Chapter 3 - The Woman Holding the Baby
Rachel didn't ask permission to sit.
Her knees looked like they were about to give out.
I guided her into the kitchen while she held the newborn against her chest.
The baby slept through everything.
I remember that detail because nothing else about the moment felt peaceful.
Rachel looked around my kitchen.
The coffee maker.
The mail stacked by the refrigerator.
The framed photograph of Brad and me from a vacation in Maine.
She stared at that photograph longer than she should have.
"You really didn't know," she whispered.
"Know what?"
Rachel looked at me.
Whatever she saw in my expression made her hesitate.
"Where is Brad?"
"I was hoping you could tell me."
Her eyes moved toward his phone in my hand.
"He left that here?"
"Apparently."
"Then he's panicking."
I pulled out the chair opposite her.
"Start talking."
The softness left my voice.
Rachel adjusted the blanket around the baby.
"My sister works with Brad."
"Chloe?"
Her head snapped up.
"You know about Chloe?"
"I know she's sleeping with my husband."
Rachel closed her eyes.
"No."
I laughed once.
It sounded ugly.
"Don't insult me."
"I'm not. Chloe isn't sleeping with Brad."
I leaned back.
"Get out."
"Emily—"
"I have messages."
"I know."
"Hotel receipts."
"I know."
"She asked him to wear cologne for her."
Rachel looked miserable.
"I know that too."
"Then don't sit in my house and tell me—"
"Because Brad wanted you to believe it."
That silenced me.
I stared at her.
"What?"
Rachel's baby stirred.
She rocked gently without looking down.
"Chloe has been helping him."
"Helping him cheat?"
"Helping him make you think he's cheating."
There are statements so strange the mind rejects them before considering whether they're true.
Mine did.
"Why would my husband want me to believe he's having an affair?"
Rachel's face hardened.
"Because an affair makes him look like an awful husband."
She paused.
"What he's actually doing could make him a criminal."
The room seemed to contract.
I remembered the pharmacy bag.
My name.
"What did Brad do?"
Before Rachel could answer, a car door slammed outside.
She went completely still.
"Is that him?"
I crossed to the window.
A dark sedan had stopped in front of the house.
Not Brad's SUV.
A man in a tan coat stepped out.
Rachel whispered something under her breath.
"Who is he?"
She stood.
"We shouldn't be here."
"You just came here."
"I thought we'd have more time."
"Rachel."
The man approached the porch.
He carried a leather folder.
No aggression.
No rush.
Still, Rachel looked terrified.
"Take the baby."
I stared at her.
"What?"
"If he asks, she's yours."
"Are you insane?"
"Please."
The doorbell rang.
Rachel held the baby toward me.
Instinct made me put out my arms.
The infant settled against my chest with surprising weight and warmth.
Rachel stepped backward.
The man knocked.
"Mrs. Morgan?"
I didn't move.
"Mrs. Morgan, my name is Daniel Foster. I'm an investigator retained by Greene & Wells."
Rachel whispered, "Don't tell him anything."
I looked at her.
"Why?"
"Because I don't know who hired him."
The knocking came again.
I walked to the door but left the chain engaged.
"What do you want?"
The man showed identification.
"I'm trying to locate your husband."
"Join the club."
His expression changed slightly.
"When did you last see Brad?"
"This morning."
"Did he leave voluntarily?"
"As far as I know."
"Was he carrying prescription medication?"
My skin went cold.
"Why?"
"Mrs. Morgan, may I come inside?"
"No."
He studied me through the narrow opening.
Then his eyes lowered toward the infant.
"Is that your child?"
Rachel stopped breathing behind me.
I answered before thinking.
"Yes."
Daniel stared at me for another moment.
Then nodded.
"I'm sorry to bother you."
He handed me a business card.
"If your husband contacts you, call me before doing anything he requests."
"What has he done?"
"I'm not authorized to discuss details."
"You came to my house."
"Because your name appears on several documents we're reviewing."
My grip tightened around the door.
"What documents?"
He glanced toward the pharmacy bag visible on the table.
"Start with that."
Then he walked away.
I shut the door.
Locked it.
Turned toward Rachel.
She looked as pale as before.
I carefully handed her baby back.
"You have sixty seconds."
"Emily—"
"Fifty-nine."
Rachel sat.
"My daughter was born six weeks ago."
I waited.
"Her name is Sophie."
"What does Sophie have to do with Brad?"
"Nothing directly."
"Then why bring her here?"
"Because I'm afraid to leave her with anyone."
"Why?"
Rachel swallowed.
"Because Chloe disappeared last night."
My anger became confusion again.
"What do you mean disappeared?"
"She sent me one message around midnight. She said she'd gotten the files and was bringing them to someone she trusted."
