Chapter 2 - THE DEAD WOMAN WHO WAS STILL ALIVEI had spent eleven years believing that Richard Whitmore was the safest place in my world.
That illusion died at 8:47 on a Monday morning.
Standing in the lobby of my own headquarters, I watched my husband stare at my phone as though it contained a loaded weapon.
"Who's texting you?" he asked.
I locked the screen.
"Why?"
He smiled, but there was something wrong with his eyes.
"Because you look upset, sweetheart."
"I just discovered your secretary is wearing your dead mother's birthday present."
Vanessa made a strangled sound behind him.
Richard's face reddened.
"Please lower your voice."
"Why? Are you worried someone might hear the truth?"
He stepped closer.
"Evelyn, you're exhausted. You've been preparing for this transition for months. We should talk upstairs."
There it was.
The gentle voice.
The worried expression.
The subtle suggestion that I wasn't thinking clearly.
I'd heard it before.
Whenever I questioned an unexplained expense.
Whenever I asked why certain board meetings had been rescheduled without my knowledge.
Whenever I noticed Richard answering late-night phone calls and leaving the room.
You're overworked, Evelyn.
You're imagining things.
You need to trust me.
And I had.
God help me, I had.
"Mr. Harris," I said, turning to our security director, "please escort Ms. Price to Conference Room B. She may have an attorney or HR representative present if she wishes."
Vanessa looked toward Richard.
He didn't meet her eyes.
That frightened her more than anything I'd said.
"Richard?" she whispered.
"Just cooperate," he muttered.
She was led away, still clutching the watch.
I watched her disappear around the corner.
Then I turned toward the elevator.
"Shall we?"
Richard followed me into the executive car.
The doors closed.
For eleven floors, neither of us spoke.
Then he said, "You humiliated me."
I turned.
"Your secretary called me a worthless intern."
"She didn't recognize you."
"She recognized your importance well enough."
His expression hardened.
"You don't understand the pressure I've been under."
"Then explain it."
"Not here."
The elevator reached the thirty-second floor.
I stepped out first.
My father's portrait still hung beside the executive conference room.
Thomas Bennett.
A man who once worked sixteen-hour days designing encryption software because he believed hospitals deserved better protection against cyberattacks.
He died five years earlier, leaving me controlling voting shares in the company he'd spent his life building.
Richard had stood beside me at the funeral.
He'd held my hand while I cried.
He'd promised my father's dream would be safe with him.
Now I wondered whether that promise had been the beginning of the deception.
My executive assistant, Grace Miller, approached us.
She was fifty-six, sharp-eyed, and had worked for my father for almost twenty years.
"Good morning, Evelyn."
"Morning, Grace."
She glanced at Richard.
Something passed across her face.
Concern.
Not surprise.
Concern.
"Your nine o'clock briefing is ready," she said. "And there's something you need to see before the board arrives."
Richard interrupted.
"I need five minutes alone with my wife."
Grace didn't move.
"Mrs. Whitmore has a scheduled meeting."
"I'm her husband."
"And she's the CEO."
For the first time that morning, I nearly smiled.
"Thank you, Grace. Please bring the briefing into my office."
Richard followed me inside.
As soon as the door closed, he turned.
"Whatever Vanessa said downstairs, don't make it into something bigger."
I set my bag on the desk.
"How long have you been sleeping with her?"
He stared.
"Evelyn—"
"How long?"
He ran a hand through his hair.
"You're making assumptions."
"She said her boyfriend gave her the watch."
"Maybe she was lying."
"Then tell me where your mother's watch is."
Silence.
I continued.
"Tell me where Margaret was cremated."
His expression froze.
"What?"
"The funeral home. The crematorium. The physician who signed her death certificate."
"You know she wanted privacy."
"I know that's what you told me."
His voice rose.
"Are you seriously accusing me of lying about my own mother's death?"
I opened my phone.
I almost showed him the messages.
Almost.
But something stopped me.
Instead, I said, "I'm asking for documentation."
He watched me for several seconds.
Then his shoulders relaxed.
Too easily.
"Of course," he said. "I'll have the files sent over."
He leaned toward me.
