Chapter 4 - The Lie Harlan Buried
The dead woman in the photograph was not Clara Voss.
Harlan knew that before anyone else did.
Rue knew because of the way he reacted.
He didn’t rush toward the image.
He stepped away from it.
As if he had seen a ghost he expected.
Adrian noticed too.
“Harlan?”
Harlan looked toward Belle’s staircase.
“Not here.”
They moved into the library.
The doors closed.
Rue remained near the bookshelves while Adrian placed the photograph on the table.
“Talk,” he said.
Harlan’s gaze hardened.
“You work for me.”
“Yes.”
“Remember it.”
“No.”
The answer surprised Rue.
Apparently Adrian was the only employee in Detroit allowed to say that word.
“You knew something,” Adrian continued.
Harlan said nothing.
Rue folded her arms.
“She deserves the truth.”
“Belle does.”
“So do I if somebody’s dragging me into it.”
Harlan looked at her.
Rue held his eyes.
Finally, he sat.
“My wife died in a car accident four years ago.”
“That’s what you said.”
“That’s what the world believes.”
Rue’s stomach tightened.
“What does that mean?”
“The car went into the river.”
“Was her body recovered?”
“No.”
There it was.
Rue felt cold.
“You never found her.”
“No.”
“But you declared her dead.”
“After eighteen months.”
Adrian stared at him.
“You never told me you doubted it.”
“I didn’t.”
“You clearly did.”
Harlan’s jaw moved.
“Three weeks after the accident, I received a photograph.”
“Of Clara?”
“Maybe.”
“From whom?”
“Unknown.”
He removed his phone and opened an encrypted folder.
The photograph showed a woman boarding a train.
Blonde.
Face partially obscured.
The same posture as Clara.
Rue looked toward the portrait.
“Why didn’t you tell police?”
“I did.”
“And?”
“They found nothing.”
“Then why hide it?”
Harlan looked at Belle’s photograph on the mantel.
“Because someone demanded twenty million dollars for proof Clara was alive.”
Adrian swore softly.
“Did you pay?”
“Yes.”
“Jesus.”
“They vanished.”
Rue sat across from him.
“You thought it was a scam.”
“I had to.”
“But part of you didn’t.”
His eyes lifted.
“No.”
Rue understood.
Hope could become cruelty when it refused to die.
“What was Clara like?”
Harlan’s face closed again.
“Complicated.”
“That means terrible or loved.”
“Both.”
Adrian moved nearer.
“Could Clara have taken Belle?”
“No.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
“How?”
Harlan looked at him.
“Because Clara was terrified of elevators.”
Rue blinked.
“What?”
“She was trapped in one during a building fire when she was nineteen. She would never willingly enter a service elevator.”
Adrian looked back at the image.
“So whoever did this wanted us to think she was Clara.”
“Yes.”
Rue leaned forward.
“And knew enough about your wife to own her ring.”
Nobody answered.
That afternoon, Harlan ordered Belle moved to another residence.
Rue disagreed.
“You’re uprooting her.”
“I’m protecting her.”
“She just got home.”
“Someone entered my systems.”
“Then fix the systems.”
“I am.”
“By making a six-year-old live like a fugitive?”
His eyes flashed.
“You don’t get to tell me how to protect my daughter.”
Rue went quiet.
Belle stood in the doorway.
Harlan saw her.
His anger disappeared instantly.
“Belle.”
The little girl looked at Rue.
“Are you leaving?”
Rue crouched.
“No.”
“Daddy said another house.”
“We’re going somewhere safer.”
Belle’s face crumpled.
“I want my room.”
Harlan knelt beside her.
“Just for a few days.”
“You said Mom was coming back too.”
The room stopped.
Rue looked at Harlan.
Belle covered her mouth.
Harlan’s face changed.
“Who told you that?”
Belle started crying.
Rue pulled her close.
“Hey. Nobody’s mad.”
Harlan softened his voice.
“Belle, sweetheart. Who told you?”
The girl whispered into Rue’s shoulder.
“The lady.”
“What lady?”
“In the elevator.”
Rue felt her pulse jump.
“What did she say?”
Belle sniffed.
“She said Mommy wanted me.”
