Chapter 7 - The Woman Waiting at Saint Matthew'sI didn't sleep that night.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the photograph of Adrian's SUV.
I saw the shattered glass.
I saw the reflection of a man standing beside the road.
My father.
I remembered his voice on the telephone, the controlled urgency with which he had warned me about Adrian.
I remembered the envelope, the ledger, the key hidden inside Sophie's blanket.
And now I had evidence that my father had been present at the scene of the crash.
Why had he been there?
Had he tried to stop Adrian?
Had he followed the vehicle?
Or had he known something was going to happen?
By morning, I had thought of a hundred possible explanations, and every one made me feel worse than the last.
Eleanor found me sitting at the kitchen table with the photograph spread beneath my hands.
“You haven't slept.”
“I can't.”
“Then eat something.”
“I don't want food.”
“You don't have to want it. You just need enough strength to think clearly.”
I looked up.
“Did my father tell you he was at the crash site?”
“No.”
“Did he tell you anything about the accident?”
Eleanor hesitated.
That hesitation was familiar now.
Too familiar.
“Eleanor.”
She sat across from me.
“Thomas told me he believed Adrian was preparing to leave Chicago. He was trying to identify the people helping him move certain financial records out of the country.”
“Was Vivian one of them?”
“I don't know.”
“Was Marco?”
“I don't know.”
“Was my father following Adrian the day Sophie died?”
Eleanor pressed her hands together.
“I think he was.”
I stared at her.
“And you didn't tell me?”
“I didn't know he was at that exact location. I suspected he had followed the vehicle.”
“Why?”
“Because he was trying to find out whether Adrian was meeting someone.”
“Who?”
Eleanor looked at the photograph.
“Someone called the Architect.”
The name sounded ridiculous.
Like a character in a spy novel.
But she wasn't smiling.
“Who is the Architect?”
“A person who arranges things without appearing to participate in them. Your father believed the name referred to a senior member of Adrian's network.”
“Do we know who it is?”
“No.”
“Then how does this help us?”
“Because if the Architect arranged the trip, altered the maintenance records, or threatened Adrian, that person may know why Sophie died.”
I looked away.
I hated the word may.
It offered hope without giving me anything solid to hold.
That afternoon, we prepared for the meeting at Saint Matthew's.
Daniel acquired an old sedan registered to a company that had been closed for years. Eleanor changed her appearance, replacing her glasses and gray coat with a dark scarf and a baseball cap.
I wore a plain black jacket and carried Sophie's urn inside a canvas bag.
I refused to leave it behind.
At seven-thirty, Daniel dropped us several streets away from the church.
Saint Matthew's stood between a small grocery store and a row of aging brick houses. Its windows glowed amber against the darkening sky.
A handful of people entered through the side door.
I watched them from across the street.
“Do you see her?” Eleanor whispered.
“No.”
We waited.
At 7:58 p.m., a black sedan pulled to the curb.
Vivian emerged wearing a long coat, a baseball cap, and dark sunglasses.
She looked thinner than she had at the hospital. Her left wrist was still supported by a brace, and she kept glancing toward the surrounding streets.
She entered through the side door without looking back.
I followed several minutes later.
Inside, the church smelled of old wood and candle wax. Most of the lights were off, leaving pools of warm illumination around the altar.
Vivian stood near the last row of pews.
When she saw me, her face crumpled.
“Claire.”
I stopped several feet away.
“Tell me everything.”
She looked at the bag I was carrying.
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Oh, God.”
“Don't.”
“I know I have no right to ask you to forgive me.”
“You're correct.”
She nodded, accepting the words without protest.
“I wanted to tell you at the hospital.”
“Then why didn't you?”
“Adrian's men never left my room. They watched every person who entered. They took my phone. They told me I was lucky to be alive.”
“Were you?”
Vivian looked down.
“I thought so.”
She sat on the pew and covered her face.
For a moment, I watched her cry.
I wanted to feel satisfied.
I wanted to look at her and see only the woman who had helped destroy my family.
But I also remembered the words I had overheard at the funeral.
I remembered her asking what would happen if I found out.
She had been frightened.
Now I needed to know what she had been frightened of.
“Start with the trip,” I said.
Vivian lowered her hands.
