Chapter 3 - THE WOMAN IN THE PHOTOGRAPH
Anthony did not sleep that night.
At 2:15 a.m., he stood in the private study of his penthouse, staring at a photograph of Catherine.
She was laughing in the picture.
Her hair was shorter than he remembered.
One hand rested on his shoulder while the other held a glass of champagne.
They had taken the photograph at a charity dinner in 2009.
Two years before her death.
Anthony remembered the evening clearly.
Catherine had complained that his tie was crooked. He had told her that nobody would notice.
She had smiled.
“I notice everything about you.”
He had believed it was simply something loving wives said.
Now Raymond Kessler's words had opened a door he had kept locked for twelve years.
Ask Catherine what happened in Brooklyn.
Anthony pulled open the bottom drawer.
Inside was a small wooden box containing Catherine's wedding ring, several handwritten notes, and a sealed envelope she had given him shortly before her death.
He had never opened it.
He had been unable to.
The envelope had his name written across the front.
For Anthony, when you're ready.
His fingers trembled as he broke the seal.
Inside was a single letter.
My darling,
If you're reading this, I hope you've finally stopped punishing yourself for loving me.
There are things I wanted to tell you, but I was afraid they would destroy the peace we had left.
Michael Mallory came to see me in Brooklyn in 2011.
He told me someone inside your organization was selling information to Raymond Kessler.
He had proof.
He also told me you were being watched.
I asked him to disappear before they discovered what he knew.
He refused.
He said a young man had already died because of the information he uncovered.
I don't know what happened after that.
But I kept a copy of the document he gave me.
I hid it somewhere you would never think to look.
Please don't mistake my silence for betrayal.
I was trying to keep you alive.
I love you.
Catherine.
Anthony read it twice.
Then a third time.
His wife had known.
She had known something about the betrayal inside his organization, and she had carried that secret into her grave.
Or perhaps not.
“Tony?”
Caleb stood in the doorway.
“Have you found Michael Mallory?”
“We found his old employment records. But there's something else.”
“What?”
“Catherine's name appears in the same investigation.”
Anthony looked up.
Caleb placed a laptop on the desk.
“Someone accessed an archived company database three weeks before she died.”
“Who?”
“The login belonged to your personal assistant at the time.”
Anthony frowned.
“Victor Hale?”
Caleb nodded.
Victor had been with Anthony for nearly twenty years.
He had managed private accounts, arranged meetings, and accompanied Catherine to several charity events.
Anthony had trusted him.
“Where is he now?”
“Retired. Connecticut.”
“Bring him here.”
“Alive?”
Anthony gave him a cold look.
“Don't ask stupid questions.”
Across the city, Sophie sat beside her mother in a small apartment in Queens.
Evelyn Mallory was sixty-three, with silver beginning to show in her dark hair.
She had spent the previous evening asking why two unfamiliar men were standing outside the building.
Sophie had told her they were security personnel.
Evelyn had not believed her.
“Your father used to say that powerful men never protect anyone without wanting something in return.”
Sophie looked at her.
“Did Dad know Anthony Bellucci?”
Her mother dropped the tea towel.
The silence lasted too long.
“Mom?”
Evelyn sat down.
“Your father worked for him.”
Sophie felt the room tilt.
“You knew?”
“I knew he worked for several companies connected to him.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because your father wanted you and Evan to have an ordinary life.”
Sophie stared at her.
“Did Dad steal something?”
Evelyn closed her eyes.
“No. He discovered someone was stealing from Anthony.”
“Who?”
Before Evelyn could answer, the apartment lights went out.
A crash sounded in the hallway.
Sophie stood.
“Mom, stay here.”
The front door rattled.
Then came a familiar voice.
“Sophie? Open up. It's Evan.”
She rushed toward the door.
Evelyn grabbed her arm.
“Don't.”
“That's my brother!”
“Your brother never knocks like that.”
Sophie froze.
Another knock.
“Sophie, please!”
Then a whisper came through the wood.
“It's me. I'm hurt.”
Sophie reached for the lock.
Evelyn pulled her back.
“Listen to me. Your father gave me something before he disappeared. Something he said would only be opened if the men who killed him came looking.”
Sophie stared at her.
“Dad wasn't killed in an accident?”
Her mother began crying.
“No.”
The doorknob turned.
Someone had a key.
And then a man's voice spoke from the other side.
“Good evening, Mrs. Mallory.”
Evelyn went white.
May you like
It was Victor Hale.
---
