Chapter 3 - THE MISTRESS WHO HAD HER OWN SECRET
Ava Collins was not simply a public relations consultant.
She was Ava Marsh Collins.
Daughter of William Marsh.
Founder of Marsh Development.
Michael knew, obviously.
I had seen their wedding photographs.
But what he had not known was that Ava still held a silent equity interest in her father's company.
Daniel knew.
Richard knew.
And the East River Meridian Tower had been built through a partnership between Marsh Development and the Calder Group.
Michael sat across from his wife as if she had become a different person.
“You knew your father's company changed my design?”
“No.”
“Did you know there were structural concerns?”
Ava looked down.
“Not until last year.”
Michael's face twisted.
“Last year?”
“I found emails.”
“And said nothing?”
“My father told me the changes were approved.”
“By who?”
“Richard's firm.”
Daniel closed his eyes.
There it was.
The triangle.
Developer.
Law firm.
Political money.
And somewhere inside, three dead construction workers.
I asked:
“Was the accident why you and Daniel became involved?”
Ava's head snapped up.
“No.”
Then she looked ashamed.
“Not exactly.”
“Explain.”
She had approached Daniel privately after finding the old emails.
He was the attorney assigned to parts of Marsh Development's compliance work.
At first, she wanted legal advice.
Daniel told her the documents were dangerous.
They began meeting secretly.
Then emotionally.
Then physically.
Michael whispered:
“So your affair started while you were investigating my project.”
Ava cried.
“Yes.”
“And neither of you thought I should know.”
Daniel said:
“We didn't know whether your drawings were implicated.”
Michael turned on him.
“My drawings?”
His voice rose.
“You let me spend a year thinking three men died because I missed something.”
Daniel looked away.
That answered more than words.
Michael had carried guilt.
Ava knew.
Daniel knew.
And they let him.
I felt anger for him that was almost cleaner than my anger for myself.
Then I asked:
“Where are the emails?”
Ava looked at Daniel.
He shook his head.
Too late.
“She gave them to me.”
“Where?”
Daniel hesitated.
“In a safe.”
“Which safe?”
“At the firm.”
I laughed.
“You stored evidence against your managing partner inside his office building?”
“It was secure.”
“Apparently your decision-making deteriorates around Ava.”
His jaw tightened.
Good.
Then Michael said:
“I want the documents.”
“So do I,” I said.
Daniel looked at both of us.
“No.”
I smiled.
“That word has expired.”
He leaned closer.
“Richard already knows something is wrong. If we walk into the firm now—”
“We?”
He stopped.
There was no “we” anymore.
Then my phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
A photograph.
My handbag.
Taken inside Lumière ten minutes earlier.
I looked down.
The bag was still beside my chair.
Then another photograph.
Close-up.
The cream envelopes.
The flash drive.
Message:
PROFESSOR LANE, YOU SHOULD STOP TEACHING STRATEGY AND START PRACTICING SURVIVAL.
My skin went cold.
Michael saw my face.
“What?”
I showed him.
Daniel's expression changed immediately.
“Richard.”
Ava whispered:
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“Richard doesn't threaten people directly.”
That was not comforting.
Daniel asked:
“Who else knows what you found?”
“The grievance investigator.”
“Name?”
“Karen Holt.”
He pulled out his phone.
Called.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Then he called the office.
Disconnected.
Daniel stood.
“We need to leave.”
This time, I agreed.
Not because he told me.
Because the risk had changed.
Michael rose too.
Ava looked at him.
“Are you coming with me?”
He stared at her.
“No.”
She looked destroyed.
He continued:
“I don't know what I am to you right now.”
Then he looked at me.
“I’m going with Victoria.”
Daniel's expression hardened for reasons that had nothing to do with safety.
I noticed.
So did Michael.
Neither of us cared.
We exited separately.
Daniel took Ava.
Michael and I took a cab.
Two blocks away, my phone rang.
Karen Holt.
I answered.
“Karen?”
Her breathing sounded wrong.
“Victoria.”
“Where are you?”
“Don't go home.”
My pulse jumped.
“Why?”
“Someone accessed your apartment building twenty minutes ago using Daniel's credentials.”
I looked at Michael.
He understood from my face.
Karen continued:
“I pulled the escrow records.”
“What did you find?”
“The forged transfer in your name was not approved by Daniel.”
Relief should have come.
It didn't.
“Who approved it?”
She whispered:
“Richard Vale.”
Then a crash sounded on her end.
“Karen?”
Nothing.
“Karen!”
Her phone dropped.
A man's voice in the background:
“Take the drive.”
The line died.
Michael stared at me.
“Who was that?”
I swallowed.
“The investigator.”
Then another message arrived from Karen's number.
A photograph.
Karen unconscious on an office floor.
And beneath it:
BRING US THE ORIGINAL FILES.
Michael whispered:
“They think you have them.”
I looked at my handbag.
They were right.
May you like
But what they did not know was that I had already made three copies.
And one was scheduled to send automatically at midnight.
