Chương 8
Camille looked at her for a long moment.
Elena continued. “But the records were real.”
“You have them?”
“Some.”
“Where?”
“Not here.”
Camille glanced toward the window.
“You think I came to take them?”
“I think you came because you prefer threats you can measure.”
“That may be fair.”
The honesty annoyed Elena.
Camille removed her coat. Beneath it she wore a plain blue blouse, slightly wrinkled at one cuff. Without the red gown, she looked less like an obstacle and more like a tired woman who had made a career out of standing between disasters and expensive men.
“I loved Noah too,” Camille said.
Elena’s eyes narrowed.
“Not romantically.”
“I didn’t assume.”
“Adrian did not know how to say no to him without rage. I did. Noah hated me for that, then called me when Adrian stopped answering.”
“Why?”
“Because he knew I would answer.”
Elena looked down at the folder.
Camille’s voice changed when she spoke of Noah. Less polished. Faster.
“He would ask for money and begin the conversation by saying it wasn’t about money. He once called at three in the morning because he had locked himself out of his apartment, then refused the locksmith I sent because the man looked judgmental. He could be impossible.”
“He was impossible.”
“And charming when it helped.”
“Sometimes when it didn’t.”
Camille nodded.
For several seconds, neither woman spoke.
A truck backed up in the alley, beeping at regular intervals.
“What did you do when he told you about the employees?” Elena asked.
“I sent it to Martin.”
“You knew Martin was part of the complaint.”
“I knew Noah believed he was.”
“That is not an answer.”
“No.” Camille looked toward the crooked drawer. “It is the answer I gave myself.”
Elena closed the folder.
Camille’s fingers tightened once on her knee. “Did Noah tell you he planned to confront Adrian the night he died?”
“Yes.”
“About the baby?”
“And the hotel.”
“Which mattered more to him?”
“That night? Adrian.”
Camille looked away.
Elena watched her. “You spoke to Noah that night.”
It was not a question.
Camille’s expression gave the answer before her voice did.
“He called me at eleven forty.”
“What did he say?”
“He wanted Adrian’s room number.”
“Adrian lived in the hotel then.”
“In the penthouse. Security had been instructed not to let Noah upstairs after the previous incident.”
“What incident?”
“He arrived intoxicated during a lender dinner and struck a waiter.”
Elena shook her head. “He shoved a tray away because the waiter was carrying champagne toward him after Noah said no twice.”
“The waiter needed stitches.”
“The glass broke.”
“He was still responsible.”
“I didn’t say he wasn’t.”
Camille took a breath. “Noah said he was downstairs and needed ten minutes with Adrian. I asked whether he was sober. He became angry.”
“He was sober.”
“I could not know that.”
“What did you do?”
“I told security not to let him up.”
Elena’s palm flattened over the envelope.
Camille continued before she could interrupt. “I called him back twelve minutes later. He did not answer. I sent a car to his apartment. He was not there.”
“He was at a meeting.”
“You know that?”
“I drove him.”
Camille’s face changed.
Elena felt the old night open beneath them.
She had dropped Noah outside a church basement at ten thirty. He had kissed her through the car window and promised to call Adrian afterward. At midnight, he sent a message saying the conversation had failed before it began. Elena called three times. At two twelve, he answered from an alley and said he was fine with the careful calm that meant he was not.
By dawn, he was dead.
“I blamed Adrian,” Elena said. “It was easier.”
Camille’s voice was quiet. “So did I.”
“No. You blamed Noah.”
“I blamed all of you in different proportions.”
“That sounds efficient.”
“It was not.”
Elena stood and walked to the sink. She washed the single glass though Camille had not used it.
Behind her, Camille said, “There is another email.”
Elena turned.
Camille took a folded page from her coat pocket.
“He sent it only to me. At six eighteen the morning before he died.”
Elena did not move.
Camille placed the page beside the hospital envelope.
It contained four sentences.
E. is pregnant. It’s mine. I’m telling Adrian tonight.
Don’t turn this into a risk assessment.
I need my brother, not the company.
Elena read it twice.
The room seemed to lose its edges.
“You knew.”
“Not until the next morning.”
“You said you didn’t know about the baby.”
“I said I did not know at the gala.”
“You read this.”
“The email was diverted into a filtered folder because of the rules we had placed on his account. I found it after his death.”
“How long after?”
“Three days.”
Elena gripped the edge of the sink.
“And you said nothing.”
“I did not know who E. was.”
“You had my last name from the other emails.”
“I had an initial among thirty thousand employees.”
“You could have looked.”
“Yes.”
The word came without defense.
Elena crossed the kitchen and struck the page with the back of her fingers.
“You could have told Adrian.”
“Yes.”
“You could have answered Noah’s last request after he was dead.”
“Yes.”
“Stop agreeing with me.”
Camille’s face remained still, but her eyes had filled. “Would you prefer I lie?”
“I would prefer you leave.”
Camille stood.
Elena picked up the page. “Why bring this now?”
“Because Adrian will find it in the archive. Because if he hears it from someone else, I become the woman who concealed his brother’s child.”
“You are that woman.”
“I concealed an email.”
“You make cruelty sound administrative.”
Camille put on her coat.
May you like
At the door, she paused. “I thought the pregnancy might not continue. I thought the mother might have decided not to involve the family. I told myself contacting you would be another intrusion from people who assume money grants access.”
“You told yourself many useful things.”
