Chapter 2 - The Message From a Dead Man’s PastNaomi stared at the screen.
For several seconds, she couldn’t hear anything around her.
Not Maisie crying.
Not Rachel asking what was wrong.
Not the hotel employees whispering at the opposite end of the hallway.
Only one sentence existed.
Ask Graham where he was the night Eric died.
“Naomi?”
Rachel touched her arm.
Naomi handed her the phone.
Rachel read the message.
Her face changed.
“That has to be some sick joke.”
“Maybe.”
“Who has your number?”
“Half the wedding guests.”
“That doesn’t explain Eric.”
Naomi looked at Maisie.
Her daughter was exhausted.
Mascara from the flower-girl makeup had smeared beneath her eyes.
Naomi hated herself for not noticing sooner.
For weeks, Maisie had changed.
She had started wetting the bed again.
She had begun asking whether doors could be locked from the inside.
She stopped wanting Graham to help with bath time.
Once, Naomi had found her sitting under the kitchen table.
“What are you doing, sweetheart?”
“Waiting until Graham leaves.”
Naomi had assumed Maisie was jealous.
That was what Graham said.
“Kids test boundaries when a parent remarries.”
He had sounded reasonable.
Everything Graham said sounded reasonable.
That was his gift.
“Rachel,” Naomi whispered.
Her sister looked at her.
“Take Maisie upstairs.”
“No.”
“Naomi—”
“I mean to Mom’s room. Don’t leave her alone with anyone.”
Rachel understood.
“You’re going downstairs?”
“I need answers.”
“Not from him alone.”
“I won’t be alone.”
Twenty minutes later, the ballroom looked like the aftermath of a storm.
Guests whispered around untouched tables.
Champagne sat unopened.
The five-tier wedding cake stood beneath a wall of white roses.
Naomi entered through the side doors.
Every conversation stopped.
Her mother rushed toward her.
“What happened?”
“The wedding is canceled.”
“I know that. Why?”
Naomi looked across the ballroom.
Graham stood beside his parents.
Security remained nearby.
He had apparently told everyone some version of events.
His mother, Cynthia, looked furious.
His father avoided Naomi’s eyes.
That caught her attention.
“Naomi,” Cynthia said, approaching. “Graham says Maisie had an accident and you overreacted.”
Naomi almost smiled.
“An accident?”
“She spilled something.”
“My daughter says your son hit her.”
Several nearby guests heard.
Cynthia lowered her voice.
“Children say things.”
“Mine doesn’t lie about being afraid.”
“You’re humiliating Graham.”
“He’ll survive.”
Cynthia’s lips tightened.
Naomi walked past her.
Graham watched her approach.
“So?” he said. “Ready to talk?”
Naomi stopped several feet away.
“Where were you October eighteenth, three years ago?”
The effect was immediate.
Tiny.
But immediate.
His shoulders stiffened.
His father looked up.
Cynthia blinked.
Graham recovered quickly.
“What?”
“The night Eric died.”
A long silence.
Then Graham laughed.
“I didn’t know you then.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“I was probably home.”
“Probably?”
“It was three years ago.”
Naomi studied him.
Graham had always claimed they met for the first time fourteen months after Eric’s death at a charity fundraiser.
But now his father was staring at the floor.
“Martin,” Naomi said.
Graham’s father looked at her.
“Do you know where Graham was?”
Cynthia answered for him.
“This is ridiculous.”
Naomi didn’t look away from Martin.
“Do you?”
Martin swallowed.
“Graham traveled frequently.”
“Where?”
“Naomi,” Graham warned.
She turned toward him.
“That sounded like you don’t want him answering.”
“I don’t want my family interrogated in front of two hundred people.”
“You lied about hitting Maisie.”
“I already explained what happened.”
“No, you changed what happened.”
Guests were openly listening now.
Graham stepped closer.
“This is exactly why we should speak privately.”
“No.”
His face tightened.
Naomi took out her phone.
“I got a message.”
That got him.
His eyes moved to the screen before she even showed it.
“What message?”
She displayed it.
Graham read it.
For one brief second, all color left his face.
