Chương 5
I ended the call.
Lydia whispered, “Police?”
“If someone forged my signature to obtain financing, yes.”
“What happens to Marcus?”
“I don’t know.”
She recoiled slightly.
It was not fear for herself.
That irritated me more than it should have.
“He may have committed a crime against you too,” I said.
“He’s still my husband.”
“You keep saying that as if repetition makes it older.”
“That’s cruel.”
“So was telling me to prepare for an old-age home.”
Her face collapsed.
The satisfaction I expected did not come.
I wished immediately that I had kept my mouth shut.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” she whispered.
“No.”
“You weren’t around.”
“I was around.”
“You were physically in the house sometimes.”
I took the blow without interrupting.
“You’d come home at nine and ask how school was while reading emails.”
“I was working.”
“I know.”
“You had everything.”
“That was the problem.”
I almost laughed from sheer disbelief.
“The problem was that you had everything?”
“The problem was that you kept giving me things instead of saying no.”
She wiped beneath one eye carefully so she would not smear the makeup.
“When I wanted something, you solved it with money.”
“I was trying to take care of you.”
“I know.”
Her voice softened.
“That’s why it worked.”
The sentence hurt because it contained no accusation she had invented that morning.
I had done that.
I had missed dinners and compensated with trips.
Missed performances and bought gifts.
Missed fear and called it independence.
Marcus had not created every weakness between us.
He had simply found them.
Raymond’s phone rang.
He stepped into the hall to answer.
Lydia finally drank the water.
“You think I’m stupid.”
“I think you made stupid choices.”
“That’s not better.”
“It is if you plan to make different ones.”
She stared at the floor.
“I loved him.”
I said nothing.
“Maybe I still do.”
“I know.”
“You can hate someone and still—”
“I know.”
She looked up.
For once, neither of us had anything useful to add.
Through the wall came the faint thump of music from a wedding reception whose bride had disappeared.
Someone was still serving dinner.
Someone else was probably complaining that the sea bass was cold.
Raymond returned.
His face had lost its professional boredom.
“Eleanor.”
“What?”
“The attorney Julia sent is ten minutes out.”
“And?”
“Marcus is gone.”
Lydia stood so quickly the water spilled down the front of her dress.
“What do you mean gone?”
“He went through the catering corridor while I was on the phone.”
“You had people watching him.”
“I had people controlling the main exits.”
Raymond’s jaw tightened.
“That was my mistake.”
“How did he leave the property?”
“One of the floral vans.”
Lydia grabbed her phone.
“No.”
She dialed Marcus.
It went directly to voicemail.
She dialed again.
Nothing.
Then a new message appeared.
Not from Marcus.
From an unknown number.
Lydia read it once and sat down.
I took the phone from her hand.
The message contained a photograph of a cardboard banker’s box sitting open on a metal desk.
Inside were folders bearing investor names I recognized.
Under the photograph were six words.
Tell your mother to back off.
A second message arrived.
Or everyone learns what you signed.
Lydia stared at the second message until the screen dimmed in her hand.
Then she touched it awake again, as if different light might change the words.
“What did I sign?” she whispered.
I took the phone from her before she could answer herself.
The unknown number had no profile image, no name, and no previous message history.
“Don’t reply.”
“What if it’s Marcus?”
“Then he knows how to call you.”
“What if it isn’t?”
“Then we have even less reason to tell a stranger anything.”
Raymond stepped closer and read the messages over my shoulder.
“Forward those to Julia too.”
Lydia looked at him.
“Can you trace the number?”
“Not from standing in your mother’s breakfast room.”
His tone was dry, almost apologetic.
“I can preserve what we have and give it to counsel and police.”
Lydia rubbed both palms down the skirt of her dress, smearing the water stain wider.
“Everybody keeps saying police like this is already some criminal thing.”
I looked at her.
“It may be.”
“No.”
Her voice sharpened.
“No, Marcus is reckless and he lies when he’s scared, but he’s not some criminal mastermind.”
“No one said mastermind.”
Raymond’s mouth twitched and then went flat again.
I nearly smiled despite myself.
That was the problem with panic.
It made even accidental humor feel inappropriate.
Lydia started pacing.
“He’ll go to the office.”
“Which office?”
“The company.”
“Where?”
“Manhattan.”
Raymond shook his head.
“If he left in a florist’s van, he could be going anywhere.”
“He’s going to the office.”
“How do you know?”
“Because that’s where the paper files are.”
She stopped.
The room became very quiet.
I said, “You know about the files.”
Her eyes closed.
“I know there are investor files.”
“The text said move the files.”
“I didn’t know he was moving them.”
“Where are they kept?”
She opened her eyes.
“In a locked records room behind his office.”
“Who has access?”
“Marcus.”
“Anyone else?”
“His CFO.”
“Name.”
“Peter Niles.”
Raymond pulled out his phone.
I asked, “Where is Peter now?”
“I don’t know.”
“Was he invited?”
“Yes.”
“Was he here?”
She looked toward the wall, thinking.
“I saw him before the ceremony.”
Raymond was already scrolling through the event security list.
“There’s a Peter Niles checked in at two thirteen.”
“When did he leave?”
“Let me ask.”
He stepped into the hall again.
Lydia sank into a chair despite the dress.
The skirt ballooned around her awkwardly.
For the first time that day, she looked like someone wearing a costume she no longer understood.
“I’m going to be sick.”
“There’s a sink behind you.”
She gave me a wounded look.
“I’m trying not to hover.”
“That’s your version of comforting?”
May you like
“It’s improving.”
A tiny laugh escaped her.
