Chapter 3 - THE WOMAN WHO KNEW MY NAMEThe door opened another inch.
Garrett pulled me behind the desk.
We stood in darkness, barely breathing.
The woman's voice came again.
“You shouldn't have come here.”
I recognized it.
Evelyn.
Garrett's mother.
Garrett's jaw tightened.
The door opened fully.
Evelyn stepped inside.
She closed it behind her.
For several seconds, she said nothing.
Then she looked directly at Garrett.
“You found it.”
Garrett's expression hardened.
“How long have you known?”
She closed her eyes.
“Long enough.”
“Did you know about the money?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know Douglas was stealing from the company?”
Evelyn hesitated.
“Yes.”
The silence was suffocating.
I looked at her.
“Then why did you let it happen?”
Her eyes moved to me.
“Because I was afraid.”
“Of Douglas?”
“No.”
She whispered:
“Of the people behind him.”
Evelyn stepped closer.
“Garrett, your brother isn't the one running this.”
“Who is?”
“I don't know.”
“You always say you don't know.”
“Because the truth is worse than you think.”
She pulled a photograph from her coat.
It showed Garrett before the accident.
Standing.
Smiling.
Beside a black SUV.
And beside him was Christopher.
My ex-husband.
I grabbed the photograph.
“When was this?”
“Two days before the accident.”
My fingers shook.
“Why was Christopher here?”
“I don't know.”
Garrett looked at me.
I could see the question in his eyes.
Did I know?
No.
I didn't.
At least I thought I didn't.
Then I remembered something.
Three months before my divorce, Christopher had come home smelling like expensive cologne.
I had asked where he'd been.
He said Atlanta.
For work.
I believed him.
Evelyn suddenly whispered:
“They're coming.”
“Who?”
She looked at the hidden door.
“Douglas.”
She grabbed the photo from my hand.
“You were never here.”
Then she left.
Seconds later, the hidden door opened.
Douglas stood there.
His smile was calm.
“What are you doing?”
Garrett didn't blink.
“Reading.”
Douglas looked at me.
“You two spend a lot of time alone.”
“I'm his caregiver.”
“Of course.”
He entered the room.
His eyes moved to the desk.
I felt my heartbeat in my throat.
“Did you open anything?”
“No.”
Douglas stared at me for several seconds.
Then he smiled.
“Good.”
He reached into his pocket.
A syringe.
My blood ran cold.
“What is that?”
“Garrett's medication.”
“I've already given him his evening dose.”
Douglas stepped closer.
“He needs more.”
Garrett spoke.
“Douglas.”
His brother looked at him.
“You're becoming difficult.”
“I've always been difficult.”
Douglas's eyes went cold.
Then he turned to me.
“Leave.”
I hesitated.
“Now.”
I walked out.
I was halfway down the hall when I heard Garrett shout.
I turned.
The door slammed.
I ran back.
It was locked.
“Garrett!”
No answer.
I pounded on it.
“Garrett!”
I heard something crash.
Then silence.
I found a keycard under the door.
I unlocked it.
Garrett lay on the floor.
His wheelchair was overturned.
Douglas stood over him.
“He fell.”
I stared at Garrett.
His eyes met mine.
For one second, he blinked twice.
Our signal.
Danger.
I looked at Douglas.
“You said he couldn't move.”
Douglas smiled.
“He can't.”
But Garrett's hand moved.
Just enough for me to see.
He pointed toward the syringe.
I understood.
Douglas had given him something.
I forced my face to remain calm.
“Should I call emergency services?”
Douglas shook his head.
“No.”
“Why?”
“He's stable.”
I stared at him.
A president had just been found unconscious on the floor, and his brother didn't want an ambulance.
That was not normal.
After Douglas left, I helped Garrett back into his wheelchair.
His breathing was shallow.
“What did he give you?”
“Something strong.”
I looked at the syringe.
“Can you move?”
“Barely.”
“Then we have to act.”
Garrett grabbed my wrist.
“Not yet.”
“Why?”
“Because now I know something.”
“What?”
He looked at the hallway.
“Douglas thinks you're loyal to me.”
“And?”
“That means we can use it.”
The next morning, a package arrived for me.
No return address.
Inside was a flash drive.
And a photograph of Christopher and Brenda standing beside Douglas.
On the back, someone had written:
YOUR DIVORCE WAS PART OF THE PLAN.
I sat on the edge of my bed.
Then my phone rang.
Christopher.
I hadn't spoken to him since the divorce.
I answered.
His voice was barely a whisper.
“Rebecca, listen carefully.”
May you like
“Why are you calling me?”
“Because Brenda is dead.”
