Chapter 3 - The Woman Who Died During the Last Waltz
Vincent Graham had buried his wife twelve years earlier.
At least, that was what the newspapers said.
Eleanor Graham was twenty-nine when she died in a car accident outside Chicago.
The story had been repeated so often that it became part of the city's mythology.
A beautiful wife.
A grieving billionaire.
A husband who never remarried.
But George's photograph suggested something darker.
Vincent led me into a private lounge behind the Continental's ballroom.
Levi followed.
So did George.
I stayed near the door.
I'd already made enough mistakes for one evening.
Vincent placed the photograph on the table.
"George, explain the message."
The old man swallowed.
"Michael wrote it three days before Eleanor died."
Vincent's jaw tightened.
"Why?"
"Because she was preparing to expose someone."
Levi crossed his arms.
"That was a long time ago."
Vincent turned.
"I wasn't asking you."
Silence.
George continued.
"Eleanor discovered money was being diverted from the Graham Foundation."
I frowned.
"What foundation?"
Vincent looked toward me.
"My wife established a scholarship program for young musicians and dancers."
Something tightened in my chest.
My father had spent years teaching children who couldn't afford lessons.
He'd said talent shouldn't depend on money.
George nodded.
"Michael helped Eleanor audit the foundation's accounts."
"And?" Vincent asked.
George looked toward Levi.
"They found unauthorized transfers."
Levi's expression hardened.
"George, you're remembering things that never happened."
The old man shook his head.
"I remember everything."
Vincent leaned forward.
"Why didn't Michael tell me?"
George's voice broke.
"He tried."
I stared at him.
"What happened?"
"Levi intercepted the messages."
The room went silent.
Vincent slowly looked at his second-in-command.
"Is that true?"
Levi laughed softly.
"Boss, you're not seriously believing a washed-up musician over me?"
Vincent didn't move.
"Answer."
Levi's smile vanished.
"No."
George pulled a small envelope from his pocket.
Inside was a photocopy of a letter.
Addressed to Vincent.
Written by Eleanor.
My love, I have discovered something terrible about the foundation. I need you to meet me at the studio tonight, alone.
Vincent's face went pale.
"I never received this."
George nodded.
"I know."
My heart pounded.
"Where's the original?"
George looked at me.
"Your father kept it."
I swallowed.
"Dad never mentioned it."
"He hid it because he knew someone was watching him."
Vincent leaned back.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then he whispered:
"Eleanor died the night she was supposed to meet me."
George nodded slowly.
"And Michael believed her car accident was arranged."
I covered my mouth.
Levi stepped backward.
Vincent noticed.
"Where are you going?"
"To make a phone call."
"Sit down."
Levi froze.
For the first time, I saw fear in his eyes.
Then George revealed the final secret.
"Michael found proof that Eleanor's brakes had been tampered with."
Vincent's face hardened.
"And he knew who ordered it."
George nodded.
May you like
Then whispered:
"Levi Garrison."
