Chapter 3 - THE PENTHOUSE NO ONE KNEW EXISTEDI had lived with Robert for forty years.
I knew every scar on his hands.
Every bad habit.
Every secret drawer.
At least I thought I did.
Arthur drove me through Manhattan in a black sedan.
We passed Fifth Avenue, Central Park, towers of glass and steel, streets crowded with people who had no idea that my life had just been split in half.
The car stopped outside a building I had seen countless times.
I had never entered it.
Arthur handed me a key card.
“This is yours.”
I stared at it.
“Robert owned this?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Twenty-six years.”
I almost laughed.
Twenty-six years.
He had owned a Manhattan penthouse for more than half our marriage.
And I had never known.
We entered the private elevator.
No buttons.
Arthur inserted his card.
The elevator began rising.
Thirty floors.
Forty.
Fifty.
Then sixty-two.
The doors opened directly into a massive living room surrounded by glass.
Manhattan stretched beneath us.
The Empire State Building stood in the distance.
The Hudson River glittered under the afternoon sun.
I couldn't speak.
Everything was immaculate.
Expensive.
A grand piano.
Original paintings.
Bookshelves.
A dining table set for ten.
And photographs.
Hundreds of photographs.
But not family photographs.
Business photographs.
Robert shaking hands with men I didn't recognize.
Robert beside politicians.
Robert standing outside foreign embassies.
Robert with wealthy businessmen.
Arthur walked to a locked cabinet.
He opened it.
Inside were passports.
Bank keys.
Contracts.
And one photograph.
Robert.
Standing beside the mysterious man from Vanessa’s photograph.
I pointed.
“Who is he?”
Arthur said,
“His name is Victor Hale.”
The name meant nothing to me.
“What does he do?”
Arthur looked at the photograph.
“Officially? Private equity.”
“And unofficially?”
Arthur closed the cabinet.
“We don't know.”
I stared at him.
“You're telling me my husband had a secret fortune, a penthouse, foreign accounts, and dangerous enemies?”
“I am telling you your husband spent twenty-six years preparing for a possibility he hoped would never happen.”
“What possibility?”
Arthur walked toward the window.
“Your death.”
I turned sharply.
“My death?”
“No.”
He corrected himself.
“Your isolation.”
I frowned.
“Robert believed that if he died first, you would be vulnerable.”
“To whom?”
Arthur looked at me.
“To your own family.”
The words landed like a slap.
He took me to the master bedroom.
Inside was a small safe.
He gave me another key.
My hands shook as I opened it.
Inside was a letter.
Only one page.
Eleanor,
If you are reading this, then I was right.
You are alone.
But you are not powerless.
Trust Arthur.
Trust no one else.
There are three things I need you to know.
The first is that the $28 million belongs to you.
The second is that the penthouse belongs to you.
The third is that Daniel was never supposed to inherit either.
I stopped reading.
“Why?”
Arthur said nothing.
I continued.
You will soon learn why I made that decision.
When you do, remember one thing.
Money was never what I was protecting.
You were.
At the bottom was a final sentence.
Find the red ledger.
I looked at Arthur.
“What is the red ledger?”
“We don't know.”
“Then why are you calm?”
“I’m not.”
His phone rang.
He checked the screen.
“What's wrong?”
Arthur didn't answer.
He opened the message.
A photograph appeared.
It showed me entering the bank.
Taken from across the street.
Underneath it was one sentence.
SHE KNOWS NOW.
Arthur looked at me.
“The people watching us know you have the penthouse.”
I walked toward the window.
Far below, the city seemed peaceful.
But for the first time in my life, Manhattan looked different.
Not beautiful.
Hungry.
And somewhere in that enormous city, someone was watching me.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
A man's voice whispered,
“Mrs. Whitmore.”
“Yes?”
“You should never have opened the penthouse.”
The call ended.
I stared at the phone.
Arthur rushed toward me.
“Turn it off.”
“Why?”
“Because they can trace it.”
I slowly looked through the glass.
Across the street, on the roof of another building, a tiny red light blinked.
May you like
Someone was watching the penthouse.
And they knew I was inside.
