Chapter 7 - THE WOMAN BEFORE MEHannah Price arrived at Rebecca Sloan's office the following Monday.
I had been discharged from the hospital two days earlier and was staying at Alexander's home outside Boston.
My back still hurt.
The medical appointments exhausted me.
And sleeping was difficult because every time I closed my eyes, I remembered the chandelier swinging above me.
But I insisted on attending the meeting.
Rebecca wanted me to remain home and participate by video.
I told her I needed to look Hannah in the eye.
Not because I doubted her.
Because I suspected she was the only person alive who truly understood what living with Richard Blackwood had been like.
Hannah was forty-one.
She had shoulder-length brown hair, nervous hands, and the kind of careful posture I recognized immediately.
She walked into the conference room and stopped when she saw me.
"Oh, Evelyn."
Her face crumpled.
I stood slowly.
She approached, then hesitated.
"May I hug you?"
I nodded.
We embraced carefully.
Two women who had once believed themselves fortunate to be loved by the same man.
Two women who had survived his cruelty.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then Hannah whispered, "I'm so sorry."
I shook my head.
"You didn't do this."
She stepped back.
"But I should have warned you."
I looked into her eyes.
"Did you know about me?"
"Not until your wedding announcement."
My stomach tightened.
"You saw it?"
She nodded.
"It was in a magazine. He looked so happy."
Her voice broke.
"I thought maybe he'd changed."
We sat down.
Rebecca placed a recorder on the table.
"With your permission, Hannah, I'd like to document our conversation."
Hannah nodded.
Then she opened a battered leather briefcase.
Inside were folders, photographs, court documents, and a small external drive.
"I kept everything," she said.
Rebecca examined the first folder.
"Why?"
Hannah stared at her hands.
"Because nobody believed me."
She began telling us her story.
Richard had married her when she was twenty-six.
He was twenty-nine, ambitious, charming, and already making millions in real estate.
Hannah worked in commercial architecture.
She had helped design several of his earliest buildings.
At first, he praised her intelligence.
He told her they would build an empire together.
Then his behavior changed.
He began monitoring her spending.
He demanded passwords.
He criticized her friends.
When she challenged a financial decision, he shouted that she was embarrassing him.
Eventually, he threatened her.
And when she tried to leave, his attorneys overwhelmed her with legal filings.
"He told everyone I was unstable," Hannah said.
I felt a chill.
Richard had used that word about me too.
Unstable.
Emotional.
Dramatic.
Hannah continued.
"He said I had stolen money. I hadn't. But he controlled the records, and I couldn't afford to fight him."
Rebecca leaned forward.
"How did your marriage end?"
"I accepted a settlement. I signed a confidentiality agreement. I moved to Portland and changed my name."
I frowned.
"Your name?"
"Hannah Price is my mother's maiden name."
She looked at me.
"I wanted him to stop finding me."
The room grew quiet.
Then she opened another folder.
"Three years ago, I finally found out why Richard married me."
My pulse quickened.
"Why?"
"Because of my father."
I stared at her.
"Your father?"
"He was a senior accountant at Whitmore Development Partners."
Rebecca looked up sharply.
Hannah nodded.
"He helped investigate Henry Blackwood's financial misconduct."
I felt a cold sensation spread through my chest.
"Richard married you because of your father's connection to the case?"
"I believe so. At the time, I didn't know about the connection. Richard approached me at an industry conference and claimed it was coincidence."
"What did he want?"
"Documents."
She removed a photocopied letter.
"My father kept copies of several financial records after the settlement. Richard spent our marriage trying to find them."
I stared at the page.
"Did he?"
Hannah shook her head.
"No. My father had already placed them with an independent attorney."
Rebecca leaned closer.
"Do those records still exist?"
Hannah looked at her.
"Yes."
"Where?"
"That's why I'm here."
She opened the final folder.
Inside was a notarized statement signed by her father before his death.
It described suspicious payments made through shell companies controlled by Henry Blackwood.
Several transactions continued after Henry's departure from the partnership.
And one name appeared repeatedly.
Margaret Blackwood.
I looked up.
"Margaret was involved?"
Hannah nodded.
"Your mother-in-law was never simply Henry's wife."
I stared at her.
She continued.
"She controlled the family's private accounts. Henry handled the business. Margaret handled the money."
I remembered Margaret's expensive jewelry.
Her insistence that the Blackwood name deserved respect.
Her absolute refusal to admit wrongdoing.
"Richard always said his mother was helpless," I whispered.
Hannah gave a sad smile.
"Margaret Blackwood has never been helpless."
Rebecca examined the documents carefully.
"These records may be significant, but we'll need to authenticate them and establish how they relate to the current transactions."
Hannah nodded.
"I know. I already spoke with Detective Mercer. I'm prepared to cooperate."
I looked at her.
