Chapter 5 - The First Wife
Jonathan had not heard anyone speak Rebecca's name that way in seven years.
Not with fear.
Not with guilt.
Not as though her death were something that might still be investigated.
He stared at Claire.
“What did you say?”
Claire lowered her eyes.
“I'm sorry.”
“Look at me.”
She did.
“My wife died when her car went off the road.”
Claire began shaking.
“That's what they told everyone.”
Jonathan felt his heart pounding.
“Who told everyone?”
Claire glanced toward Detective Mercer.
“Please find my daughters.”
Mercer was already making calls.
A photograph of the two girls circulated among responding officers.
Eight-year-old Lily.
Six-year-old Hannah.
Both wearing yellow raincoats in a picture taken outside their elementary school.
Claire explained that her sister had gone to collect them after classes.
The children never reached the pickup point.
A stranger had called twenty minutes later.
He knew Claire's name.
He knew where she worked.
And he knew exactly what she had done for Celeste Whitmore.
Mercer assigned an investigator to stay with Claire.
Then she led Jonathan, Evelyn, and Maria back into the library.
“Tell us what you know about Rebecca,” Mercer said.
Claire sat down.
She stared at her trembling hands.
“I wasn't involved when Rebecca died.”
“Then how do you know?”
“Because Dr. Bell talked about it.”
“When?”
“Three months ago.”
“Under what circumstances?”
Claire swallowed.
“He was drunk.”
Jonathan's face hardened.
“Bell?”
“Yes.”
“He called Celeste after midnight.”
“He thought nobody was listening.”
Claire looked toward Evelyn.
“I was preparing your medication.”
“His phone was on speaker.”
“What did he say?”
Claire closed her eyes.
“He said, ‘You promised there would never be another Rebecca.’”
Jonathan did not move.
For a terrible moment, he could hear only the soft ticking of the clock above the fireplace.
Rebecca had been thirty-four when she died.
She was a pediatric neurologist.
She loved old bookstores, terrible horror movies, and feeding stray cats.
She had married Jonathan before his fortune doubled.
She had known him when he still worked fourteen-hour days and ate dinner from paper containers.
Their marriage had not been perfect.
They argued.
They made mistakes.
But he had loved her.
The night she died, she had called him.
He was in Chicago.
He missed the call.
She left no voicemail.
Twenty-three minutes later, her car crashed through a guardrail on a deserted road.
The police said she had been driving too fast in the rain.
Jonathan believed them.
And Celeste had been the person who helped him through the funeral.
Evelyn made a soft sound.
“Oh, Jonathan.”
He held up a hand.
“Not yet.”
Maria watched him.
He seemed to be physically holding himself together.
Mercer turned back to Claire.
“Did Bell say anything else?”
Claire nodded.
“He said Rebecca had discovered something she wasn't supposed to.”
“What?”
“I don't know.”
“And Celeste's response?”
Claire swallowed.
“She told him to stop talking about dead people.”
Jonathan rose.
He walked toward the fireplace.
For several seconds, he stared into the dark grate.
Then he spoke.
“Celeste knew Rebecca before I did.”
Evelyn nodded.
“They went to the same college.”
“She was at our wedding.”
Maria felt sick.
Jonathan turned around.
“She told me Rebecca was the best friend she'd ever had.”
He laughed once.
The sound was empty.
“She helped me choose the flowers for Rebecca's grave.”
Mercer waited.
“Jonathan, do you remember anything unusual in the weeks before Rebecca's death?”
He rubbed his face.
“She was distracted.”
“How?”
“She kept working late.”
“She argued with the hospital board.”
“About what?”
“Patient safety.”
Jonathan looked up.
“She wanted access to records from a privately funded research program.”
Mercer's eyes sharpened.
“What program?”
“Something called Project Meridian.”
Maria felt the name strike a memory.
Daniel had written it on a scrap of paper.
She had found the note in his apartment after his death.
She remembered assuming it was a software platform.
“Project Meridian,” she repeated.
Jonathan turned.
“You know it?”
Maria nodded.
“My brother wrote that name.”
“Where's the paper?”
“At my apartment.”
“Do you still have it?”
“I think so.”
Mercer reached for her phone.
“We need to retrieve it.”
Maria shook her head.
“There was more.”
“What?”
Maria closed her eyes.
“Daniel wrote three words underneath.”
She could see the handwriting.
Blue ink.
Uneven letters.
A line drawn beneath the last word.
NOT A TRIAL.
Jonathan frowned.
“What does that mean?”
Maria opened her eyes.
“I don't know.”
Mercer turned to Evelyn.
“Did you ever approve funding for Project Meridian?”
Evelyn shook her head.
“I approved hundreds of grants.”
“Do you remember that particular name?”
“No.”
Jonathan looked at her.
“But I do.”
The room became silent.
He moved slowly toward the desk.
“Project Meridian was presented to the board as a diagnostic innovation program.”
“Early detection of neurological conditions.”
“Artificial intelligence, predictive biomarkers, personalized treatment.”
Mercer waited.
“Was it legitimate?”
“Parts of it were.”
“What happened to the rest?”
Jonathan's expression changed.
“I remember asking Richard Vale about a strange accounting entry.”
“When?”
“About six years ago.”
“What did he say?”
“That Meridian was being restructured.”
Jonathan looked toward his mother's portrait.
“And that Rebecca's concerns had already been resolved.”
Maria stared at him.
“Resolved?”
He nodded.
“That's the word he used.”
The detective's phone rang again.
She answered.
Her expression softened.
“Both girls?”
A pause.
“Are they hurt?”
Another pause.
“Good.”
She looked at Claire.
“Your daughters have been found.”
Claire burst into tears.
Mercer held up a hand.
“They're safe.”
“They were dropped at a police station in New Jersey.”
Claire covered her mouth.
“Thank God.”
“But there's something else.”
Jonathan watched Mercer carefully.
“What?”
“The officers found a phone inside Lily's backpack.”
Mercer looked at Claire.
“A man called it while the children were being interviewed.”
Claire went rigid.
“What did he say?”
Mercer hesitated.
“He said Mrs. Whitmore's death was only the beginning.”
Jonathan clenched his jaw.
“Did he identify himself?”
“No.”
“What else?”
Mercer looked directly at him.
“He said to ask Jonathan what Rebecca was carrying the night she died.”
Jonathan stared at her.
“She was carrying her medical bag.”
“Anything else?”
He closed his eyes.
A memory surfaced.
Rebecca had called him earlier that afternoon.
She sounded nervous.
She told him she had finally obtained something important.
He had asked if it could wait until he returned.
She said yes.
Then she added a sentence he had dismissed.
Jonathan, if anybody asks, I never brought anything home.
He looked at Mercer.
“A file.”
Maria leaned forward.
“What file?”
Jonathan's voice became faint.
“Rebecca had a red leather folder.”
Evelyn gasped.
Jonathan turned toward her.
“Mother?”
She looked horrified.
“I know where it is.”
“Where?”
Evelyn gripped her wheelchair.
“In Rebecca's old bedroom.”
Jonathan stared at her.
“That room was cleared out after she died.”
Evelyn shook her head.
“Not everything.”
She looked toward the portrait of her late husband.
“Rebecca gave me the folder the afternoon before the accident.”
Jonathan took a step toward her.
“And you never told me?”
May you like
Evelyn began to cry.
“Because when I opened it, I found your signature on the first page.”