I stepped back before he could kiss my forehead.
That was when someone knocked.
Grace entered carrying a slim blue folder.
"Your first executive briefing," she said.
Richard glanced at the folder.
His expression changed.
"What is that?"
Grace looked directly at me.
"Something your father asked me to keep safe."
Richard moved toward her.
"Grace, this isn't an appropriate time."
I held out my hand.
"Give it to me."
She did.
Inside were copies of bank transfers, corporate resolutions, and a handwritten letter dated four months before my father's death.
The handwriting was unmistakable.
My darling Evelyn,
The greatest danger to a family company rarely comes from the competitors outside its walls.
Sometimes it comes from the person standing closest to the owner.
My throat tightened.
I turned the page.
If anything happens that makes you question the integrity of the executive team, ask Grace about Project Lighthouse.
Richard went completely still.
I looked up.
"What's Project Lighthouse?"
He answered too quickly.
"An abandoned software initiative."
Grace said nothing.
I glanced at her.
"Grace?"
She folded her hands.
"Your father used Lighthouse as a private designation for certain corporate protections."
Richard snapped, "Those protections were dissolved years ago."
Grace turned toward him.
"Not all of them."
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then Richard laughed.
It sounded forced.
"Are we really going to waste the CEO's first day chasing ancient paperwork?"
I closed the folder.
"No. We're going to review it properly."
My phone vibrated again.
The same unknown number.
Richard is going to tell you his mother died at Ashcroft Medical Center.
I felt my pulse quicken.
Another message arrived.
She was never a patient there.
I glanced toward Richard.
He was watching me.
"Who keeps texting you?"
I ignored the question.
"Richard, where did your mother die?"
He hesitated.
Then answered.
"Ashcroft Medical Center."
My blood went cold.
The message had predicted his answer exactly.
I studied his face.
"What room?"
He blinked.
"What?"
"What room was your mother in when she died?"
"Evelyn, how would I remember that?"
"Was she alone?"
His expression hardened.
"This is cruel."
I opened the blue folder again.
"Then I'll make it simple. I want every document relating to Margaret's death on my desk by noon."
He took a sharp breath.
"You can't order me around like an employee."
I looked at him.
"During business hours, when it concerns this company, yes, Richard. I can."
For a moment, his face became unfamiliar.
The affectionate husband disappeared.
In his place stood an angry man calculating how much power he had just lost.
Then he walked out.
The door slammed behind him.
Grace waited until his footsteps disappeared.
"Evelyn," she said quietly, "your father was afraid of something like this."
I looked at her.
"Did he know about Richard?"
"Not everything."
"Then what did he know?"
She glanced toward the door.
"That certain executives were searching for a way to separate your voting rights from your control of the company."
My stomach tightened.
"Richard?"
"He was asking questions about your trust years before he became COO."
I looked down at my father's letter.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Grace's eyes filled.
"Because your father made me promise I would wait until you had the authority to protect yourself."
I was about to answer when my office phone rang.
It was Daniel Harris from security.
"Mrs. Whitmore," he said, "we have a problem."
"What happened?"
"Vanessa Price left her phone in Conference Room B when she went to call her attorney."
"That's not a problem. Secure it without accessing the contents."
"We haven't touched it."
"Then what's wrong?"
He hesitated.
"Someone called the phone repeatedly. The caller ID displayed a name."
"Whose name?"
His voice dropped.
"Margaret Whitmore."
I gripped the edge of my desk.
"Are you certain?"
"Yes, ma'am."
Then he said something that made my legs feel weak.
"Mrs. Whitmore, the phone rang six times."
"And?"
"On the seventh call, Vanessa answered it."
I stopped breathing.
Daniel continued.
"We couldn't hear what the caller said. But Vanessa started crying."
"What did she say?"
He hesitated.
"She said, 'I told Richard we should have killed you when we had the chance.'"
I stared at the city beyond my windows.
The river glittered under the morning sun.
Employees were arriving.
Traffic moved across the bridges.
The world looked perfectly normal.
May you like
But somewhere out there, a woman I'd been told was dead was apparently still fighting to stay alive.
And my husband's mistress knew exactly why.
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