Chapter 4 - The Building Jason Erased
The abandoned laboratory stood behind a chain-link fence on the industrial edge of Wilmington.
For seven years, I had avoided driving past it.
I told myself the building represented a failed investment.
A painful chapter in our company's history.
Something best forgotten.
The truth was that Jason had taught me to fear the place without ever explaining why.
By the time Daniel and I arrived at the temporary field office where Agent Sloan was working, it was nearly six in the evening.
Rain streaked the windows.
A printer hummed in the corner.
Three investigators studied financial records spread across a conference table.
Sloan stood beside a large monitor displaying an aerial photograph of the old laboratory.
"Tell me everything you remember," she said.
I leaned toward the screen.
"That's the south entrance."
I pointed to a narrow service road.
"Delivery trucks used it because the main loading bay flooded whenever it rained."
Sloan enlarged the image.
"What about this structure?"
"Cold-storage annex."
"What was stored there?"
"Prototype components, calibration equipment, archived testing materials."
"And paper records?"
"Some."
I hesitated.
"The annex had a locked interior room."
Sloan glanced toward one of the investigators.
"Was that room included in the building plans?"
The investigator checked his tablet.
"Not on the plans we've obtained."
I wasn't surprised.
Jason had renovated the annex without telling the landlord.
He claimed it was necessary to protect trade secrets.
"What was inside?" Sloan asked.
"I never saw it finished."
"Why not?"
I looked down.
"Because that was when Jason started restricting my access."
The words sounded different when spoken aloud.
At the time, Jason claimed his lawyers had advised him to separate executive responsibilities.
He said engineers shouldn't interfere with financial decisions.
He said the company had grown beyond the little partnership we imagined when we were newly married.
I believed him because I wanted to.
I also believed him because arguing had become dangerous.
Sloan placed a building schematic on the table.
"Does this look familiar?"
I studied it.
The original laboratory had three testing rooms, a mechanical workshop, and a climate-controlled storage annex.
But there was an unusual space between the annex and the exterior wall.
A narrow rectangle without a label.
I pointed at it.
"That wasn't there originally."
"When was it added?"
"Approximately eight years ago."
"What was the purpose?"
"Jason said the refrigeration system needed an extra service corridor."
Sloan looked toward Daniel.
"That's worth verifying."
One of the investigators approached.
"Agent Sloan, we have confirmation from the property manager."
"What confirmation?"
"The laboratory lease was terminated five years ago, but the annex was retained under a separate agreement."
"By whom?"
The investigator read from his screen.
"Calder Research Group."
Daniel slowly turned toward me.
That company name had appeared in the financial records.
I felt something cold move through my chest.
Jason hadn't abandoned the building.
He had only abandoned the part everyone knew about.
Sloan asked her colleague to prepare the information for the team handling the property records.
Then she turned back to me.
"Did your husband know you were the last employee recorded entering the laboratory before the official closure?"
I nodded.
"Yes."
"Why were you there?"
"Jason asked me to collect some engineering notebooks."
"When?"
"Three weeks after Eleanor died."
"Did you find them?"
"No."
"What did you find?"
I closed my eyes.
The memory came slowly.
The building smelled of disinfectant and damp cardboard.
Several workstations had been stripped.
The fluorescent lights flickered.
I walked through the testing room toward my old office.
Then I heard voices.
Jason was arguing with a man I couldn't see.
The man's voice was familiar.
Older.
Rough.
He said, "There were patients, Jason."
Jason replied, "There were numbers."
The man said something else.
I couldn't remember the exact words.
But I remembered Jason's answer.
"Dead people don't sue."
I opened my eyes.
Sloan was watching me.
"What happened next?"
"I dropped my keys."
"Did they hear you?"
"Yes."
"Who was the other man?"
I swallowed.
"Dr. Reed."
Sloan didn't react.
But I saw Daniel's fingers tighten around his pen.
"Iris," Sloan said, "why didn't you tell us this before?"
"Because I didn't remember."
I fought to keep my voice steady.