“Adrian told me he had to leave Chicago for a meeting. He said the meeting was confidential, and that he couldn't use his usual driver because someone was monitoring the company vehicles.”
“Who?”
“He wouldn't tell me.”
“Why were you going with him?”
“Because I had documents he needed.”
“What documents?”
She reached inside her coat and removed a folded sheet of paper.
“Copies of financial transfers. I had been helping with some of his private arrangements for months. I didn't understand everything I was handling, but I knew enough to realize some of the companies didn't exist in any meaningful sense.”
“Shell companies.”
“Yes.”
I stared at her.
“You were helping him move money?”
“At first, I thought it was legitimate. I was working as an administrative consultant for one of his firms. He told me I was helping restructure some overseas investments.”
“And when did you realize otherwise?”
“Three weeks before the crash.”
She handed me the paper.
It contained several company names, amounts, and dates.
One of the companies was listed as the owner of a building near the river.
I recognized the address.
It was the old Hale Financial Group headquarters.
My father's company.
The building that had supposedly been sold after his death.
I felt sick.
“Why was Adrian moving money through my father's company?”
Vivian shook her head.
“I don't know. But when I asked him, he told me to stop looking at the accounts.”
“And you obeyed.”
“Yes.”
“Until you discovered he was lying?”
“Until I realized he was afraid of someone.”
She leaned forward.
“He received a phone call the night before the crash. I was in his study. He didn't know I was there. The person on the other end told him that the arrangement had changed.”
“What arrangement?”
“The airport trip. The documents. The vehicle.”
My stomach tightened.
“What exactly did the person say?”
Vivian closed her eyes, trying to remember.
“They said, 'You have one opportunity to deliver the package. If you fail, the consequences will be permanent.'”
I stared at her.
“And Adrian agreed?”
“He said he understood.”
“What happened next?”
“The caller told him to bring the girl.”
For a moment, I couldn't breathe.
“What?”
Vivian began shaking.
“I heard it clearly. The caller said, 'Bring the girl.' Adrian answered that the child wasn't part of the arrangement. The caller told him he had no choice.”
I stepped backward.
“No.”
“Claire—”
“No. You're telling me someone demanded that Adrian bring Sophie into a dangerous situation?”
Vivian covered her mouth.
“I don't know why. I swear I don't.”
“Then why was she in the car?”
“Because Adrian collected her from school before picking me up. He said he needed to take her home, but I had already told him I was running late. I thought he was going to drop her off first.”
“You pressured him to hurry.”
“Yes.”
“And he chose you.”
She began crying harder.
“Yes.”
I looked away.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then Vivian reached for my arm.
I recoiled.
“Don't touch me.”
She withdrew her hand.
“I deserve that.”
“You don't deserve anything from me.”
“I know.”
I turned toward the altar.
My daughter had been seven years old.
She had loved strawberry cereal, silly songs, and the little tomatoes in her pasta.
She had believed her father could fix every broken thing.
And now I was learning that someone had specifically demanded her presence during the trip that killed her.
I faced Vivian again.
“Who was on the phone?”
“I don't know.”
“Did Adrian say anything afterward?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
She swallowed.
“He told me that if anything happened, I had to say Sophie was never supposed to be there.”
The church seemed to grow colder.
“And you agreed?”
“I was terrified.”
“You were afraid of Adrian?”
“I was afraid of both of them.”
My pulse quickened.
“Both?”
She looked toward the rear entrance.
Before she could answer, a sound came from the balcony.
A soft creak.
Then a footstep.
Vivian turned white.
“No,” she whispered.
“What?”
She grabbed my wrist.
“We have to leave.”
“Tell me who the other person is.”
Her lips trembled.
Then she spoke a name.
A name that made no sense.
A name I had not heard in nine years.
“Your father's business partner.”
I stared at her.
“My father never had a business partner.”
Vivian shook her head.
“He did. And Adrian has been working for him since before you met your husband.”
Another footstep sounded above us.
Vivian began backing away.
“Claire, listen to me. The person who demanded Sophie be brought on that trip isn't a stranger.”
She looked directly into my eyes.
“He's the man who gave you away at your wedding.”
May you like
Before I could process the words, the church doors slammed shut.
And the lights went out.
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