Chương 6
Daniel considered this suspicious.
Ortiz considered it bad maintenance until someone proved otherwise.
“You hate exciting theories,” Daniel told her.
“I hate theories that get more exciting when evidence gets worse.”
“I’m putting that on a mug.”
Ortiz ignored him.
The financial records were less ambiguous.
Ethan’s company was close to collapse.
He had personally guaranteed loans connected to a luxury redevelopment project that had stalled after a major investor withdrew. He had moved money between accounts to keep payments current. The attempted transfer from Rachel’s account would have covered the most immediate gap.
It also would have hidden how bad things were for another month.
Laura Benton, the estate lawyer Rachel had been scheduled to meet, came to the hospital on the fifth day.
She was small, gray-haired, and entirely unimpressed by wealth.
“You named Ethan primary beneficiary of certain accounts when you married,” she said. “You also gave him authority in some incapacity documents. That does not mean every asset would magically become his if you died. His statement on the recording is legally sloppy.”
Rachel almost laughed.
“Ethan’s never been good at legal nuance when he’s committing crimes.”
Benton looked at her over her glasses.
“Do not say things like that in public.”
Daniel, from the couch, said, “I like her.”
Benton continued. “But he had a significant financial interest in your death, yes. More important, he appears to have believed he did.”
Rachel stared at the papers in her lap.
“I want him removed from everything.”
“We can do that.”
“Today.”
“We can begin today.”
Rachel hated the distinction.
Benton noticed.
“Sergeant Hayes, documents remain boring even when your life becomes exciting.”
“My life is not exciting.”
“No. It’s terrible. The documents are still boring.”
Rachel signed where Benton indicated.
Her hand shook after the fourth signature.
She hid it by putting down the pen.
Benton pretended not to notice.
That kindness nearly undid her.
The person on the other end of Ethan’s recorded call took longer to identify.
Phone records eventually showed a call from Ethan to Julian Cross, his business partner.
Julian did not answer Ortiz’s first call.
Or the second.
His attorney answered the third.
By then Ethan had stopped visiting the hospital.
He sent messages instead.
I love you.
You are not thinking clearly.
Daniel is making this worse.
Please don’t destroy our marriage because you’re scared.
Then:
We need to talk without an audience.
Then:
Do you understand what accusations like this could do to me?
Rachel read that message three times.
Not because she doubted herself.
Because there was something almost impressive about the sentence.
Do to me.
She showed Daniel.
He said, “I would like five private minutes with him.”
“No.”
“Four.”
“No.”
“Three and a half.”
Rachel put the phone down.
The black smartphone containing the recording remained with investigators. She was using a temporary replacement Daniel bought without asking her.
It was too large.
She complained about it daily.
“You could say thank you,” he told her.
“I did.”
“You said, ‘Why is it enormous?’”
“That was gratitude with feedback.”
On the seventh morning, a physical therapist named Gwen made Rachel stand.
Nothing in Afghanistan had prepared her for the humiliation of standing six inches from a hospital bed while a woman half her size held a gait belt around her waist.
Rachel’s cast and orthopedic brace made the injured leg feel like an object attached to her rather than part of her body.
“Weight through the good leg,” Gwen said.
“I know.”
“I know you know. Do it anyway.”
Rachel pushed up.
Pain climbed from shin to hip.
Her arms trembled.
She made it upright.
For perhaps four seconds.
Then her right knee weakened and Gwen guided her back to the bed.
Rachel swore.
Gwen checked the brace.
“Good.”
“That was not good.”
“You stood.”
“I failed to continue standing.”
Gwen looked at her.
“You’re going to be exhausting.”
“So I’ve heard.”
After Gwen left, Rachel cried for the first time.
Quietly.
Mostly because she was angry.
She turned her face toward the window so no one entering would see, which was pointless because Daniel walked in carrying coffee and immediately noticed.
He stopped.
Rachel wiped her cheek.
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You’re about to.”
“I was going to ask whether you wanted coffee.”
She looked at the cup.
“Yes.”
He handed it to her.
They sat without speaking.
Outside, a window washer moved slowly down the building across the avenue, suspended in a metal platform.
Daniel watched him for a while.
“Worst job in the city.”
Rachel drank.
“Your job is mergers.”
“Exactly. I know suffering.”
She laughed once and regretted it because of her ribs.
Daniel smiled.
Then his face settled.
“Julian Cross talked.”
Rachel stopped holding the cup halfway to her mouth.
Daniel sat.
“He had his lawyer call Ortiz this morning.”
“What did he say?”
“I don’t know everything.”
“Daniel.”
“I genuinely don’t. Ortiz said she’ll come by.”
Rachel put the coffee down.
“What do you know?”
Daniel looked toward the door.
“He says Ethan called him from the garage.”
The room seemed to contract.
“And?”
“He says he thought Ethan was threatening to stop you from going to the lawyer. He didn’t know you were hurt until Ethan said the part about you dying.”
Rachel’s fingers tightened around the blanket.
“What did Julian do?”
“Hung up.”
“That’s it?”
“Apparently.”
“He didn’t call anyone?”
Daniel shook his head.
Rachel looked away.
Human beings disappointed her in increasingly specific ways.
Julian Cross came to the hospital two days later.
Rachel almost refused to see him.
Then she decided she wanted to look at a man who had heard Ethan say she might die and had gone to bed anyway.
Julian wore a dark sweater instead of a suit. He looked older than Rachel remembered from company dinners. There was a fresh razor cut near his chin.
He did not sit until she told him to.
May you like
“I’m sorry.”
Rachel said, “That doesn’t help.”
