Chapter 2 - THE WOODEN FRAME
Caroline Wells chose first.
She walked directly toward a velvet display case near the gallery wall and pointed to a diamond necklace that had belonged to Adrian’s grandmother.
Grant’s eyebrows rose slightly.
Nobody commented.
Vanessa Cole chose a restored 1967 Ferrari from the climate-controlled garage.
Lauren Pierce wanted a Monet sketch.
Melissa Ward requested three acres from the eastern edge of the estate.
The remaining women chose an antique sapphire bracelet, a rare eighteenth-century clock, and a commercial property Adrian owned near Rittenhouse Square.
Adrian reacted to none of it.
He simply nodded after each selection.
“Done.”
The women became increasingly pleased with themselves.
Nora continued collecting abandoned champagne glasses.
She was reaching for Caroline’s empty glass when Adrian spoke.
“Ms. Bennett.”
Her hand stopped.
Every woman looked at her.
Nora slowly straightened.
“Yes, Mr. Vale?”
“You haven’t chosen.”
A few seconds passed before Vanessa laughed.
“She’s staff.”
“I’m aware,” Adrian said.
The laughter disappeared.
Nora looked toward Grant.
He appeared equally surprised.
“I wasn’t invited to participate.”
“You are now.”
Caroline folded her arms.
“This is becoming strange.”
Adrian’s gaze remained on Nora.
“Choose one thing.”
Nora’s mouth went dry.
She understood immediately why this was dangerous.
If she chose something expensive, the women would call her greedy.
If she refused, Adrian might consider it performative humility.
If she chose the object she actually wanted—
Then he would know she had noticed something private.
Something he had never intended anyone to notice.
“I don’t need anything,” Nora said.
“That wasn’t the instruction.”
There was no cruelty in his voice.
Only curiosity.
Nora set down her tray.
Then she walked.
She passed the diamond necklace.
The painting.
The antique clock.
She crossed the gallery and entered the dining room.
Someone whispered behind her.
Nora continued through the kitchen.
Two cooks stared as she passed.
Then she pushed open the narrow swinging door leading into the service corridor.
The hallway smelled faintly of furniture polish and old plaster.
At the end stood a narrow mahogany table.
On it sat a wooden frame.
It was barely eight inches tall.
The wood was scratched.
One corner had been repaired with glue.
The glass was old enough to contain tiny imperfections.
Nora picked it up carefully.
Then she returned to the gallery.
Silence followed her.
When she appeared carrying the frame, Vanessa stared.
Lauren laughed first.
Not loudly.
Just enough.
“That?”
Melissa covered a smile.
“You could have chosen a building.”
Nora said nothing.
She walked until she stood in front of Adrian.
Then she held out the frame.
His face changed.
Barely.
But Nora saw it.
Grant saw it too.
Adrian did not take the frame immediately.
“Why?”
Nora swallowed.
“You told me to choose one thing.”
“There are perhaps forty thousand objects on this property.”
“I know.”
“And you chose that.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
The room waited.
Nora could have lied.
Instead, she looked at him.
“Because it’s the only thing in this house you visit every night.”
No one laughed now.
Adrian’s eyes hardened.
“You watch me?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know?”
“I work here.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“It does.”
She lowered her voice.
“People notice expensive things because they want them. Staff notice small things because we’re responsible for them.”
Adrian remained motionless.
Nora continued.
“You walk into that hallway every night. You stand in front of this frame for about two minutes. Sometimes you straighten it even when it isn’t crooked.”
Grant looked away.
Something painful passed through Adrian’s face.
He finally accepted the frame.
Inside was an old photograph.
Adrian looked no older than nineteen.
Beside him stood a dark-haired teenage girl with a wide grin, one arm thrown around his shoulders.
Their mother stood behind them.
All three were laughing.
Nora had never known exactly who the girl was.
Adrian answered the unspoken question.
“My sister.”
His thumb moved across the scratched wood.
“Elena made the frame when she was fourteen.”
Caroline’s expression changed.
“When did she die?”
“Four years ago.”
Nobody spoke after that.
Nora suddenly wished she had refused the test.
She had not wanted to expose his grief.
“I’m sorry.”
Adrian looked at her.
“Are you?”
“Yes.”
“Then why take it?”
“Because you asked what I valued.”
His jaw tightened.
“I asked what you wanted.”
Nora shook her head.
“No. You asked us to choose.”
That surprised him.
She nodded toward the expensive objects scattered around them.
“They chose what would make them richer.”
Caroline’s eyes narrowed.
Nora immediately regretted the judgment in her voice.
But Adrian asked, “And you?”
“I chose the thing nobody could replace.”
The room became completely silent.
Something moved behind the glass.
Adrian looked down.
The old cardboard backing had loosened when Nora carried the frame.
A folded piece of paper slipped from behind the photograph.
It landed on the marble floor.
Grant bent to pick it up.
Adrian stopped him.
“I’ll get it.”
He unfolded the paper.
It was not a letter.
It was a child’s drawing.
Black car.
Three stick figures.
Rain falling in heavy blue lines.
A woman beside the car.
A smaller child holding her hand.
And a tall man standing several feet away.
Something silver had been drawn around the man’s wrist.
Adrian stared at it.
Nora stepped closer.
Written beneath the figure in uneven block letters were six words.
HE SAID MOMMY HAD TO COME.
Adrian went pale.
Grant whispered, “Adrian?”
Adrian turned the paper over.
A date had been written on the back.
Four years earlier.
Three days after Elena Vale died.
Adrian’s voice dropped almost to nothing.
“This is Maya’s handwriting.”
Nora looked at him.
“Maya?”
“My niece.”
He lifted his eyes.
“Elena’s daughter.”
The room suddenly felt colder.
Adrian studied the silver circle around the stranger’s wrist.
Then he looked toward Grant.
“Maya told the police she remembered nothing.”
Grant’s face had lost its color.
Adrian folded the drawing once.
Slowly.
Carefully.
May you like
Then he said the sentence that ended the party.
“My niece saw someone with Elena the night she died.”
