Chapter 5 - THE WOMAN WHO REPLACED MEI met Vanessa Harper three days later.
Not because I wanted to.
Because she came looking for me.
I had moved temporarily into Claire’s guest room by then.
Unlike Michael, my daughter had known nothing about the account.
When I told her, Claire cried.
Not because of the money.
Because she remembered something I had forgotten.
She had been eleven when my father died.
“Grandpa told me you’d never have to worry again,” she said.
I stared at her.
“What?”
“At the funeral. I was standing beside him—I mean before he died, when he was sick. He said he’d taken care of you.”
Thirty-three years.
Somewhere inside an eleven-year-old girl’s memory had been a clue.
Claire blamed herself for not remembering sooner.
I refused to let her.
Richard was the one who knew.
Richard was the one who lied.
Claire lived in Evanston with her husband, Ben, and their teenage daughter. Their house smelled like cinnamon coffee and laundry detergent.
For the first time in years, I slept somewhere that felt like a home.
Then Vanessa appeared.
Saturday morning.
Eight thirty.
The doorbell rang.
Claire answered.
A blonde woman stood on the porch wearing a cream coat worth more than everything I had packed into Claire’s guest room.
I recognized her immediately.
I had seen photographs.
Christmas parties.
Charity galas.
Richard smiling beside her.
My replacement.
Vanessa saw me standing behind Claire.
“Evelyn.”
Claire’s voice sharpened.
“You need to leave.”
“I need five minutes.”
“You’re not getting five seconds.”
I touched my daughter’s shoulder.
“Let her in.”
“Mom.”
“I want to hear what she says.”
Vanessa entered.
Up close, she looked different from the photographs.
Tired.
There were shadows beneath her eyes.
She carried a leather folder.
No makeup could hide fear.
She sat at Claire’s dining table while I remained standing.
“What do you want?”
“Richard is destroying my life.”
I almost admired the audacity.
“Your husband destroyed mine first.”
Vanessa flinched.
“I didn’t come here to fight.”
“Then you’ve chosen the wrong house.”
She pushed the folder toward me.
“I want to make you an offer.”
Claire laughed.
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
I opened the folder.
A settlement proposal.
Seven hundred fifty thousand dollars.
In exchange, I would renounce any claim against Richard’s estate.
I looked at Vanessa.
“Why would I do that?”
“Because the will is going to be challenged.”
“What will?”
“You know.”
“I know what Michael told me.”
Vanessa’s mouth tightened.
“Richard changed everything six months ago.”
“Why?”
“Ask him.”
“I intend to.”
Her eyes flickered.
That bothered her.
“You haven’t seen him yet?”
“No.”
For the first time, Vanessa seemed relieved.
That told me more than the settlement papers.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing.”
I closed the folder.
“Then goodbye.”
She didn’t move.
“Evelyn, Richard isn’t well.”
“What’s wrong with him?”
“I’m not discussing medical details.”
“Then stop using his health to manipulate me.”
Vanessa stood.
“You think he suddenly became noble because he put your name on some paperwork?”
“No.”
“Good. Because he didn’t.”
She leaned toward me.
“He is terrified.”
“Of what?”
“Dying with you believing he left because he stopped loving you.”
The words struck harder than I expected.
Claire looked between us.
I kept my expression flat.
“He married you.”
“Yes.”
“He built a life with you.”
“Yes.”
“So spare me.”
Vanessa’s eyes filled with something I couldn’t identify.
Anger?
Humiliation?
“He talked about you every week of our marriage.”
I said nothing.
“He compared everything.”
Her voice became brittle.
“The way I cooked. The way I folded towels. The way I laughed. The way I decorated Christmas trees. Do you know what it’s like being married to a man who chose you and then spent five years grieving someone he voluntarily abandoned?”
A cruel part of me enjoyed hearing it.
A wiser part felt only tired.
“That sounds like something you should discuss with Richard.”
“I did.”
“And?”
“That’s why I left.”
There was the truth.
Or part of it.
Vanessa collected her purse.
Before leaving, she looked at me.
“There’s one thing you should know before you see him.”
“What?”
“He kept a storage unit.”
My stomach tightened.
“What kind?”
“Documents. Boxes. Things from your marriage.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“You came here to offer me three-quarters of a million dollars, but you don’t know where the evidence is?”
Her face changed.
Evidence.
I hadn’t said memorabilia.
I had said evidence.
Vanessa noticed.
So did I.
“You know what’s inside, don’t you?”
She headed toward the door.
Claire stepped in front of her.
“Answer her.”
Vanessa stared at my daughter.
Then at me.
“I opened one box.”
“What was inside?”
“Letters.”
“From whom?”
“Your father.”
My heart stopped.
“My father?”
“Addressed to you.”
Dad had written to me?
I remembered no letters.
“How many?”
“Dozens.”
“Where did Richard get them?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re lying.”
Vanessa’s jaw tightened.
“I found one other thing.”
She reached into her handbag.
A photograph.
She placed it on the table.
Taken around 1990.
My father stood outside his machine shop beside Richard and Thomas Bell.
All three were smiling.
On the back, Dad had written:
To Evelyn — because one day this will all belong to you.
I stared at it.
Vanessa whispered, “Richard kept everything.”
“Why?”
“Because he was afraid.”
“Of Thomas?”
She shook her head.
“Of you.”
I looked up.
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“It does if you understand Richard.”
She moved toward the door again.
This time I stopped her with one question.
“Why are you afraid of me seeing him?”
Vanessa’s hand froze on the handle.
She didn’t turn around.
When she answered, her voice was almost inaudible.
“Because Richard told me if he ever had enough courage to tell you the whole truth…”
She swallowed.
“…you would realize your father’s money wasn’t the biggest thing he stole from you.”
Then she left.
Claire and I stood in silence.
Five minutes later, my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
A man spoke.
“Mrs. Harper?”
“Yes?”
“My name is Dr. Alan Reeves. I’m calling at Richard Harper’s request.”
Every muscle in my body tightened.
“What happened?”
“He’s been admitted to Northwestern Memorial.”
The room seemed to narrow.
“Is he dying?”
The doctor paused.
“He has advanced pancreatic cancer.”
I closed my eyes.
“How advanced?”
Another pause.
“Very.”
Then a faint voice came through the phone in the background.
Richard.
“Give me that.”
A moment later my former husband spoke directly into my ear for the first time in five years.
“Evie?”
Nobody had called me that in years.
I couldn’t answer.
Richard coughed.
Then whispered:
“I’m sorry.”
My eyes filled.
Five years of anger rose into my throat.
“You don’t get to say that yet.”
“I know.”
“You owe me answers.”
“I know.”
“Did you steal my father’s letters?”
Richard began crying.
Not loudly.
That made it worse.
“Yes.”
“All of them?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
For several seconds, there was only breathing.
Then Richard said:
“Because your father found out what I did before he died.”
May you like
My knees weakened.
“And those letters proved it.”
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