Chương 6
“I lied.”
“Why?”
Ethan looked at Victoria.
“Richard asked me to come.”
“When?”
“That afternoon.”
“For what?”
“He wanted the foundation account files.”
Victoria’s mouth went dry.
“The originals?”
“Yes.”
“I had them.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Because he told me you had them.”
She felt the shape of the night beginning to return.
Not memory yet.
Structure.
People.
Motives.
Movement.
“What did you do?”
“I went to your office.”
“Was I there?”
“Yes.”
“Alone?”
“At first.”
“What did we talk about?”
“You were angry with me.”
“That does not narrow it down.”
Madeline almost laughed, then stopped herself.
Ethan rubbed his palms against his trousers.
“You said I’d let Richard turn me into a man who asked permission before having an opinion.”
Victoria remembered saying something like that.
It sounded like her on a bad day.
“Did I give you the files?”
“No.”
“What happened?”
“Richard arrived.”
The apartment became very quiet.
Victoria sat across from him.
“What time?”
“Around twelve forty.”
“Why?”
“He said he wanted to talk to you privately.”
“Did you leave?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“One fifteen.”
“Did you see me leave?”
“No.”
“Did you hear anything?”
Ethan looked down.
Madeline closed her eyes.
Victoria said, “What did you hear?”
“A glass break.”
Her back began hurting in a place that was not injured.
“What else?”
“Richard shouting.”
“He doesn’t shout.”
“That’s why I remember.”
“What did he say?”
“I couldn’t hear the words.”
“You just said you heard him shouting.”
“I heard his voice. Not the words.”
“Then?”
“I left.”
Victoria stared at him.
Ethan’s eyes filled.
He did not wipe them.
“I left,” he repeated.
“Why?”
“Because I was afraid.”
“Of him?”
“Yes.”
“For your job?”
“At first.”
“And after the glass broke?”
He looked at her.
“For myself.”
Madeline turned away.
Victoria felt no anger for several seconds.
Only disbelief.
Then anger arrived so cleanly it almost felt useful.
“You heard him shouting at me in an empty building after midnight, heard glass break, and left.”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t call me.”
“No.”
“You didn’t call security.”
“No.”
“You didn’t call Madeline.”
“No.”
“What did you do?”
“I went home.”
Madeline looked back at him.
“You came home?”
“Yes.”
“You told me you were still at the office.”
“I know.”
“You let me drive there looking for you.”
His face crumpled.
“Yes.”
Madeline stood abruptly.
“You let me find her.”
Ethan rose.
“I didn’t know—”
“You heard glass break.”
“I didn’t know.”
“You knew enough to run.”
She shoved him once in the chest.
Not hard.
He let her.
“Don’t touch me,” she said when he reached for her.
Victoria looked between them.
This was what her father had created even if he had never placed a hand on her.
A chain of people deciding not to know.
“What did you see when you arrived?” she asked Madeline.
Madeline breathed through her nose until she could speak.
“The foundation floor was empty. I saw your office door open. There was broken glass near the conference room.”
“What glass?”
“A water carafe, I think.”
Victoria looked at Ethan.
That was what he had heard.
Madeline continued.
“I called your name. No answer. I called Ethan. No answer. Then the service elevator opened downstairs.”
“How do you know?”
“I heard the bell.”
A tiny sound entered Victoria’s memory.
Ding.
She had always hated the old service elevator because the bell was too cheerful for a machine that smelled like cardboard and cleaning fluid.
Madeline said, “I went toward the stairwell. Your shoe was there.”
“My shoe?”
“One black heel.”
Victoria remembered waking without shoes.
“Then I heard something in the garage.”
“What?”
“You.”
Victoria’s fingers became cold.
“You were crying.”
No memory.
Nothing.
“I found you behind Richard’s car.”
Victoria stopped breathing.
Madeline’s voice dropped.
“You were on the ground. Your blouse was torn. Your back was bleeding. One of the rear doors of his car was open.”
“Was he there?”
“No.”
“Was anyone?”
“No.”
“What did I say?”
Madeline looked at Ethan, then back at Victoria.
“You kept saying, ‘He wouldn’t let me leave.’”
Victoria waited.
“That’s all?”
“No.”
“What else?”
“You said, ‘I signed nothing.’”
The conference room returned all at once.
Not as a full memory.
A hand.
Paper sliding across polished wood.
Richard saying, Sign it and go home.
Victoria pushing the papers away.
Her father’s watch glinting when he reached across the table.
“You remember something,” Madeline said.
Victoria stood.
She walked toward the kitchen because she needed distance from all of them.
On the counter sat a mug from that morning with a half inch of cold coffee inside.
She poured it out.
Rinsed the cup.
Set it upside down.
None of that mattered.
It helped.
Behind her, Ethan said quietly, “What did he want you to sign?”
“A retroactive authorization.”
“For the transfers?”
Victoria turned.
“How do you know about the transfers?”
Ethan’s face gave him away.
Madeline whispered, “Oh, no.”
Victoria walked back.
“What did you do?”
Ethan shook his head.
“Nothing illegal.”
“That is not an answer anyone gives before explaining something good.”
“I found the consulting payments two years ago.”
Victoria stared at him.
“Two years?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“I asked Richard.”
“You asked him.”
“He told me they were donor-development expenses routed through outside firms.”
“Did you believe him?”
“At the time.”
“And later?”
Ethan looked ashamed.
“I stopped asking.”
Madeline sank back into the chair.
“I married an entire family of cowards.”
Victoria looked at her.
“That’s unfair.”
Madeline gave her a sharp look.
“To me.”
For the first time that night, Victoria laughed.
It hurt her ribs.
She pressed one hand to her side.
Madeline laughed too, once, helplessly.
Ethan did not.
At two thirty in the morning, the three of them ordered Chinese food because none had eaten since the reception.
Madeline ate dumplings in her wedding dress.
Ethan took off his bow tie.
May you like
Victoria sat cross-legged on the sofa in an old university T-shirt with an ice pack against her shoulder.
For twelve minutes they talked about nothing useful.
