She exhaled.
“Good.”
“Paige, I need you to tell me everything.”
There was silence.
Then she said,
“Lucy was scared of Vanessa.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“How long had she known her?”
“About two months.”
“Did Vanessa ever pick her up?”
Paige hesitated.
“Three times.”
My chest tightened.
“You knew?”
“Grant gave permission.”
“I didn’t.”
“I know.”
“Then why didn’t you call me?”
“I tried.”
“What?”
“I called the number listed on Lucy’s emergency file.”
“That was my number.”
“I know.”
“Nobody called me.”
Paige’s voice became quiet.
“Someone changed the emergency contact number.”
I froze.
“What?”
“Your number was still there, but someone had added another number as the primary contact.”
“Whose?”
“Vanessa’s.”
I closed my eyes.
“Paige.”
“Yes?”
“Why did Lucy say ‘milk lady’?”
Paige inhaled.
“Because Vanessa used to bring her snacks.”
My eyes opened.
“What snacks?”
“Cookies.”
“Milk?”
“Yes.”
My stomach dropped.
“Paige, did Lucy ever eat them?”
“She said no.”
“Did Vanessa ever insist?”
“Once.”
“When?”
“The day before Lucy died.”
I gripped the phone.
“What happened?”
“Lucy refused the cookie.”
“Then what?”
“Vanessa became angry.”
“How angry?”
“Enough that I stepped in.”
My voice became barely audible.
“What did Vanessa say?”
Paige paused.
Then whispered:
“She told Lucy that if she kept being difficult, Mommy would disappear.”
I couldn’t speak.
Paige continued.
“I asked Vanessa to leave.”
“And Grant?”
“He came ten minutes later.”
My blood ran cold.
“Did he say anything?”
“He asked why I had upset Vanessa.”
I felt tears filling my eyes.
“Paige…”
“I’m sorry.”
“No.”
I wiped my face.
“Don’t apologize.”
Then Paige said something else.
Something that changed the entire case.
“Natalie, there’s one thing I haven’t told you.”
“What?”
“Lucy left something with me.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
“A drawing.”
“Of what?”
“A woman.”
“Vanessa?”
“No.”
Paige’s voice trembled.
“Of your husband.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“What did she draw?”
“A house.”
“And Grant?”
“He was standing outside it.”
“Was Lucy in the drawing?”
“No.”
“Then who was inside?”
Paige was silent.
“Three people.”
My stomach tightened.
“Who?”
“Your husband.”
“Vanessa?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
Paige whispered:
“Another little girl.”
I felt the room tilt.
“What little girl?”
“I don’t know.”
“Paige, please.”
“I didn’t understand it at first.”
“What did Lucy say?”
Paige took a breath.
“She pointed at the drawing and said…”
Another pause.
“That’s Daddy’s other family.”
I couldn’t move.
My daughter’s words echoed in my head.
Daddy’s other family.
Then my phone buzzed.
A message from an unknown number.
There was no text.
Only a photograph.
I opened it.
It was a picture of Grant.
Standing beside Vanessa.
And between them…
was a little girl.
She looked about five years old.
She had Grant’s eyes.
I stared at the screen.
Then another message arrived.
You have been asking the wrong question, Natalie.
I typed:
Who are you?
The reply came immediately.
Someone who tried to warn Lucy.
Then:
And someone who knows why your husband needed her gone.
PART 5
I stared at the message until the letters blurred.
Someone who tried to warn Lucy.
My hands were shaking so badly that I nearly dropped the phone.
I typed:
Who are you?
The reply came almost immediately.
My name is Rachel Miller. I used to work for Grant.
I swallowed.
What happened to Lucy?
This time, there was no immediate answer.
Then:
You need to meet me before you confront your husband.
I looked around the empty conference room.
The fluorescent lights hummed overhead.
My daughter’s urn sat beside my laptop.
For five days, I had been drowning in guilt.
Now someone was telling me my husband might have been responsible for her death.
I typed:
Where?
Rachel sent an address.
A small twenty-four-hour diner fifteen minutes from my office.
Then another message appeared.
Come alone. Do not tell Grant.
I didn’t tell anyone.
I drove there.
Rachel was sitting in a booth at the back.
She looked exhausted.
Early thirties.
Dark hair.
Gray sweater.
Her hands were wrapped around a cup of coffee she wasn’t drinking.
When she saw me, she stood.
“Mrs. Cole?”
“Rachel?”
She nodded.
Then she looked at the urn in my hands.
Her face fell.
“I’m sorry.”
I sat across from her.
“You said you tried to warn Lucy.”
“I did.”
“Tell me everything.”
Rachel looked toward the window.
“Grant and I worked together for almost four years.”
