Chương 5
Being turned into a story.
As Sterling walked me toward the car, people shouted questions.
“Sarah, did your husband know about the child?”
“Is Eleanor Whitmore being accused of fraud?”
“Are you fighting for the inheritance?”
I stopped.
The last question cut deeper than the others.
The inheritance.
That was what strangers saw.
Money.
A mansion.
A company.
Not a husband who used to dance badly in the kitchen because he knew it embarrassed me.
Not the man who kept a notebook of baby names hidden in his desk because he wanted it to be a surprise.
Sterling opened the car door.
I sat down slowly.
Before he closed it, I looked at him.
“Sterling.”
“Yes?”
“Did David know he was going to die?”
His face changed.
Only slightly.
But enough.
“I do not know.”
That was not the answer I wanted.
It was also not a lie.
The car moved away from the cathedral.
For the first time in four days, I was leaving a place where David was supposed to be.
And somehow, I was carrying more questions than when I arrived.
My phone buzzed before we reached the first intersection.
I looked at the screen.
Unknown number.
One message.
My hands went cold.
I opened it.
The message contained only one sentence.
You should have listened to David when he told you to run.
I stared at the message until the words stopped looking like words.
You should have listened to David when he told you to run.
My thumb hovered over the screen.
A dozen thoughts arrived at once, but none of them formed a complete sentence.
Run from what?
Run from whom?
And why had someone waited until the exact moment I left David’s funeral to send me that warning?
“Sarah?”
I looked up.
Sterling was watching me from the front seat.
He had noticed the change in my face.
“Who is it?”
I locked the phone.
“I do not know.”
That answer sounded weak even to me.
Sterling held out his hand.
“May I see it?”
I hesitated.
Not because I did not trust him.
Because I was beginning to realize how little I trusted anyone.
Then I handed him the phone.
He read the message twice.
The muscles in his jaw tightened.
“That is not good.”
I looked out the window at the passing buildings.
“I figured that part out.”
He did not react to the sarcasm.
“That number is blocked.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means whoever sent it does not want a normal conversation.”
“That is not an answer.”
“No.”
He handed the phone back.
“It is a warning sign.”
The car became quiet.
Outside, Manhattan continued moving as if nothing had happened.
People walked with coffee cups in their hands.
Taxis stopped and started.
A man argued into a headset near a crosswalk.
The ordinary world felt almost insulting.
My husband was dead.
Someone had tried to destroy me publicly.
Now someone was telling me I should have escaped.
And somewhere, people were still buying groceries and complaining about traffic.
Sterling watched the road.
“Did David ever tell you about a woman named Vanessa Cole?”
The question caught me off guard.
“No.”
“Think carefully.”
“I would remember.”
Sterling nodded slowly.
“That is what worries me.”
I frowned.
“Why?”
“Because David mentioned her often in his notes.”
“What kind of notes?”
“Private ones.”
I looked at him.
“You read his private notes?”
“Only after his death.”
I believed him.
Sterling was many things, but he was not careless.
“What was she?”
He looked uncomfortable.
“A former employee.”
“Former employee?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
Sterling took a moment.
“She accused Whitmore Holdings of hiding financial misconduct.”
I felt a strange chill.
“Was she right?”
“I do not know.”
“You do not know?”
“David did not know either.”
That surprised me.
“You mean he kept records because he was unsure?”
“Yes.”
The answer bothered me.
Because I had always imagined David as someone who had everything figured out.
The man who walked into a room and knew exactly what to say.
But maybe that was only what everyone else saw.
Maybe confidence was just a better disguise for uncertainty.
“What happened to her?”
Sterling looked at the phone in my hand.
“She disappeared from public view.”
“That sounds dramatic.”
“It is not dramatic.”
His voice became firmer.
“It is a fact.”
I stared ahead.
“What does she have to do with my husband’s death?”
“I do not know.”
Again.
That phrase.
I was starting to hate it.
Sterling noticed.
“I understand why you are frustrated.”
“No, you do not.”
The words came out sharper than I intended.
He looked at me.
“You lost your husband.”
“Yes.”
“And you are carrying his child.”
“Yes.”
“And today, before you could even grieve properly, you were accused of betraying him.”
My eyes burned.
“So do not tell me you understand.”
Sterling was silent.
Then he nodded.
“You are right.”
The simple admission caught me off guard.
Most people defended themselves.
Sterling did not.
“I know legal problems,” he said.
“I know evidence.”
“I know how to protect assets.”
He looked at the street ahead.
“I do not know what it feels like to lose David.”
That honesty hurt more than a comforting lie would have.
When we arrived at the house, I almost could not get out of the car.
The mansion had always felt too large before.
David joked that we did not own a house.
We owned a building that happened to have a kitchen.
I used to laugh.
Now every room looked like a place where something had been left unfinished.
Sterling walked beside me toward the entrance.
Two security guards were already waiting.
“Why are they here?”
“I arranged additional protection.”
“I did not ask for protection.”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“You also did not ask to be targeted.”
I hated that he was right.
Inside, everything was exactly where we left it.
May you like
David’s coat was still hanging near the door.
His shoes were still beside the bench.
