Chapter 3 - WHAT ETHAN HAD BEEN AFRAID TO TELL ME
Marcus Reed first contacted me the morning of the funeral.
I did not know his name.
He called from a private number while I was standing in our bedroom trying to choose between two black dresses.
“Mrs. Whitmore?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Marcus Reed. I worked with your husband.”
“On what?”
There was a pause.
“I would prefer to discuss that in person.”
“Today?”
“If possible.”
“I’m burying him in four hours.”
“I understand.”
Something in his voice made me sit down.
“What did Ethan hire you for?”
“Internal asset tracing.”
I did not understand.
“Is that accounting?”
“Partly.”
“Was the company in trouble?”
“No.”
Another pause.
“He believed someone inside it was moving money through affiliated vendors.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“Who?”
“I’m not going to speculate over the phone.”
“Did Ethan know?”
“He had concerns.”
“Why didn’t he tell me?”
“That is one of the things I hoped we could discuss.”
I almost hung up.
Then Marcus said something that stopped me.
“He left instructions that if he died before our review was finished, I was to contact you directly.”
I sat completely still.
“When did he give you those instructions?”
“Three weeks ago.”
Three weeks.
Ethan had been sleeping beside me while quietly preparing for the possibility that something might happen before he finished an investigation.
That did not mean he expected to die.
Marcus made that clear later.
The instruction was standard caution.
But at the time, grief made everything feel connected.
“What do you need from me?”
“Permission to continue reviewing materials Ethan placed under legal hold.”
“What materials?”
“We should meet first.”
I looked toward the bedroom door.
Downstairs, I could hear Vanessa directing caterers.
Damian was speaking to someone in Ethan’s office.
My skin prickled.
“Can they know you called?”
Marcus answered immediately.
“No.”
That was the first moment I became afraid of the people inside my own house.
We arranged to meet after the funeral.
Privately.
At four-thirty.
Damian’s transfer papers changed that plan.
By four, he and Vanessa had dismissed the last guests.
At four-ten, Vanessa poured me wine I did not drink.
At four-fifteen, Damian locked the front door.
May you like
At four-seventeen, he placed the papers in front of me again.
And at four-nineteen, I realized they had no intention of letting me wait for legal advice.
