly removed the watch.
Ethan extended his hand.
I kept it.
"Explain first."
His eyes narrowed.
For three years, I'd obeyed his requests whenever the consequences seemed reasonable.
Now I had forty million dollars, two cars, a condo, and no legal obligation to entertain his temper.
It was wonderfully liberating.
Ethan sat down.
"My father ran the shipping operation before I did. Daniel's father worked for him."
"And?"
"Daniel was my closest friend."
I looked at Vanessa.
Her face had changed.
She was no longer watching me.
She was watching Ethan.
"The three of us grew up together," he continued. "Daniel lived in an apartment over his father's garage. Vanessa lived three blocks away."
"Your first love was part of a group of three?"
Vanessa snapped, "Don't make it sound childish."
"I was asking a question."
Ethan leaned back.
"Daniel disappeared after the warehouse fire. My father said he'd stolen from the company and fled."
"Did you believe him?"
"At eighteen? Yes."
"And now?"
Ethan glanced at the surgical report.
"Now I don't know."
I turned the watch over.
"Why are all three initials engraved here?"
Vanessa spoke before Ethan could.
"We were stupid teenagers. We made promises."
"What kind?"
"That we'd always look after one another."
Her voice was sharp, but her eyes were wet.
Ethan stood.
"Give me the watch, Claire."
I lifted it toward the light.
Something was odd about the back.
The metal casing had a thin line along its edge.
"Has anyone opened this?"
Ethan froze.
"What?"
"The back isn't sealed properly."
I slipped a fingernail beneath the rim.
The casing moved.
Inside, behind the mechanism, was a folded piece of yellowing paper.
Vanessa made a small sound.
Ethan held out his hand.
"Claire."
"One moment."
I carefully unfolded it.
The message contained only six words.
The girl knows who started it.
Below them was a number.
17\.
I looked at Vanessa.
She was staring at the paper as though it had come back from the grave.
"Who is the girl?" I asked.
She stood too quickly.
"I need some air."
Ethan caught her elbow.
"Vanessa."
"Please."
He released her.
She walked toward the terrace, and I noticed that her hands were shaking.
"That note means something to her," I said.
Ethan didn't answer.
I handed him the watch.
He studied the paper.
"Daniel's handwriting."
"You're certain?"
"I spent years copying his homework."
It was the first time I'd heard Ethan speak about childhood with anything approaching affection.
He folded the note carefully.
"Seventeen," he murmured.
"What?"
"Warehouse seventeen."
According to Ethan, Blackwood Shipping had owned twenty-three warehouses along the Chicago River.
Warehouse seventeen had burned in 2009.
The property had since been redeveloped.
"What's there now?" I asked.
Ethan looked uncomfortable.
"A children's rehabilitation center."
I stared at him.
"That was unexpected."
"My mother funded it before she died."
"Why?"
"She said the neighborhood deserved something better than another warehouse."
I knew very little about Ethan's mother.
He almost never spoke about her.
The few photographs in the mansion showed a graceful woman with kind eyes and a narrow gold bracelet.
She had died when Ethan was twenty-three.
"Did she know Daniel?"
"She loved him."
"Then perhaps she knew more than your father told you."
Ethan looked toward the terrace.
Vanessa was standing outside, speaking to no one, both arms wrapped around herself.
"I need you to keep this quiet," he said.
"Why me?"
"Because you're the only person in this room who doesn't need anything from me anymore."
I almost smiled.
"That isn't entirely true."
His expression hardened.
"More money?"
"No, Ethan."
I looked toward Vanessa.
"I want to know why a woman who once rejected you returned carrying a baby you're convinced is yours."
He stared at me.
Then said something I never expected.
"Because the night she came back, she showed me a letter from Daniel."
"Where is it?"
"Vanessa says she burned it."
"Convenient."
Ethan looked away.
"Claire, Daniel wrote that my father had betrayed all three of us."
Before I could answer, Vanessa returned.
Her face was pale, but her voice was steady.
"There's something you should know."
Ethan turned.
She placed a small photograph on the desk.
It showed a little girl standing outside the old warehouse.
She couldn't have been more than eight.
She wore a red coat and held the hand of a woman whose face had been cut out of the picture.
Vanessa looked directly at me.
"That little girl is you, Claire."
I stared at the photograph.
Then at the old red coat.
May you like
Because I remembered it.
And I remembered the day my mother told me never to speak about the Blackwood warehouse again.
