Chapter 1 - THE GLASS
I was lifting the water to my mouth when Chloe rushed into my study and grabbed my wrist.
She moved so fast the glass trembled in my hand.
A few drops spilled onto the leather blotter beside my fountain pen.
“Don’t drink that,” she whispered, barely breathing. “Gwen wants you dead.”
For a moment, I simply stared at her.
Chloe had worked in my house for fourteen months.
Quiet.
Careful.
Never dramatic.
She lowered her eyes when Gwen entered a room and apologized for things that were not her fault.
She was not the kind of woman who burst into a study at night and made accusations against the lady of the house.
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
Chloe closed the study door behind her and looked back over her shoulder like someone might already be coming down the hall.
The estate was quiet around us.
Too quiet.
Warm lights glowed against dark wood. Rain tapped softly against the tall windows. Somewhere downstairs, the old grandfather clock marked the hour.
Chloe pointed at the glass.
“I heard her on the phone. She said tonight was the last chance.”
My hand tightened.
The glass suddenly felt much heavier.
I set it down slowly.
That water had been brought to me by Gwen.
My wife.
Thirty-six years old.
Beautiful.
Charming.
The woman who had married me two years after my first wife, Eleanor, died.
The woman who had stood beside me at charity dinners and touched my arm whenever reporters took photographs.
The woman who had spent the last month telling me I was too tired to manage my own affairs.
Before I could ask another question, a soft knock came at the door.
Gwen’s voice floated through the wood, sweet as warmed honey.
“Franklin? Why is the maid in there?”
Chloe went white.
Then she pulled a small phone from her pocket.
“I recorded everything.”
The air seemed to leave the room.
She pressed play.
At first, all I heard was static.
Then Gwen’s voice.
Faint.
Clear enough.
“He has to be gone before he changes the will.”
I turned toward the study door.
The handle slowly moved.
May you like
And for the first time since I met Gwen, I was not looking at my young wife as a second chance.
I was looking at her as the person standing on the other side of the door while a glass of water sat untouched on my desk.
