Chapter 2 - The Photograph Felix Never Wanted Me to See
Felix drove me home in silence.
That had never happened before.
Even after arguments, one of us eventually surrendered to ordinary conversation.
Do you want food?
Did you remember your charger?
Why does that taxi have Christmas lights in November?
That night, nothing.
The city moved beyond the windows.
Finally I said, “What did Stellan mean?”
Felix kept his eyes on the road.
“He likes creating doubt.”
“That isn't an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have.”
“He said someone wanted me to confuse you.”
“Vivian.”
“What?”
“Stop.”
The word landed differently from anything Felix had ever said to me.
Not angry.
Afraid.
I stared at him.
“You know something.”
“No.”
“You're terrible at lying.”
That was true.
Felix once attempted to hide a birthday present in my apartment and accidentally asked me whether I had “looked in the closet recently.”
He was not built for deception.
Yet lately I was beginning to wonder whether that awkward honesty was itself something I had misunderstood.
When we reached my apartment, Felix followed me upstairs.
I took off my heels and dropped them beside the door.
“My feet may never forgive me.”
Normally that would have made him smile.
Nothing.
I faced him.
“Sit down.”
“Viv—”
“Felix.”
He sat.
I remained standing.
“How long since you and Stellan spoke?”
“About three years.”
“Why?”
“Family business.”
“You're an engineer.”
“Our father's business.”
“What business?”
“Harmon Capital.”
I knew the name.
Everyone in New York fundraising knew it.
Private equity.
Real estate.
Foundations.
The kind of money that had buildings named after it.
I stared.
“You told me your father was retired.”
“He mostly is.”
“You told me your brother worked in finance.”
“He does.”
“You neglected to mention your family owns one of the largest private investment firms in Connecticut.”
“I don't own it.”
“That is an impressively specific technicality.”
Felix rubbed his face.
“My family's money has nothing to do with us.”
“Apparently your family has nothing to do with us either.”
“That was intentional.”
“Why?”
His answer came slowly.
“Because when I left, Stellan stayed.”
“Left what?”
“The expectations.”
He told me pieces.
Their father, Conrad Harmon, had expected both sons to join the family company.
Stellan complied.
Felix refused.
Their relationship fractured.
Felix built his own career.
His parents considered it rebellion.
Stellan considered it abandonment.
“That’s it?” I asked.
Felix hesitated.
There.
A pause.
Tiny.
But enormous.
“No.”
“What else?”
He stood.
“I should go.”
I laughed in disbelief.
“You cannot possibly think leaving now is a good strategy.”
“I have an early meeting.”
“Felix.”
“I’ll call tomorrow.”
He kissed my forehead.
Then he left.
I stood in my apartment wondering how a relationship could feel solid for fourteen months and unstable in fourteen minutes.
At ten the next morning, my office looked like the aftermath of a small glitter-based hurricane.
Gift bags.
Invoices.
Flowers.
Half-deflated balloons.
I spent three hours reconciling pledge sheets.
Then reception called.
“Vivian? There's a delivery.”
A courier handed me a flat cream envelope.
No return address.
Inside was a photograph.
I recognized Felix immediately.
He looked younger.
Maybe twenty-four.
Beside him stood Stellan.
And between them was a woman.
Blonde.
Beautiful.
Laughing.
Felix had one arm around her.
Stellan had the other.
On the back, someone had written:
Summer 2018. Before everything changed.
There was another item.
A gala seating card from the previous night.
My name.
Table Three.
Someone had crossed out Felix Harmon beside it.
Underneath, in different handwriting, was written:
Stellan Harmon.
I called Felix.
No answer.
Again.
No answer.
Then a text arrived.
Not from Felix.
Unknown number.
You wanted to know why you kissed the wrong brother. Ask who changed the seating chart.
I stared at the message.
Our seating chart was digital.
Only four people had access.
Me.
My executive director, Nina.
Our events coordinator, Madison.
And our board liaison, Jonathan Reed.
I went straight to Madison.
“Did anyone make changes to table three last night?”
She opened the spreadsheet.
“Not after five.”
“Check the log.”
She did.
At 8:47 p.m., someone had changed Felix's assigned seat.
Then changed it back eleven minutes later.
Account used:
Jonathan Reed.
Jonathan was one of our board members.
And, I suddenly remembered, a managing director at Harmon Capital.
My pulse accelerated.
I called him.
Voicemail.
By lunchtime, Felix finally answered.
“Where are you?”
“Office.”
“I received a photograph.”
Silence.
I described it.
Felix whispered something I could not hear.
“Who is she?”
“Vivian—”
“Who?”
Another long silence.
Then:
“Her name was Caroline.”
“Was?”
“She died.”
The irritation vanished from my voice.
“I’m sorry.”
“Six years ago.”
I looked again at the photograph.
“Was she your girlfriend?”
“No.”
“Stellan's?”
Felix did not answer.
“Felix?”
“She was supposed to marry Stellan.”
Something cold moved through me.
“Why are you holding her like that?”
“Because we were friends.”
“Then what changed?”
“Everything.”
“That's not an answer.”
“I know.”
“Why did someone send me this?”
“I don't know.”
But his voice said he did.
“Who is Jonathan Reed?”
Felix went completely silent.
“Felix?”
“Stay at work.”
“What?”
“Don't go anywhere with Jonathan.”
“Why?”
“I’m coming.”
The call ended.
Three minutes later, my office door opened.
Jonathan Reed entered.
He was sixty-ish, silver-haired, polished, and usually so calm he made bankers seem emotional.
He looked at the photograph on my desk.
Then at me.
“I was afraid someone would send you that.”
I stood.
“What is going on?”
Jonathan closed the door.
“You've met Stellan.”
“Yes.”
“Then Felix hasn't told you.”
“Told me what?”
Jonathan studied me with the exhausted expression of a man who had spent years protecting a secret he no longer believed deserved protection.
“Caroline didn't die because of Stellan.”
“I never said she did.”
“No.”
Jonathan's gaze dropped to the photograph.
“But Felix has spent six years letting his brother believe she did.”
The office seemed to become silent.
“What?”
Jonathan reached into his coat and placed another photograph beside the first.
This one showed Caroline alone.
Outside a restaurant.
Holding hands with someone whose face was turned away from the camera.
But I recognized the navy blazer.
The posture.
The watch.
Felix.
Jonathan spoke quietly.
“Three days before Caroline disappeared from Stellan's life, she told Felix something.”
“What?”
“That she intended to cancel the wedding.”
My stomach twisted.
“Because she loved him?”
Jonathan shook his head.
“No.”
He pointed at Caroline.
“Because she discovered what the Harmon family had been hiding.”
The door behind him opened.
Felix stood there.
Breathless.
Furious.
And for the first time in fourteen months, the warm, steady man I thought I knew looked at me with something close to desperation.
“Vivian,” he said, “do not believe another word he tells you.”
Jonathan did not turn around.
He only looked at me.
“Ask Felix where Caroline's final letter is.”
Felix froze.
Jonathan finally faced him.
May you like
“You still have it, don't you?”
And I knew from Felix’s expression that he did.