"Why now?"
She took a long breath.
"Because when I saw you tied to that beam, I realized something."
"What?"
"I had spent years believing that escaping was enough."
She wiped her eyes.
"But I left without telling the truth publicly, and he found someone else."
I reached across the table.
"Hannah, you were trying to survive."
She looked at me.
"I know that now."
We sat quietly for a moment.
Then she smiled faintly.
"You know what the strangest thing is?"
"What?"
"Richard always told me I was lucky he married me."
I laughed bitterly.
"He told me the same thing."
Hannah shook her head.
"Men like Richard want you to believe they're the prize."
I looked down at my hands.
"Until you forget you had a life before them."
"Exactly."
After the meeting, Rebecca asked Hannah to remain behind to discuss the handling of her documents.
I stepped into the hallway.
Alexander was waiting near the elevator.
"How did it go?"
"She brought evidence."
"Good."
I studied my brother.
"Alex, there's something I want to ask."
"Anything."
"Do you think Richard is going to prison?"
His expression tightened.
"I think the evidence against him is serious."
"That's not what I asked."
He sighed.
"I don't know, Evie. Criminal cases are complicated."
I appreciated his answer.
At least he wasn't promising something he couldn't guarantee.
I looked toward the window.
"I used to imagine revenge would feel satisfying."
Alexander waited.
"I thought maybe if Richard lost his money or his reputation, I'd feel better."
"And now?"
"Now I just want him to stop controlling my life."
Alexander put a hand on my shoulder.
"Then that's what we'll work toward."
That evening, I received an unexpected invitation.
It came from Tiffany Monroe.
Her attorney had contacted Rebecca.
Tiffany wanted to speak with me privately.
Rebecca advised against meeting without counsel.
I agreed.
The next afternoon, Tiffany entered a conference room with her lawyer.
She looked nothing like the woman from my birthday party.
Her blond hair was tied back.
Her face was pale.
She wore a plain black dress and no jewelry.
But I felt no sympathy.
Not yet.
She sat across from me.
"Thank you for coming."
I looked at her.
"Say what you came to say."
She swallowed.
"Richard lied to me."
I almost laughed.
"That's what you want to discuss?"
"He told me you were stealing from him."
I stared at her.
"He told me you had access to family money and were planning to disappear with it."
"And you believed him?"
"Yes."
I leaned forward.
"Did that make it acceptable to laugh while he hurt me?"
She looked down.
"No."
"Did it make it acceptable to help arrange what happened?"
Her eyes filled.
"No."
"Then don't begin by telling me Richard lied."
A tear rolled down her cheek.
"I know."
For several seconds, she said nothing.
Then she reached into her handbag.
Her attorney stopped her.
"Tiffany, remember what we discussed."
She nodded.
"I remember."
She looked at Rebecca.
"I've already given the original material to Detective Mercer."
Then she placed a copy of a photograph on the table.
I recognized the setting immediately.
Richard's private office.
The oak desk.
The portrait of his father.
The green marble lamp.
But what stood on the desk made my breath catch.
A model of Blackwood Mansion.
And beside it, a small black notebook.
Tiffany pointed to the notebook.
"Richard kept records of certain payments in there."
Rebecca leaned forward.
"Payments to whom?"
Tiffany hesitated.
Then whispered, "People he wanted to keep quiet."
I stared at her.
"What people?"
"Former employees. Contractors. Someone who knew about the trust."
Rebecca became very still.
"Where is the notebook now?"
Tiffany swallowed.
"I don't know."
"Then why are you showing us this?"
"Because I photographed some pages."
She passed over several copies.
The first contained dates and dollar amounts.
The second listed companies I didn't recognize.
The third showed a name that made my blood turn cold.
Claire Jennings — $250,000.
I stared at it.
Claire.
Richard's assistant.
The woman who had given my brothers the forged documents.
The woman who claimed she tried to warn me.
I looked at Tiffany.
"What is this payment?"
She shook her head.
"I don't know exactly."
Rebecca examined the photograph.
"Was it made?"
"Richard said it was."
I sat back.
For days, I had believed Claire was one of the people who helped expose my husband.
Now I had reason to question whether she had been involved in the scheme all along.
Before I could ask anything else, Tiffany whispered:
"There's something Richard said about Claire."
I looked at her.
"What?"
"He said she knew how to make evidence disappear."
The room went silent.
Tiffany continued.
"And he said if his plans went wrong, Claire would make sure the police arrested the wrong person."
I felt my stomach tighten.
"Who?"
Tiffany lifted her eyes.
"Alexander."
I stared at her.
"My brother?"
She nodded.
"Richard planned to frame him."
And suddenly, I understood that the war wasn't over.
It had only changed direction.
May you like
Because somewhere outside that conference room, someone was still working for my husband.
And my oldest brother was the target.
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