Chapter 7 - The First WifeThe Woman Nobody Mentioned
I thought I had misunderstood him.
“First wife?”
Daniel nodded.
“Arthur was married before me.”
“I know.”
“No,” he said. “You knew he had been married once. You didn't know who she was.”
I stared at the photograph.
Rebecca Miller.
Young.
Elegant.
A sharp smile that looked almost identical to one Sloan used whenever she thought she had won.
“Arthur never talked about her.”
“He rarely did.”
“What happened?”
Daniel folded his hands.
“She disappeared.”
My throat tightened.
“Disappeared?”
“After the financial scandal.”
“What financial scandal?”
“The same one we're discussing.”
I sat down.
Daniel continued.
“Rebecca was Arthur's business partner. Not just his wife. She handled their investment accounts.”
“And?”
“Money disappeared.”
“Rebecca stole it?”
“That was the accusation.”
I looked at the photograph again.
“Did she?”
“We never proved it.”
“Then why did she disappear?”
Daniel's expression darkened.
“Because Vincent Hale wanted someone to blame.”
I stared.
“What does that have to do with me?”
“Everything.”
My phone buzzed.
A message.
Unknown number.
A photograph.
I opened it.
Rebecca.
Older now.
Standing outside a diner.
The message beneath it read:
She is closer than you think.
Then another photograph appeared.
This one showed Rebecca standing beside Sloan.
My hands went cold.
“Daniel.”
He looked.
His face changed.
“Sloan knows her.”
“How?”
“I don't know.”
Another message appeared.
Ask your daughter-in-law why she visits the old Miller property every Thursday.
I stared.
“What old property?”
Daniel looked confused.
I searched online.
The Miller family had owned an old farmhouse outside the city decades ago.
Arthur had sold it before we married.
Or so I had thought.
Daniel called a property agent.
Within an hour, we had an answer.
The property had never been sold.
It had been transferred.
To a private trust.
Owned by Rebecca Miller.
My head spun.
Rebecca wasn't dead.
She had been living quietly less than an hour away.
And Sloan had been visiting her.
I drove there that evening.
Daniel insisted on coming.
The farmhouse stood behind a line of bare trees.
No Christmas lights.
No decorations.
Only a single lamp in one downstairs window.
I knocked.
No answer.
I knocked again.
The door opened.
An elderly woman stood there.
White hair.
Sharp eyes.
And a familiar expression.
She looked at me for a long moment.
Then she whispered:
“You have Arthur's eyes.”
I couldn't move.
“You're Rebecca.”
She nodded.
“Come in.”
The house was warm.
Old.
Untouched by time.
Photographs lined the walls.
Arthur at twenty-eight.
Arthur at thirty.
Arthur with Rebecca.
Arthur holding a young child.
I stopped.
“Who is that?”
Rebecca followed my gaze.
“My son.”
I stared at the photograph.
A boy of perhaps four years old.
“Arthur's son?”
She nodded.
I swallowed.
“Trevor?”
Rebecca smiled sadly.
“No.”
My heart slammed.
“Then who?”
She looked at me.
“You.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“What?”
“You were not Arthur's first family.”
I backed away.
Rebecca reached for my hand.
“Diane, Arthur loved you.”
“Then tell me what you mean.”
“He married me when we were very young.”
“And the child?”
“Not ours.”
I looked at the photograph again.
“Then who is he?”
Rebecca's eyes filled with tears.
“Gregory Sloan's son.”
I stared.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“The boy in the photograph is...”
She nodded.
“Your daughter-in-law's half-brother.”
I couldn't breathe.
“His name is Nathan.”
“What happened to him?”
Rebecca looked toward the hallway.
“He died.”
“How?”
“Because of the money.”
She paused.
“And Sloan knows.”
I whispered, “Why did she marry Trevor?”
May you like
Rebecca's answer was almost inaudible.
“To finish what her father started.”
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