Chapter 7 - The Perfect FamilyNaomi stopped taking Maisie anywhere alone.
Her mother protested when police suggested relocating them temporarily.
“This is my house.”
“And somebody photographed Maisie,” Naomi replied.
Her mother stopped arguing.
The hotel where Naomi had almost been married became the safest option.
Management gave them rooms under different names.
Two off-duty officers rotated outside.
Maisie thought they were having a sleepover.
Naomi let her believe that.
For the first time in weeks, the little girl slept through the night.
Naomi sat beside her bed long after midnight, watching her breathe.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Maisie didn’t hear.
Maybe that was better.
The next morning, Naomi met Detective Torres downstairs.
“We identified the paper used for the note.”
Naomi almost laughed.
“Paper?”
“Sometimes boring evidence matters.”
“Where did it come from?”
“Larkin Development headquarters.”
Naomi stopped smiling.
“How do you know?”
“Custom watermark.”
“So someone inside the company sent it.”
“Likely.”
“Charles?”
“Maybe.”
“Marcus?”
“Also possible.”
Torres handed Naomi coffee.
“We executed warrants on several accounts.”
“And?”
“Cynthia transferred three hundred thousand dollars yesterday.”
“To where?”
“Offshore account.”
Naomi stared.
“She’s running.”
“She may be preparing to.”
“Can you stop her?”
“We’re working on it.”
Naomi hated that answer.
Then Torres added, “Graham asked for you.”
“No.”
“He says he’ll provide information about Eric if you visit.”
“No.”
“Good.”
Naomi looked surprised.
Torres shrugged.
“I wanted to see what you’d say.”
Naomi actually smiled.
“What does he want?”
“Leverage.”
“Over me?”
“Probably.”
“He doesn’t have any.”
Torres studied her.
“You’re changing.”
Naomi looked toward the elevators.
“No. I’m remembering who I was before him.”
Later that afternoon, Rachel arrived carrying a box.
“What’s that?”
“Your old laptop.”
Naomi frowned.
“The blue one?”
“You gave it to me after Eric died because you didn’t want his emails popping up.”
Naomi stared.
“I forgot.”
“I remembered last night.”
They plugged it in.
The battery was dead.
The charger barely worked.
Eventually the old login screen appeared.
Naomi entered a password she hadn’t used in years.
The desktop loaded.
Photographs.
Tax documents.
Maisie’s baby pictures.
Eric’s folders.
Naomi’s hands shook.
Rachel touched her shoulder.
“You don’t have to do this today.”
“Yes.”
They searched Eric’s emails.
Nothing obvious.
Then Rachel noticed an archived folder.
Drafts.
Naomi clicked.
There were seventeen unfinished emails.
Most were ordinary.
Work notes.
A message to Naomi about buying diapers.
Then one subject line stopped her.
For Naomi — if I don’t make it home.
Naomi couldn’t move.
Rachel whispered, “Open it.”
She did.
The email had never been sent.
Naomi,
If you’re reading this, something has gone wrong. I don’t want to scare you, and maybe I’m being dramatic, but there are things happening at work that I can’t ignore.
Naomi’s vision blurred.
She continued.
Graham Holloway and his mother are involved in moving company money. I thought Graham was my friend. I was wrong.
Naomi covered her mouth.
Marcus Hale has been following me. Charles knows more than he admits.
Then:
If something happens, do not trust anyone who comes into your life through Larkin contacts.
Naomi stopped.
“What?”
Rachel leaned closer.
Naomi reread it.
Graham had claimed they met randomly at a charity fundraiser.
But the event had been sponsored by—
Larkin Development.
Naomi felt sick.
“He didn’t meet me accidentally.”
Rachel stared at her.
“What?”
“He knew exactly who I was.”
Naomi kept reading.
The final paragraph crushed her.
Tell Maisie her dad loved her more than anything. Tell her I wanted to watch her grow up. And tell her if I could choose one thing for her, it would be that she grows up knowing she never has to make herself smaller so someone else can feel bigger.
Naomi cried then.
Not quietly.
Not elegantly.
Three years of grief came apart inside her.
Rachel held her until the tears slowed.
Then Naomi looked at the screen again.
There was an attachment.
A photograph.
Eric and Graham at a company barbecue.
Arm around each other.
Smiling.
Best friends.
Naomi stared at Graham’s younger face.
He had looked her in the eyes for eighteen months and pretended he had never known the man she buried.
Why?
The answer arrived from an unexpected place.
Graham’s father called.
“Naomi.”
She almost hung up.
“Martin?”
“I need to see you.”
“Why?”
“Because I helped him.”
Naomi went silent.
“Helped him do what?”
“Find you.”
Her entire body turned cold.
“Where are you?”
“Police headquarters.”
Naomi arrived thirty minutes later with Rachel.
Martin sat alone in an interview room.
He looked twenty years older than he had at the wedding.
“Graham knew who you were before the fundraiser,” he said.
Naomi’s fingers tightened.
“I know.”
“He had been watching your social media.”
“For how long?”
“Months.”
“Why?”
Martin looked ashamed.
“At first, I thought guilt.”
“Guilt?”
“He felt responsible for what happened to Eric.”
Naomi leaned forward.
“How responsible?”
“He told me they argued that night.”
“That’s not enough.”
“I know.”
“Why did he pursue me?”
Martin rubbed his hands together.
“He said he wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Naomi laughed bitterly.
“So he dated me?”
“I told him not to.”
“But you helped him.”
Martin nodded.
“I gave him information from Eric’s old personnel file.”
Rachel whispered, “Jesus.”
“What information?”
“Your address. Birthday. Emergency contacts.”
Naomi stood abruptly.
“You gave a stranger my private information?”
“He wasn’t a stranger to me.”
“He was a stranger to me!”
Martin lowered his head.
Naomi forced herself back into the chair.
“Why did he really want me?”
Martin looked terrified.
“Because Eric hid something.”
“What?”
“Graham believed you had it.”
Naomi froze.
“What did Eric hide?”
“Proof.”
“Of the money?”
“More than that.”
“What?”
Martin swallowed.
“Eric recorded a meeting.”
Naomi’s heart pounded.
“With whom?”
“Charles Larkin. Cynthia. Graham. Marcus.”
“Where is it?”
Martin looked directly at her.
“No one knows.”
“Then why marry me?”
“Because Graham thought Eric had given it to you.”
Naomi felt every memory of their relationship rearranging itself.
The first date.
The flowers.
The patience.
The proposal.
The perfect man.
Had any of it been real?
“Once he realized I didn’t have it?”
Martin looked away.
“He loved you.”
Naomi laughed.
“No.”
“He did.”
“No. People who love you don’t study your child like a problem.”
Martin’s face fell.
Naomi stood.
“One last question.”
He looked up.
“Did Graham kill Eric?”
Martin began crying.
“I don’t know.”
“That’s not good enough.”
“I swear.”
Naomi moved toward the door.
Then Martin whispered:
“But I know who was driving behind him when his car went off the road.”
Naomi turned.
Martin looked at her.
“It wasn’t Graham.”
Her breath caught.
“Who?”
May you like
Martin’s voice shook.
“His mother.”