"What files?"
"Your medical records."
I stared at her.
"Excuse me?"
Rachel nodded toward the pharmacy bag.
"Open it."
I did.
The medication label carried my name.
The prescribing physician was Dr. Leonard Price.
I knew the name.
Brad's college roommate.
Now a private physician in Manhattan.
"What is this?"
"I don't know exactly," Rachel said. "Chloe thought Brad was using your information to obtain prescriptions."
"For what?"
"At first she thought it was insurance fraud."
"At first?"
"Then she found emails."
I gripped the table.
"Stop speaking in pieces."
Rachel's voice dropped.
"Brad has been moving money."
My mind jumped instantly to our accounts.
"I handle our household finances."
"Not these accounts."
"What accounts?"
"Corporate ones."
Brad was chief operations officer at a medical logistics firm called Parker-Morgan Health Distribution.
Morgan.
My surname.
Because the company had originally belonged to my father.
That was the part most people didn't know.
After Dad died five years earlier, I inherited forty-two percent of the company.
Brad managed operations.
I stayed off the executive team because I had never wanted my marriage to become a business arrangement.
Suddenly, I felt very stupid.
"How much?"
"Chloe found transfers totaling over two million dollars."
I couldn't breathe properly.
"From the company?"
"Through vendor accounts. She thinks Brad created fake consulting invoices."
"Why would she know?"
"Because she's not his secretary."
That stopped me.
"What?"
"She's an internal compliance analyst."
"But—"
"Brad transferred her into his office six months ago."
Pieces began shifting.
The late nights.
The guarded conversations.
The staged messages.
"What about the hotel?"
"Meetings."
"The restaurant?"
"Meetings."
"The cologne?"
Rachel almost smiled, but couldn't.
"Chloe told him to wear it because she knew you'd see the message."
"Why?"
"She was trying to force him to make a mistake."
I stared at her.
"And Brad wanted me to think they were having an affair?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because he needed you emotionally unstable."
Those words hurt in a new place.
"What does that mean?"
Rachel looked toward the pharmacy bag.
"He needed people to believe you weren't well."
My stomach dropped.
"Brad has been telling the board you're becoming paranoid. Forgetful. Irrational."
I remembered arguments I couldn't understand.
Brad correcting my memory in front of friends.
Telling people I'd forgotten dinners he had never mentioned.
Moving objects and insisting I misplaced them.
Calling my reactions "episodes."
"No."
"I'm sorry."
"No."
"He began documenting incidents."
"What incidents?"
"Mostly ones he created."
The front door opened.
Rachel screamed.
I spun around.
Brad stood inside.
His shirt was wrinkled.
His face was damp with sweat.
His blue shirt hung half untucked.
And the look he gave Rachel contained no surprise.
Only rage.
"What the hell are you doing here?"
Rachel stood, clutching Sophie.
I moved between them.
Brad looked at me.
"Emily, don't listen to her."
I laughed.
"Interesting first sentence."
"She's unstable."
Rachel shook her head.
"You said the same thing about your wife."
"Get out of my house."
"This is my house too," I said.
Brad looked at me.
Something changed.
His voice softened immediately.
"Emily, baby, you've had a stressful morning."
"Don't."
"You're confused."
"Don't you dare."
He glanced at the pharmacy bag.
Fear crossed his face.
Only for a second.
But I saw it.
"Where did you get that?"
"It was right there."
"You opened it?"
"Why is my name on medication I didn't order?"
Brad's jaw tightened.
"Dr. Price sent it."
"For what?"
"You asked me to contact him."
"No, I didn't."
Brad sighed.
Then he gave Rachel a look.
The kind of look shared between people who know a secret.
"There. This is what I've been talking about."
My heart began pounding.
"Talking about with whom?"
"Emily—"
"WITH WHOM?"
The baby started crying.
Brad lowered his voice.
"See? You're scaring the baby."
That sentence nearly made me doubt myself.
Nearly.
Then I saw Brad's phone on the counter.
The glowing message.
Chloe's words.
I picked it up.
"I already did what you asked," I read. "Now tell your wife the truth."
Brad's face lost its color.
I held his phone toward him.
"So tell me."
Silence.
"What did Chloe do?"
Brad looked toward the door.
Then toward Rachel.
Then back at me.
And for the first time in years, my husband looked frightened of me instead of confident he could control what I believed.
"I can explain."
"Then explain."
Rachel whispered, "Ask him about tomorrow."
Brad snapped toward her.
"Shut up."
I stared at him.
"What's tomorrow?"
He didn't answer.
Rachel did.
"The board meeting."
"What board meeting?"
May you like
"The one where Brad planned to have you removed from your own company."
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