Chapter 6 - The Diamond Necklace
The diamond necklace had been sitting in my jewelry box for eleven months before I realized it had never belonged to me.
Daniel gave it to me on our fifth wedding anniversary.
He'd fastened it around my neck in front of the bathroom mirror.
"Something beautiful for the most beautiful woman I know," he'd whispered.
I remembered laughing.
I remembered kissing him.
And I remembered how oddly heavy the pendant felt against my collarbone.
Three months later, he told me the clasp needed repairing.
I handed it over without thinking.
He never returned it.
And now Vanessa was wearing it.
Claire replayed Daniel's message twice.
"The necklace contains evidence?" she asked.
"According to Daniel," Noah answered.
"Why would Richard put evidence in a piece of jewelry?"
Noah leaned against the wall.
"Because nobody searches a necklace for corporate records."
Claire shook her head.
"A storage device small enough to hide inside a pendant isn't unusual. But we don't know whether Daniel is telling the truth."
I stared at the frozen image of my husband.
"He looked terrified."
"That doesn't make him innocent," Claire said.
"I know."
I said it sharply.
Then closed my eyes.
"I'm sorry."
Claire pulled up a chair.
"Emily, I need you to separate two questions."
I looked at her.
"Whether Daniel loves you and whether Daniel knows something useful."
I almost laughed.
"The answer to the first one seems obvious."
"Maybe. But don't let what he did to you interfere with deciding whether he's telling the truth now."
I looked at the necklace on the screen.
"What do we do?"
Claire opened her laptop.
"We find Vanessa."
I stared at her.
"Richard won't let her leave the house."
"She already has."
Claire turned the computer toward me.
A traffic camera showed a white luxury sedan leaving the Whitmore estate shortly after sunrise.
Vanessa's license plate was visible.
"Where did she go?"
"An apartment building in River North."
I frowned.
"Daniel told me she lived in New York."
Noah gave me a look.
"Apparently not."
Claire pulled up the property records.
The apartment was owned by a company called Ellison Residential Management.
A familiar name appeared beneath it.
Whitmore Family Trust.
My throat tightened.
"They bought her an apartment."
Claire nodded.
"And paid the property taxes for two years."
I felt something inside me settle.
Two years.
This wasn't a reckless affair that had started recently.
It was a second life.
A life Daniel had built while coming home to me, eating the dinners I cooked, discussing baby names, and telling me I was the only woman he'd ever wanted.
I stared at the screen.
"How long has she been involved with this family?"
Noah looked at the records.
"Longer than Daniel's admitted."
By late afternoon, Claire had arranged for two agents to approach Vanessa.
I wasn't allowed to accompany them.
I understood.
I hated it.
Instead, I sat in a quiet room beside Noah while he examined my father's letter.
He'd been reading the same paragraph for nearly ten minutes.
"What are you looking for?" I asked.
He placed the letter on the table.
"Your father wrote something strange."
I leaned over.
Trust the person who remembers the blue bicycle.
My breath caught.
"That's not strange."
Noah looked up.
"What?"
"My dad taught me to ride on a blue bicycle."
He waited.
"I fell the first time. Scraped my knee. Cried so hard I couldn't catch my breath."
I smiled sadly.
"Dad told me falling wasn't failing unless I refused to get back on."
Noah nodded.
"Did anybody else know that story?"
"Daniel."
His face tightened.
"And?"
I thought for a moment.
"My Aunt Catherine."
"Your father's sister?"
I nodded.
"She moved to Colorado after his funeral."
Noah stood.
"Is she alive?"
"Of course."
"Have you spoken to her recently?"
I hesitated.
"Not for a while."
"How long?"
I looked away.
"Almost two years."
Noah's voice became careful.
"Why?"
"Daniel said she was trying to manipulate me."
"What did she do?"
"She questioned the estate settlement. Accused Richard of hiding money. Said I shouldn't have married Daniel."
My voice faltered.
"She even said my father might not have died accidentally."
Noah stared at me.
"And you stopped talking to her?"
I nodded.
Shame burned through me.
"Daniel said she wanted my inheritance."
Noah's expression softened.
"Emily, that sounds like someone trying to warn you."
I pressed my palms over my eyes.
Every memory had begun changing shape.
Every person I'd rejected at Daniel's suggestion might have been trying to help.
Every person I'd trusted might have been part of the lie.
My phone buzzed.
Claire.
I answered immediately.
"Did you find Vanessa?"
"We did."
"And?"
"She agreed to speak to us."
Relief flooded me.
"Does she have the necklace?"
Claire was silent.
My relief vanished.
"What happened?"
"She claims Daniel gave it to her last month."
"That's true. I saw her wearing it."
"Emily, she also claims she doesn't know where the pendant is now."
I gripped the phone.
"What does that mean?"
Claire took a breath.
"She says someone broke into her apartment and took it."
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
Another missing piece.
Another convenient disappearance.
"Is she lying?"
"We're investigating."
Noah held out his hand.
I put the call on speaker.
"Claire, it's Noah. Ask her about October seventeenth."
A pause.
"Why?"
"Because Vanessa knows Richard's financial operation better than Daniel does."
My eyes widened.
"How?"
Noah looked at me.
"Because before she became Daniel's mistress, she worked as Richard Whitmore's private financial consultant."
My chest tightened.
"She was involved in stealing my father's company?"
"Very possibly."
Claire said something to someone nearby.
Then returned to the line.
"Noah, I need you to hear this."
We waited.
"Vanessa says Richard didn't hire her."
"Then who did?" Noah asked.
"Emily's father."
I stared at the phone.
"That's impossible."
Claire continued.
"She says she was working undercover for him before he died."
The room seemed to tilt.
"She's lying," I whispered.
But Claire wasn't finished.
"She also says she knows who killed him."
Noah grabbed the phone.
"Who?"
Claire's voice dropped.
"She refuses to say unless Emily comes in person."
I closed my eyes.
Then spoke.
"No."
Noah looked at me.
I repeated it.
"No more private meetings. No more surprises. If she knows something, she can tell the FBI."
Claire's voice softened.
"That's exactly what I told her."
I took a breath.
"What did she say?"
"She gave us a name."
My fingers tightened around the phone.
Claire continued.
"Arthur Wallace."
Noah stumbled backward.
"The deputy director?"
"Yes."
Then Claire said the words that made every other revelation seem small.
"Vanessa claims Wallace ordered your father's murder because your father discovered a federal money-laundering operation."
I looked at Noah.
His face had gone white.
And suddenly I understood why he had been hiding.
Richard Whitmore wasn't the most powerful man in this story.
He was protecting someone far worse.
At 6:42 p.m., Claire's phone went straight to voicemail.
At 6:49, Noah's secure messaging account received a photograph of her empty SUV.
At 6:53, a message appeared beneath it.
Your agent has been recalled.
Your witness is next.
Noah stared at the screen.
Then he looked at me.
"We're leaving."
I stood.
"Where?"
He hesitated.
"There's one person Wallace can't easily reach."
"Who?"
Noah took a photograph from his briefcase.
It showed my father standing beside a woman with familiar gray eyes.
My father's sister.
Aunt Catherine.
Noah placed the photograph in my hands.
"The woman you've been taught not to trust."
I stared at her face.
For two years, I had ignored her calls.
Blocked her number.
Returned her birthday cards unopened.
Noah reached for his coat.
"She knows where the money went."
May you like
He opened the door.
"And she's been waiting three years for you to ask."