Harlan went completely still.
Belle continued.
“She said Daddy kept Mommy away.”
Rue looked at him.
That sentence was designed.
Not for Belle.
For Harlan.
Someone wanted him frightened.
And guilty.
Two hours later, Harlan had tripled security.
Rue found him alone in the kitchen after midnight.
He stood beside the counter with a glass of water untouched in front of him.
“You don’t drink?” she asked.
“Not anymore.”
Rue opened the refrigerator.
“Do rich people have normal cheese?”
He glanced over.
“Second drawer.”
She found cheddar.
“Excellent.”
“Are you making a sandwich?”
“I stress eat.”
“Useful.”
“More useful than brooding in designer pants.”
He looked down at his clothes.
“These are not designer.”
Rue stared.
“Harlan, your shirt probably has a stock portfolio.”
A reluctant smile appeared.
There.
For one second.
Then gone.
Rue made two sandwiches.
She pushed one toward him.
“I’m not hungry.”
“Eat anyway.”
“You’re very comfortable giving orders in my house.”
“Somebody has to.”
He sat.
They ate in silence.
Eventually Rue asked, “Why did Clara leave that night?”
Harlan’s hand stopped.
“You said car accident. Where was she going?”
“To meet someone.”
“Who?”
“I never found out.”
“Did you fight?”
“Yes.”
“About?”
He looked toward the dark window.
“My brother.”
Rue waited.
“Evelyn’s husband?”
“Marcus.”
“What happened?”
“Marcus was stealing from the company.”
“How much?”
“Millions.”
“Did Clara know?”
“She discovered it.”
“And?”
“She wanted me to go to police.”
“You didn’t.”
“No.”
Rue understood immediately.
“You protected your brother.”
“For a while.”
“Why?”
“Because our father made me promise I would.”
“That’s a terrible reason.”
“I know.”
“Did Clara?”
“She said the same thing.”
Rue almost smiled.
“I might have liked her.”
“You probably would have fought.”
“I like her more already.”
He looked at Rue.
Something softened.
“I failed her.”
Rue didn’t correct him.
Maybe he had.
“Marcus died?” she asked.
“Two years after Clara.”
“How?”
“Overdose.”
“And Evelyn?”
“Inherited part of his estate.”
Rue sat back.
“So Clara disappears after exposing Marcus. Marcus dies. Now somebody uses Clara’s ring to take Belle.”
“Yes.”
“That’s not coincidence.”
“No.”
The kitchen went quiet.
Rue looked at him.
“You’ve spent four years blaming yourself.”
His eyes sharpened.
“You don’t know me.”
“I know guilt when it’s eating dinner with me.”
He looked down at the sandwich.
“Why are you still here?”
The question caught her.
“For Belle.”
“Only Belle?”
Rue’s heartbeat changed.
He regretted asking.
She could see it.
“Mostly.”
His gaze held hers.
“Mostly.”
Neither moved.
The air between them changed.
Not romance exactly.
Recognition.
Two exhausted people seeing too much of themselves in someone else.
Then Harlan’s phone buzzed.
He answered.
“Cole.”
Rue watched his expression harden.
“What?”
He stood.
“Lock the house down.”
Rue rose.
“What happened?”
Harlan ended the call.
“Marissa Vale is gone.”
“The administrator?”
“Yes.”
“Gone how?”
“She left through the staff gate twenty minutes ago.”
“Security let her?”
“They never saw her.”
Rue stared.
“How does someone leave a locked estate without security seeing her?”
Harlan didn’t answer.
A noise sounded upstairs.
Rue turned.
“Belle.”
They ran.
Belle’s bedroom door stood open.
The bed was empty.
Rue’s blood froze.
“Harlan.”
He pushed past her.
“Belle!”
Bathroom.
Empty.
Closet.
Empty.
Window locked.
Then Rue noticed August on the floor.
The stuffed rabbit’s stomach seam had been cut open.
Something metallic rested inside.
A key.
Harlan picked it up.
His expression collapsed into recognition.
“What is it?” Rue asked.
He looked at her.
“The key to Clara’s apartment.”
Rue frowned.
May you like
“What apartment?”
“The one nobody else was supposed to know existed.”