"I've spent years trying not to remember that place."
Sloan nodded.
"That's all right."
"No, it isn't."
I looked at the monitor.
"Eleanor died."
"People may have been hurt by devices we sold."
"And Jason kept everything hidden while I blamed myself for being too weak to protect my own life."
Daniel leaned forward.
"You weren't the person concealing those records."
"I helped build the company."
"That doesn't make you responsible for things you didn't know."
I wanted to believe him.
But guilt doesn't always respond to logic.
Sometimes it lives inside the spaces where memory should be.
Sloan's phone rang.
She stepped away.
While she spoke, I studied the photograph of the annex.
A small loading door faced the river.
Behind the building stood a row of old maple trees.
I remembered watching Eleanor leave through that door once.
She had carried a cardboard box.
Jason had followed her into the parking lot.
They argued beside her car.
I couldn't hear them from my office window.
But I remembered Eleanor raising a finger toward his face.
She wasn't frightened.
She looked furious.
That had been the last week of her life.
Sloan returned.
"We've obtained an order authorizing a search of the relevant premises."
Daniel straightened.
"Tonight?"
"Preparations are underway."
"I want to come," I said.
"No," Sloan replied immediately.
"I know the layout."
"You can help us from here."
"There may be things you won't recognize."
"We can consult you through photographs and secure communication."
I started to protest.
She shook her head.
"Iris, Jason is already reacting unpredictably."
"You don't need to be physically present for investigators to search a building."
I understood.
But understanding didn't make waiting easier.
At eight thirty, Daniel drove me to a furnished apartment on the other side of town.
It was the third place I had lived since leaving Jason.
The first had been a friend's guest room.
The second had been a short-term rental I abandoned after finding my car tires slashed.
This one had security cameras, a locked parking garage, and no public connection to my name.
Daniel carried my bag upstairs.
"You need to eat," he said.
"I'm not hungry."
"That wasn't a question."
He placed a paper bag on the kitchen counter.
Inside were a turkey sandwich, soup, and a bottle of water.
I managed a small smile.
"Do all divorce attorneys become nutritionists?"
"Only when their clients think coffee counts as dinner."
I sat at the kitchen table.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
Then I asked, "Do you think Jason arranged Eleanor's death?"
Daniel took a long breath.
"I don't know."
"But you're afraid he did."
"I'm afraid we don't know enough yet."
I looked at him.
"Are you afraid of Jason?"
He considered the question.
"I'm concerned about what he might do."
"That isn't what I asked."
Daniel pulled out a chair.
"Yes."
The admission surprised me.
Daniel was one of the few people I had met who never seemed intimidated by wealth or power.
He had spent years representing clients who couldn't afford the kind of legal teams Jason employed.
He had challenged corporations.
He had faced judges who disliked his arguments.
He had endured threats.
But now he sat across from me and admitted he was afraid.
"Then why are you helping me?" I asked.
"Because being afraid isn't the same as being willing to walk away."
I looked down at the untouched sandwich.
For a long moment, I couldn't speak.
Eventually Daniel stood.
"Lock the door after I leave."
"I will."
"And don't answer messages from unknown numbers."
"I know."
He paused at the doorway.
"Iris?"
I looked up.
"You did something extraordinary today."
I shook my head.
"I took off a coat."
"No."
He smiled faintly.
"You stopped protecting the man who hurt you."
After he left, I sat alone in the kitchen.
I ate half the sandwich.
I checked the locks twice.
Then I opened my laptop.
There was a message waiting from an unfamiliar address.
No subject.
No greeting.
Only one sentence.
Your husband isn't the only person who knows what happened to Eleanor.
Below it was a photograph.
A woman stood outside the abandoned laboratory beneath a yellow security light.
She wore a dark green raincoat.
Her face was turned slightly away from the camera.
But I recognized her immediately.
Eleanor Price.
The photograph's embedded date was six months after her funeral.
May you like
And beneath the image was another sentence.
Ask Jason why the death certificate was signed before the body was identified.
