Chapter 2 - THE WOMAN WHO HAD EVERY REASON TO HATE HIMVincent didn't sleep.
By sunrise, he had every file on Evan Sullivan spread across the library floor.
Evan had worked as a financial auditor for Caldwell Freight.
He had access to everything.
Two days before the accident, he had flagged twelve suspicious accounts.
Three days later, he disappeared.
Then Sarah died.
The official investigation ruled her death an accident.
Evan had supposedly been killed weeks afterward.
Except no body had ever been found.
Vincent looked at Maeve.
“You lied about your husband.”
“I said he was dead.”
“You said nothing else.”
“Because I knew you would do exactly this.”
“Investigate?”
“Assume the worst.”
Vincent's eyes narrowed.
“You knew who I was when you applied.”
“Yes.”
“Why did you come here?”
Maeve stared at him.
“To find out who killed him.”
The words landed hard.
“You think I killed Evan?”
“I don't know.”
“You think I killed Sarah?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“I think someone wants us to believe you did.”
Vincent went silent.
Maeve took out a small photograph.
She handed it to him.
Evan.
Sarah.
Together.
Vincent stared.
“When was this?”
“Three weeks before the crash.”
His chest tightened.
“Why were they together?”
Maeve whispered,
“Because Sarah had discovered something.”
“What?”
“A bank account.”
Vincent looked at her.
“Whose?”
His own.
A secret account.
One he had never opened.
One that had transferred millions of dollars to shell companies connected to his criminal organization.
Maeve explained that Evan had tried to trace the money.
Sarah helped.
They discovered the account was being used to frame Vincent for financial crimes.
Then someone found them.
Vincent sat down.
“My sister knew.”
Maeve nodded.
“She tried to warn you.”
He looked up.
“She called me that night.”
“What did she say?”
Vincent's memory surfaced.
Sarah's final call.
He had been in a meeting.
He hadn't answered.
She left a voicemail.
He had never listened.
His hands shook.
He grabbed his phone.
The voicemail was still there.
He played it.
Sarah's voice filled the room.
“Vincent, if you're hearing this…”
Her breathing sounded frightened.
“…don't trust Brenda.”
Vincent froze.
The recording continued.
“She knows about the ledger.”
Then a sound.
A door opening.
Sarah whispered,
“Oh God.”
The recording ended.
Vincent looked at Maeve.
Neither spoke.
Brenda Higgins.
Fifteen years in his home.
The woman who had accused Maeve.
The woman who had been near the family for years.
The woman who knew every hallway.
Every room.
Every schedule.
Every weakness.
Vincent stood.
“Find her.”
Daniel stepped forward.
“She left the estate at six.”
Vincent turned.
“Where?”
“Unknown.”
“Then find her.”
They found Brenda's car abandoned near the river.
Inside was a bloodstained scarf.
Sarah's.
Vincent stared at it.
His grief returned like a fist.
Maeve stood behind him.
“You loved her.”
“Yes.”
“So did I.”
Vincent turned.
“You barely knew her.”
“She saved my life once.”
“How?”
Maeve looked at the river.
“Before she died, she found out I was investigating Evan's disappearance.”
Vincent's expression hardened.
“She knew you?”
“She met me.”
“What did she say?”
“She said if anything happened to her…”
Maeve swallowed.
“…I should protect Leo.”
Vincent stared.
“Why Leo?”
“Because Sarah knew someone was trying to take him.”
Silence.
That changed everything.
Leo had not become silent because of grief alone.
He had seen something.
Something dangerous.
Something nobody had understood.
And Sarah had known.
That afternoon, Vincent sat beside Leo's bed.
The boy was drawing.
A house.
A red car.
A woman.
A man.
A small boy.
Vincent looked at the drawing.
“Who's that?”
Leo pointed.
The woman.
Sarah.
Then the man.
Vincent.
Then the boy.
Leo.
Then the red car.
Vincent frowned.
“What's the car?”
Leo grabbed a crayon.
He drew a second man beside the car.
Then crossed him out.
Vincent's breath caught.
Someone else.
Leo had seen someone.
Someone connected to the accident.
Maeve watched from the doorway.
“You knew.”
“I suspected.”
“What did Leo see?”
“I don't know.”
Vincent looked at the boy.
Leo suddenly turned toward the window.
His eyes widened.
He dropped the crayon.
A black sedan had stopped outside.
Vincent stood.
“Daniel.”
“Yes?”
“Who is that?”
Daniel looked.
“I don't know.”
The car drove away.
Vincent stared after it.
Then he looked at Maeve.
She was pale.
“You recognize it.”
“Yes.”
“Whose?”
May you like
She whispered,
“Evan's.”
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