Chapter 3 - THE WOMAN IN THE PHOTOGRAPHAndrew did not sleep.
By eight that morning, he had read Elizabeth's personnel file four times. Her name, Social Security verification, address, and references were genuine. Her employment history, however, had been carefully edited. Three years were missing, and the agency's internal notes indicated that someone had paid for an expedited placement.
The payment had come from an account associated with the James Family Foundation.
Andrew had established the foundation after Emma's death to fund children's hospitals and bereavement programs. Its finances were managed by his longtime adviser, Victor Hale.
Victor insisted the payment was an administrative error.
Andrew no longer believed in administrative errors.
He found Elizabeth in the small breakfast room, helping Alex peel a banana. She had returned to her usual calm manner, but Andrew noticed she kept glancing toward the door.
“Can we talk?” he asked.
Elizabeth nodded to Alex.
“I'm going to step into the hall for a minute. I'll be right outside.”
Alex immediately caught her sleeve.
She crouched beside him.
“I'll be where you can see me through the doorway.”
He hesitated, then released her.
Andrew watched the exchange with a tightness in his chest.
Once they were in the hall, he held out a printed copy of the file.
“Three years are missing.”
Elizabeth looked at the page.
“Yes.”
“You knew?”
“I knew the agency wasn't given my complete work history.”
“Who arranged the placement?”
“I applied through a recruiter.”
“Paid by my foundation.”
Her face paled.
Andrew stepped closer.
“Did you lie to get into my house?”
Elizabeth took a breath.
“I gave the agency accurate information about my identity and qualifications. I did not authorize anyone to alter my employment dates.”
“Then tell me what happened during those three years.”
She looked through the doorway at Alex.
“Not here.”
“Why?”
“Because I won't discuss his mother as though she's a weapon we can use to win an argument.”
Andrew went still.
“What does Emma have to do with you?”
Elizabeth closed her eyes briefly.
Then she reached into the pocket of her cardigan and took out a small envelope.
Inside was a photograph of Emma standing outside a community center, her dark hair blowing across her face. She was laughing at something outside the frame.
Beside her stood a younger Elizabeth.
Andrew recognized his wife's smile immediately.
He also recognized the building behind them.
The Haven Center.
Emma had volunteered there for years, helping children who had lost parents or survived domestic violence. After her death, Andrew had donated money to keep it open but had never returned.
He looked at Elizabeth.
“You knew my wife.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“We worked together.”
Andrew stared at the photograph.
“Emma never mentioned you.”
“She didn't talk about everyone she helped.”
The answer angered him because it was reasonable.
“When did you work together?”
“For about two years. I coordinated family programs at Haven. Emma volunteered on weekends.”
“And you came here because of her?”
Elizabeth's eyes filled.
“I came because of Alex.”
“That isn't an answer.”
“No,” she said. “It isn't.”
Andrew folded the photograph and handed it back.
“You understand how this looks. Someone alters your file, the foundation pays for your placement, and you arrive in my home three weeks before my son speaks again.”
“I understand.”
“Were you sent here by someone?”
Elizabeth said nothing.
Andrew's suspicion hardened.
“Victor? My board? Someone trying to gain leverage over me?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
She looked at him with an expression he could not read.
“I made a promise to Emma.”
Andrew's throat tightened.
“What promise?”
“I can't tell you until I know you can hear the truth without making Alex pay for it.”
He stared at her.
“You're asking me to trust you while refusing to explain yourself.”
“I'm asking you to consider that your son is not the only person in this house who's afraid.”
Before Andrew could respond, a crash came from the breakfast room.
They rushed inside.
A glass had shattered on the floor. Alex stood near the counter, trembling. His eyes were fixed on the broken pieces.
Elizabeth moved toward him, but he backed away.
Andrew crouched.
“Alex, it's okay. Nobody's angry.”
The boy shook his head violently.
Elizabeth noticed his gaze was not on the glass.
It was on Andrew's briefcase, which lay open beside the counter.
A folded paper had slipped from the side pocket. Andrew had brought it home from Chicago without remembering it was there.
Alex stared at the paper as though it were something alive.
Then he began to cry.
Elizabeth knelt several feet away.
“Alex, you don't have to touch it.”
He covered his ears.
Andrew picked up the paper.
It was a printout from a legal office. The header carried the name of the firm that had handled Emma's estate.
At the bottom was a handwritten note.
Andrew recognized the handwriting.
Emma's.
If anything happens to me, don't let Victor decide what Alex remembers.
Andrew's blood ran cold.
He had never seen the note before.
“Where did this come from?” he whispered.
Elizabeth looked at it, then slowly shook her head.
“I've never seen that page.”
Alex suddenly reached toward the paper.
His hand trembled.
Andrew lowered it.
“Do you want this?”
The boy nodded.
Andrew handed it over.
Alex held the page against his chest and whispered the first complete sentence he had spoken since Emma's funeral.
“Uncle Victor told me Mommy went away because I was bad.”
Andrew felt the room tilt.
Alex began sobbing.
Elizabeth wrapped an arm around him, careful not to restrain him.
Andrew looked at the handwritten note.
Then at his son.
May you like
And understood that Emma's death had left behind more than grief.
Someone had been teaching his child to blame himself.
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