“At his company?”
“Yes.”
“What does that have to do with my daughter?”
“Everything.”
I waited.
Rachel finally whispered,
“Grant has another daughter.”
I already knew that.
“I saw the picture.”
Rachel nodded.
“Her name is Sophie.”
“Who is her mother?”
“Vanessa.”
My stomach tightened.
“So Vanessa is his mistress.”
“She was.”
“What does that mean?”
“Grant promised Vanessa he would leave you.”
I closed my eyes.
“Did he?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because of money.”
I looked at her.
“What money?”
Rachel leaned forward.
“Your money.”
I felt confused.
“My money?”
“Your law firm partnership. Your inheritance. The house. The investment accounts.”
I shook my head.
“Those are mostly mine.”
“Exactly.”
She pulled a folder from her bag.
“I discovered this six months ago.”
She pushed it toward me.
Inside were copies of financial documents.
I scanned them.
My name appeared repeatedly.
Property.
Trust.
Investment accounts.
Life insurance.
Then I saw something I hadn’t known existed.
A life insurance policy.
My name was the insured person.
Grant was the beneficiary.
The amount was $3 million.
I stared at it.
“When was this created?”
“Seven months ago.”
“I never signed this.”
“You didn’t.”
“Then who did?”
“Grant.”
I looked up.
“That’s impossible.”
“Your signature was forged.”
My hands went cold.
Rachel continued.
“There was another policy.”
“Whose?”
“Lucy.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“How much?”
“One million dollars.”
I closed the folder.
“No.”
Rachel reached across the table.
“Listen to me.”
I pulled my hand away.
“No.”
“I know this is horrible.”
“You don’t understand.”
“I understand more than you think.”
She opened another folder.
“Grant had debts.”
“What kind?”
“Business debts. Gambling. Private loans. Bad investments.”
“How much?”
“Nearly four million dollars.”
I stared at her.
“Four million?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t I know?”
“Because he hid them.”
I remembered all the times Grant had told me not to worry about money.
All the times he had asked me to sign something quickly.
All the times he had said his business was doing better than ever.
I suddenly remembered a conversation from three months earlier.
Grant had been standing in the kitchen.
He had said,
“If something ever happens to me, you and Lucy will be taken care of.”
At the time, I had kissed him.
Now the memory made me sick.
Rachel reached into her bag again.
“This is the most important document.”
She handed me a printed email.
I read it.
It was from Grant to someone named Mason Hale.
The subject:
Lucy
The message was short.
The allergy will make it look accidental.
My vision blurred.
I read it again.
Then again.
I couldn’t breathe.
Rachel watched me silently.
I whispered,
“Who is Mason?”
“Private investigator.”
“Why would Grant hire a private investigator?”
“To follow you.”
My heart stopped.
“Me?”
“He believed you were going to discover his debts.”
I looked down.
“Why would he think that?”
“Because you had started asking questions.”
I remembered.
I had noticed unusual withdrawals.
He told me they were business expenses.
I believed him.
Rachel continued.
“Grant didn’t plan to kill Lucy at first.”
I looked up sharply.
“What?”
“He wanted to use Lucy’s allergy as leverage.”
“Leverage for what?”
“To scare you into signing over control of the house and investment accounts.”
My hands curled into fists.
“But Lucy died.”
Rachel nodded.
“Something went wrong.”
“What?”
“I don’t know exactly.”
“Then how can you say Grant was involved?”
“Because I saw the messages.”
“Which messages?”
Rachel pulled out her phone.
“I copied them before I left the company.”
She showed me.
The first message was from Grant.
She refuses to sign.
Vanessa:
Then what?
Grant:
We make her afraid.
Vanessa:
And Lucy?
Grant:
Nothing permanent.
I stared at the screen.
Nothing permanent.
I whispered,
“He didn’t intend to kill her.”
Rachel nodded.
“But that doesn’t make what happened an accident.”
Another message appeared.
Vanessa:
What if the reaction happens?
Grant:
We have the injector.
My blood ran cold.
I looked up.
“What does that mean?”
Rachel shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
But suddenly I did.
The missing injector.
The silver packet.
The backpack.
The evidence.
Grant had removed the medication.
He had made sure Lucy couldn’t receive it.
But why?
Rachel continued.
“There was another person involved.”
“Who?”
“Mason.”
“The investigator?”
“Yes.”
“Where is he?”
Rachel hesitated.
“Dead.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
“He died in a car accident two days ago.”
I stared at her.
“Accident?”
“That’s what the police say.”
A cold feeling moved through me.
“How convenient.”
Rachel didn’t respond.
I looked at the documents again.
Then something clicked.
“The blue thread.”
Rachel looked confused.
“What?”
