Chapter 2 - THE BROTHER CALLUM NEVER STOPPED GRIEVING
Callum’s older brother was named Evan Rhodes.
I knew that.
Everyone who loved Callum knew that.
Evan had died in a boating accident on Lake Michigan six years earlier.
Thirty-two years old.
Engaged.
No children.
At least that was what Callum had always believed.
He kept one photograph of Evan in our apartment.
The two brothers standing beside their father’s old fishing boat.
Callum smiling.
Evan pretending to shove him into the water.
November 14, 2018 was the date Evan disappeared.
His body was recovered three days later.
“Why would someone put his death date on this picture?” I asked.
Callum did not answer.
He was staring at the little girl’s face.
Then:
“Her eyes.”
“What?”
“She has Evan’s eyes.”
I felt cold.
“Callum.”
“I know.”
He stood.
Started pacing.
The honeymoon suddenly disappeared from both our minds.
Costa Rica.
Airport.
Suitcases.
None of it mattered.
He called his mother.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Then he called his father.
Same.
At 7:12 in the morning, he called the hotel front desk.
“Did anyone turn in security footage from the wedding ballroom?”
The clerk sounded confused.
Callum explained that someone may have placed property inside his tuxedo during the reception.
They would need hotel security.
No accusations.
No drama.
Good.
Then I examined the envelope again.
There was a tiny embossed mark near the seal.
A silver tree.
Callum froze.
“That’s my family attorney’s stationery.”
My stomach dropped.
“Your attorney gave you this?”
“No.”
“Who uses it?”
“Matthew Crane.”
Family estate lawyer.
He had attended our wedding.
So had Callum’s parents.
His aunt.
Several cousins.
Half the people who knew his family history.
Callum called Matthew.
This time someone answered.
A receptionist.
“Mr. Crane isn’t available.”
“When will he be?”
“Sir…”
Her hesitation mattered.
“What?”
“Mr. Crane was taken to Northwestern Memorial last night.”
Callum’s expression changed.
“What happened?”
“He collapsed shortly after leaving your wedding.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“Is he okay?”
“I’m not authorized—”
Callum’s voice sharpened.
“I’m Callum Rhodes.”
Silence.
Then:
“He’s stable.”
Good.
But unavailable.
Then the receptionist said:
“Mr. Rhodes, there is something here for you.”
“What?”
“A sealed legal packet.”
“When was it delivered?”
“Yesterday afternoon.”
“By who?”
Another pause.
“Your brother’s former fiancée.”
Callum stopped moving.
“Lena?”
“Yes.”
Lena Hart.
A woman I had never met.
Callum had not spoken to her in years.
The receptionist continued:
“She said you would understand after the wedding.”
Callum looked at me.
“I absolutely do not.”
Then hotel security called back.
They had found the moment the envelope entered Callum’s jacket.
At 11:43 p.m., while we were dancing.
A woman in a dark green dress approached the coat rack.
Reached inside his tuxedo.
Then walked away.
Callum stared at the frozen image.
“That isn’t Lena.”
“Who is it?”
May you like
His voice dropped.
“My mother.”
