Chapter 3 - THE MEMORY I HAD FORGOTTEN
I remembered the dress.
Blue cotton.
White collar.
My mother had hated it.
That was the first thing that came back.
Then the rest followed.
The photograph had been taken at a lake house outside Chicago.
I remembered being there.
My father told me it was a family weekend.
But there had been men in suits coming and going all day.
Victor Russo among them.
I had not known who he was then.
Only that my mother became tense whenever he entered the room.
“There was a safe,” I whispered.
Ethan went still.
“What?”
“At the lake house.”
Brian leaned forward.
“Where?”
“In my father’s office.”
Ethan came around the desk.
“What do you remember?”
I closed my eyes.
A hallway.
Brown carpet.
My mother whispering.
A door half-open.
Men arguing.
Then something else.
“My father gave me a key.”
Ethan and Brian exchanged a look.
“What kind of key?”
“Small. Silver.”
“What happened to it?”
“I don’t know.”
I pressed my fingers against my temple.
“He told me to keep it.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t remember.”
Then a sharper memory hit me.
My mother kneeling in front of me that night.
Her hands on my shoulders.
Her face pale.
She had said:
If anyone asks, you never saw the box.
I opened my eyes.
“There was a box.”
“What box?”
“I don’t know.”
Ethan’s voice softened.
“Take your time.”
For some reason, that made the memory easier.
“My father took something from the safe. A black box. My mother was crying.”
Brian asked, “Did Victor Russo see it?”
“I don’t know.”
Then I remembered the next morning.
My mother and father fighting.
My father shouting that she didn’t understand.
My mother saying:
You used our daughter.
I felt sick.
Ethan caught my elbow.
“What is it?”
I pulled away.
“My name wasn’t on that account by accident.”
Nobody spoke.
I suddenly wanted air.
I walked toward the window.
The garden below was filled with armed guards.
My entire childhood had been built on secrets.
Now one of them had fired a bullet through Ethan’s greenhouse.
“I need to talk to my father.”
“No.”
I turned.
Ethan’s voice was absolute.
“You don’t get to say no.”
“Yes, I do.”
“I’m not your prisoner.”
“No.”
His eyes darkened.
“You’re my wife.”
The words hit harder than they should have.
I laughed bitterly.
“That suddenly matters?”
He flinched.
Good.
I wanted him to.
“You said I could live in the east wing as long as I stayed out of your business.”
“This isn’t my business anymore.”
“What is it?”
His jaw tightened.
“You.”
The room went silent.
I stared at him.
For three months, I had wanted one sign that I mattered.
Now I had it.
And it terrified me.
Then Brian’s phone rang.
He answered.
His face changed immediately.
“Boss.”
“What?”
Brian looked at me.
“Mr. Bennett’s convoy was attacked twenty minutes ago.”
My heart stopped.
“Is my father alive?”
Brian hesitated.
“Yes.”
I exhaled.
May you like
Then he said:
“But one of his men claims the attacker called him by your name.”
