Chapter 3 - The Last Morning Lauren Was Alive
The photograph showed my wife smiling.
That was the first thing I noticed.
Not the timestamp.
Not the driveway.
Not the shadow near the passenger door.
Her smile.
Lauren was wearing the blue coat I bought her for our ninth anniversary.
Her hair fell over one shoulder.
One hand rested against the roof of her SUV.
She looked alive in a way that photographs usually failed to capture.
For fourteen months, I had avoided looking at pictures of her.
Now I enlarged the image until her face filled my phone.
"Daniel?"
Marcus stood at the study door.
I didn't answer.
"Sir?"
I turned the screen toward him.
"Have you ever seen this?"
He stepped closer.
His expression sharpened.
"That's from the garage camera."
"You're sure?"
"Same angle."
I looked back at the photograph.
"Then why wasn't it in the accident investigation?"
Marcus studied the image.
"The footage I reviewed showed Mrs. Morrison leaving at 8:11 that morning."
"This says 8:04."
"Seven minutes earlier."
I zoomed toward the passenger side.
A dark figure stood partly obscured behind the SUV.
I could make out a sleeve.
A hand.
A narrow silver bracelet.
Nothing else.
"Who is that?"
Marcus frowned.
"I don't know."
"Find out."
He nodded.
"Where did this come from?"
"Unknown number."
I showed him.
He copied the number into his phone.
"Could be a disposable account or a spoofed sender."
"Can you trace it?"
"I can preserve the message and ask our investigator to examine it."
I looked toward the staircase.
"First, I need to speak to my children."
Marcus stepped aside.
I crossed the hall and unlocked the study guest room.
Annie was sitting on the floor.
Jordan and Justin were building a crooked tower of wooden blocks.
When I entered, Justin's face lit up.
"Daddy!"
He started to stand.
Then stopped, as though remembering he wasn't supposed to be excited.
I knelt beside him.
"Hey."
He studied my face.
"Are you mad?"
"No."
"At Annie?"
"No."
He looked relieved.
I sat cross-legged on the rug.
Something I hadn't done in years.
"Can I ask you something about Mommy?"
Both boys went quiet.
Annie watched carefully.
"Only if you feel comfortable," I added.
Jordan picked at a loose thread on the carpet.
"Okay."
"Do you remember the last morning Mommy was here?"
Justin shook his head.
Jordan nodded.
"She made pancakes."
I swallowed.
Lauren had made pancakes every Sunday.
The accident happened on a Thursday.
"What kind?"
"Little ones."
He held his fingers in a circle.
"With blueberry faces."
My heart hurt.
"That's right."
Jordan stared at the blocks.
"Mommy was crying."
I went still.
"What?"
"Before pancakes."
"Where?"
"In the kitchen."
"Why was she crying?"
He shrugged.
"She was talking to Aunt Rebecca."
I looked at Annie.
Her face had tightened.
"Did you hear what they said?"
Jordan nodded slowly.
"Mommy said she had proof."
I stopped breathing.
"Proof of what?"
"I don't know."
He looked frustrated.
"She said the grown-ups were doing something bad."
I remembered Lauren's final weeks.
She had been distracted.
Restless.
She often stayed up working after the twins went to bed.
Several times, I woke to find her sitting in the study with her laptop open.
Whenever I asked what was wrong, she said she needed more time.
I had assumed it was one of her philanthropic projects.
Lauren chaired the Morrison Foundation's technology-access initiative.
Through the foundation, she oversaw grants, school partnerships, and independent audits of several public-interest software programs developed by our company.
She knew more about Morrison Dynamics than I had sometimes wanted to admit.
Not because she was an executive.
Because she asked questions our executives disliked answering.
"What else did Mommy say?" I asked.
Jordan's eyes filled.
"She said, 'If anything happens to me, tell Daddy about the blue birds.'"
The room fell silent.
"Blue birds?"
He nodded.
"Three blue birds."
I looked at Annie.
She shook her head.
"I haven't heard that before."
Justin suddenly spoke.
"On the picture!"
We all turned toward him.
"What picture?"
"The one Mommy hid."
My pulse quickened.
"Where?"
He pointed toward the fireplace in the guest room.
"There."
I stared at the mantel.
A framed photograph of Lauren and the twins stood beside an antique clock.
I picked it up.
It was taken at our house in Nantucket.
Lauren held the boys on the beach.
All three were laughing.
The frame was wooden, painted pale blue.
Three small birds were engraved along the lower edge.
I felt an almost painful surge of hope.
"Is this it?"
Justin nodded.
"Mommy said not to let Rebecca have it."
I turned the frame over.
The backing was secured with four small metal tabs.
I opened them.
Behind the photograph was a folded piece of paper.
My hands began shaking.
Annie rose.
"Mr. Morrison?"
I unfolded the note.
Lauren's handwriting covered one side.
Daniel, if you're reading this, I wasn't given enough time to explain.
Below that was another sentence.
Don't trust the person who tells you I was confused.
I stared at the words until they blurred.
There was a string of numbers underneath.
And a name.
Evelyn Shaw.
I knew that name.
Evelyn had been Morrison Dynamics' chief compliance officer.
She had resigned eleven days before Lauren died.
The board announcement described her departure as a personal decision.
I had barely questioned it.
I was preparing our biggest acquisition.
And then Lauren died.
I looked at Marcus.
"Find Evelyn Shaw."
He stared at the note.
"Sir, I tried."
A chill moved through me.
"What do you mean?"
"Ms. Shaw disappeared from professional records after her resignation."
"People don't disappear."
Marcus hesitated.
"Sometimes they do when someone works very hard to make them."
A faint sound came from the hallway.
Someone walking.
Then the handle of the guest-room door moved.
Once.
Twice.
Rebecca's voice came through the wood.
"Daniel?"
I slipped Lauren's note into my pocket.
"Yes?"
"May I speak to you?"
"In a minute."
A pause.
Then she said something I would remember for the rest of my life.
"Is Annie Reed in there with the boys?"
I looked at Annie.
She went pale.
"Yes."
Another silence.
Then Rebecca spoke in a different voice.
Lower.
Sharper.
"Daniel, whatever that woman has told you, you need to understand something about her."
I stood.
"What?"
May you like
Rebecca answered through the door.
"Annie Reed is not who she says she is."
