Chapter 4 - The Woman Sleeping Beside My Enemy
Graham stared at the photograph until the edges blurred.
Victor Salazar.
The man responsible for an ambush that had killed two Ashford guards and nearly cost Graham his life.
The man who had disappeared after a failed assassination attempt.
And Vanessa was standing beside him.
"When was this taken?" Graham asked.
Arthur watched him.
"Eleven days ago."
"That's impossible."
"Why?"
"Vanessa was in Milwaukee visiting her aunt."
Arthur gave a humorless laugh.
"Apparently her aunt has changed considerably."
Graham picked up the photograph.
"Where did you get it?"
"From someone who still remembers how to do his job."
Graham's jaw tightened.
"Are you accusing Vanessa of working with Salazar?"
"I'm telling you that the woman you've trusted for years has been meeting your enemy."
Graham looked at the photograph again.
Vanessa was smiling.
Not the careful smile she used at charity dinners.
Not the wounded expression she wore whenever Graham mentioned Elena.
This smile was relaxed.
Familiar.
Graham recognized it because Vanessa had once smiled at him that way.
"How long?" he asked.
Arthur said nothing.
"How long have you known?"
"Long enough to understand that you aren't nearly as clever as you think."
Graham dropped the photograph.
"You could've told me."
"And you would have believed me?"
Graham couldn't answer.
Because the truth was humiliating.
He wouldn't have.
Two days later, I received an anonymous envelope.
There was no return address.
Inside was a photograph of my mother.
She was standing outside a warehouse beside a younger Arthur Ashford.
On the back, someone had written:
Ask your father about Warehouse 17.
I stared at the photograph for nearly a minute.
Then I called my father.
He was at the factory.
"Dad, what's Warehouse 17?"
Silence.
Then a sharp intake of breath.
"Where did you hear that?"
"Someone sent me a photograph."
"Elena, listen to me. Don't leave the house."
My heart began pounding.
"Why?"
"Because that warehouse burned down seventeen years ago."
"What's that got to do with Mom?"
My father's voice trembled.
"She was supposed to meet someone there the night she died."
Rebecca arrived within an hour.
She examined the photograph carefully.
"Whoever sent this wants you to investigate."
"Maybe they want to help."
"Maybe."
Her tone told me she wasn't convinced.
I looked down at Owen, sleeping peacefully in his bassinet.
"Can we find out who owned the warehouse?"
Rebecca nodded.
"Property records are public."
She opened her laptop.
Ten minutes later, she found the address.
The warehouse had stood near the South Branch of the Chicago River.
Its ownership history was complicated.
Several shell corporations.
A transfer.
A foreclosure.
Then demolition.
But one company name caught Rebecca's attention.
"Cole Industrial Holdings."
I frowned.
"Cole?"
She looked at me.
"Any relation to Vanessa Cole?"
"I don't know."
Rebecca continued searching.
Then she turned the screen toward me.
The company's registered agent was listed as Richard Cole.
Vanessa's father.
I felt the air leave my lungs.
"Vanessa's family owned the warehouse?"
"Through a holding company, yes."
My hands began shaking.
The woman Graham had chosen over me.
The woman whose laughter I'd heard while I was bleeding in the hospital.
Her family had been connected to the last place my mother was supposed to visit.
I looked at Rebecca.
"That can't be a coincidence."
She closed the laptop.
"No," she said.
"I don't think it is."
That evening, Graham returned to the penthouse he shared with Vanessa.
She was preparing dinner.
Candles glowed across the table.
A bottle of expensive wine stood open.
"You're late," she said warmly.
Graham removed his coat.
"Business."
She approached and kissed his cheek.
He didn't move.
"Something wrong?"
He looked at her.
"How was Milwaukee?"
Vanessa blinked.
"What?"
"Your trip."
"Oh."
She smiled.
"Fine. Aunt Margaret sends her love."
Graham nodded.
"Interesting."
"Why?"
"Because Margaret Cole died eight months ago."
The room went silent.
Vanessa's face lost its color.
For the first time in years, Graham saw genuine fear in her eyes.
"Graham..."
He stepped back.
"Who is Victor Salazar to you?"
She looked toward the hallway.
A tiny movement.
Barely noticeable.
But Graham noticed.
His hand moved toward the gun beneath his jacket.
"Vanessa."
Her voice cracked.
"Please don't do this."
"Answer me."
Tears filled her eyes.
"Victor isn't who you think he is."
Graham stared at her.
"Then tell me who he is."
She swallowed.
"He's my brother."
At my father's house, Owen woke crying just after midnight.
I carried him to the rocking chair and began feeding him.
Outside, rain tapped against the windows.
My phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
I almost ignored it.
Then a message appeared.
Your mother didn't die in the crash.
My breath stopped.
A second message followed.
She was alive when they took her from Warehouse 17.
Then a third.
And the man who ordered her disappearance is still watching you.
I stared at the screen.
May you like
Before I could reply, one final message appeared.
Don't trust your father.