Then he scoffed.
“Anonymous nonsense.”
“Who would send it?”
“How would I know?”
“You looked scared.”
“I’m angry.”
Naomi turned toward Martin again.
“Did Graham know Eric?”
Martin’s mouth opened.
Cynthia seized his arm.
“Don’t.”
That single word silenced the entire group.
Naomi felt ice move through her chest.
“What do you mean, don’t?”
Cynthia realized her mistake.
“Nothing.”
“You just told him not to answer.”
“Because this conversation is absurd.”
Naomi stepped closer.
“Did Graham know my husband?”
Cynthia looked at her son.
Graham’s expression had become unreadable.
Finally Martin spoke.
“Yes.”
Naomi felt the room tilt.
“What?”
“Martin!” Cynthia hissed.
He ignored her.
“Graham knew Eric.”
Naomi stared at him.
“How?”
“They worked together briefly.”
“No.”
Naomi shook her head.
“Eric worked for Larkin Development.”
“So did Graham,” Martin said.
Naomi turned toward Graham.
He said nothing.
“You told me you had never heard Eric’s name before we met.”
Graham sighed.
“I knew of him.”
“Your father said you knew him.”
“There were hundreds of employees.”
“Graham.”
“I met him a few times.”
Naomi felt sick.
“How many times?”
“I don’t remember.”
Martin answered.
“They were friends.”
Cynthia slapped her hand against the table.
“Enough!”
Several guests jumped.
Naomi barely noticed.
She looked at Graham.
“You were friends with my dead husband.”
“Years ago.”
“And you lied.”
“I didn’t think it mattered.”
“Why?”
“Because every time Eric came up, you collapsed emotionally.”
Naomi took a step back.
Graham continued.
“I was trying to protect you.”
“No.”
The word came out quietly.
“You were protecting yourself.”
His expression hardened.
Naomi looked at Martin.
“What happened between them?”
Martin closed his eyes.
Cynthia moved toward him.
“Don’t you dare.”
He stepped away from his wife.
“Eric accused Graham of stealing.”
The ballroom went silent.
Naomi’s pulse thundered.
“Stealing what?”
“Money.”
Graham snapped, “Dad.”
Martin looked exhausted.
“Company money.”
Naomi stared at her fiancé.
Former fiancé.
“How much?”
Martin whispered, “Almost seven hundred thousand dollars.”
Naomi couldn’t breathe.
“And then?”
“Eric was preparing to report him.”
Cynthia’s voice sharpened.
“That was never proven.”
Martin ignored her.
“He had documents.”
“What happened to them?”
Martin looked directly at Naomi.
“They disappeared after Eric died.”
Someone behind Naomi gasped.
Graham stepped forward.
“This is insane.”
Naomi didn’t move.
“When did you last see Eric?”
Graham looked around the room.
Dozens of people were watching.
He knew there was no good answer.
Finally he said, “I don’t remember.”
Martin did.
“The night he died.”
Naomi’s knees nearly gave out.
Her mother caught her elbow.
“Naomi…”
But Naomi kept looking at Graham.
“You saw Eric the night he died?”
Graham said nothing.
“You were with my husband?”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“What was it like?”
“We argued.”
“Where?”
No answer.
“Where, Graham?”
“In the parking lot.”
“What parking lot?”
Graham rubbed both hands across his face.
“The office.”
Eric had died fifteen miles from the office.
Naomi suddenly remembered the police report.
Eric had left work unusually late.
He had been driving home.
His car crossed the center line on a wet road and struck a barrier.
Police called it an accident.
Naomi had believed that for three years.
Until tonight.
Her phone vibrated.
Another anonymous message.
She opened it.
He’s still lying.
Then a photograph appeared.
Naomi stared.
It was grainy security footage.
A parking garage.
A date in the corner.
October 18.
Three years earlier.
Eric stood beside his car.
And Graham stood directly in front of him.
In Graham’s hand was something Naomi recognized immediately.
Eric’s missing leather briefcase.
The one police never recovered.
Another message arrived.
The police never saw this footage.
May you like
Then:
I have the rest.
