Chapter 9 - Naomi's Daughter
Naomi Reed lived above a bookstore in a Vermont town so small that the main street closed early on Sundays.
Simone and I didn't arrive without warning.
Her attorney arranged the meeting.
I brought no camera crew.
No company representatives.
No promises of money.
Only the documents Arthur had preserved.
And a photograph of the man who had believed her.
Naomi opened the door wearing jeans and a gray sweater.
She looked older than I remembered.
Not because of her face.
Because of the way she checked the street before allowing us inside.
“Evelyn.”
“Hello, Naomi.”
She studied me for several seconds.
Then her eyes filled.
“You believed I stole it.”
The accusation hurt because it was partly true.
“I believed something was wrong,” I admitted. “But I let Dominic convince me I couldn't interfere.”
Naomi looked away.
“I lost everything.”
“I know.”
“No, you don't.”
She led us into a modest living room.
There were children's books stacked beside the sofa.
Crayons on a small table.
A pink winter coat hanging near the door.
I heard movement upstairs.
Then a little voice called, “Mommy?”
Naomi immediately smiled.
“One minute, baby.”
She turned back toward us.
“My daughter is five.”
I glanced at Simone.
Naomi noticed.
“That's the baby I told your investigator about.”
I looked at her.
“What happened?”
Naomi sat down.
“When I discovered the fake renovation invoices, I thought I was dealing with ordinary fraud. I reported it to Margaret.”
“What did she say?”
“She told me to stop asking questions.”
“And you didn't.”
“No.”
Naomi gave a humorless laugh.
“I was stupid enough to believe doing my job would protect me.”
She reached into a drawer and removed a thin folder.
“Two weeks later, I received a message from an unknown number. It included my daughter's daycare schedule.”
I felt my stomach tighten.
“She was a baby?”
“Fourteen months old.”
Naomi nodded toward the stairs.
“They sent photographs of her arriving at daycare. Playing outside. Getting into my car.”
Simone's jaw tightened.
“Do you still have those messages?”
“Yes.”
“Did you contact the police?”
“I did. But the messages came from untraceable numbers, and nobody would connect them to my employer.”
Naomi looked at me.
“Then Margaret offered me a choice.”
“What choice?”
“Accept the company's accusation, leave quietly, and keep my daughter safe. Or fight and watch the people behind the scheme destroy my family.”
I felt cold.
“Why didn't you tell Arthur?”
“I did.”
She opened the folder.
Inside was a copy of a handwritten note.
Arthur's handwriting.
I will make this right. I promise.
Naomi touched the paper gently.
“He sent someone to move us. He paid for legal help. He was gathering evidence to clear my name.”
Then her voice broke.
“And he died.”
For several seconds, no one spoke.
I looked toward the staircase.
There was a child up there who had spent years living in the shadow of decisions made by powerful adults.
I thought of Rose.
Her tiny hands.
Her helplessness.
The way I checked her breathing when she slept.
The idea of someone using a baby to threaten her mother made me feel physically ill.
“Naomi,” I asked, “what do you need from us?”
She stared at me.
“Not money.”
“I understand.”
“I want my daughter to stop growing up with a mother who's afraid to answer the door.”
I nodded.
“And I want the company to admit I never stole anything.”
“We'll work to make that happen.”
She searched my face.
“Can you promise?”
I thought of Arthur.
His final letter.
His warning not to promise things beyond my control.
“I can promise we won't bury the evidence. I can't promise how quickly the legal system will move.”
Naomi studied me.
Then she nodded.
“That's more honest than anything I've heard from your family.”
She opened a laptop.
“I copied files before they took my computer.”
Simone leaned forward.
“What files?”
“Invoice approval records. Internal emails. A recording of a meeting.”
“Who was at the meeting?”
Naomi hesitated.
“Margaret. Graham Whitmore. And Dominic.”
My heart sank.
“Dominic knew?”
“I don't know what he understood at first. But by the end of that meeting, he understood enough.”
Naomi clicked an audio file.
A man's voice filled the room.
Graham.
“The transfer has to happen before Arthur realizes what we're doing.”
Then Margaret.
“He's already suspicious.”
A chair scraped.
Dominic spoke.
“Then keep my father away from the details. He doesn't need another reason to interfere.”
Graham laughed.
“That's my boy.”
My stomach turned.
Dominic had been sitting at the table.
He wasn't a frightened son being manipulated by smarter executives.
He was helping them.
Then the recording continued.
Margaret said, “And Evelyn?”
Dominic answered without hesitation.
“Use her credentials. She won't notice until it's too late.”
I stopped breathing.
Naomi paused the recording.
She looked at me.
“I'm sorry.”
But I couldn't speak.
Because a few seconds of audio had rewritten seven years of my marriage.
The late nights when Dominic brought me tea.
The affectionate messages.
The vacations he said we couldn't afford.
The way he encouraged me to stay behind the scenes.
Had he loved me at all?
Or had I simply been the perfect person to blame?
Naomi gently closed the laptop.
“There's one more thing.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
“After Arthur died, Dominic came to see me.”
My pulse quickened.
“Why?”
“He offered me money to destroy my copies.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
She opened another folder.
Inside was a scanned agreement.
The signature page was incomplete.
But the heading was unmistakable.
CONFIDENTIAL SETTLEMENT AND RELEASE — EVELYN MARIE VALE.
I stared at it.
Naomi whispered, “He was preparing to frame you even before your divorce.”
May you like
Then she pointed to the date.
The agreement had been drafted three years earlier.
