Chapter 5 - THE WOMAN WHO TAUGHT MY DAUGHTER FRENCH|
I called Madame Girard seventeen times that night.
She didn't answer once.
Every unanswered ring made the silence inside Maxwell's townhouse feel heavier.
Madame Girard had lived in the apartment beneath ours for nearly nine years.
She was seventy-three, French, widowed, and fiercely independent.
She grew roses on her fire escape.
She complained about American bread.
And she loved Lily as though she were her own granddaughter.
When I worked late shifts, Madame Girard sometimes watched Lily without accepting a dollar.
She taught her French through stories, songs, and old children's books.
I trusted her completely.
Now I didn't know what to believe.
"Maybe she's sleeping," Lily whispered.
It was nearly midnight.
I forced a smile.
"Of course, sweetheart."
But Maxwell wasn't convinced.
He stood near the fireplace with his phone pressed to his ear.
"Daniel, send someone to check on her."
I turned.
"She's an elderly woman."
"I know."
"Don't frighten her."
Maxwell looked at me.
"I'll make sure they don't."
His voice softened.
"And Katherine?"
"Yes?"
"I'm not assuming she's involved."
I wanted to thank him.
But I couldn't.
Not yet.
Rosa took Lily upstairs to a guest bedroom decorated with blue curtains and shelves of old books.
My daughter looked exhausted.
At the doorway, she stopped.
"Mom?"
"Yes?"
"Do you think Madame Girard is a bad person?"
I knelt and brushed her hair behind her ear.
"I think good people can have secrets."
"Even people we love?"
I swallowed.
"Sometimes."
She thought about that.
Then she asked the question I was afraid to hear.
"Did Daddy have secrets?"
I looked into her eyes.
"Your daddy loved you."
"That wasn't what I asked."
She was only ten.
But sometimes she saw through people more clearly than adults twice her age.
"I don't know everything about what happened before he died."
Lily nodded slowly.
"Then maybe we should find out."
I kissed her forehead.
"That's exactly what we're going to do."
After Rosa closed the bedroom door, I found Maxwell standing alone in the hallway.
He held two photographs.
One showed Isabelle smiling beneath the summer sun.
The other showed Thomas at the East River community center.
He looked up when I approached.
"I found these in the archived files."
I stopped beside him.
"Why would your wife have known my husband?"
"That's what I need to understand."
I stared at Isabelle's face.
She was beautiful.
Dark hair.
Kind eyes.
A confident smile.
"She looks happy."
Maxwell's expression changed.
"She was."
"Did she know about your business?"
"Some of it."
"Did she approve?"
He gave a humorless laugh.
"She spent years trying to convince me to change it."
I looked at him.
"Did you?"
"Not enough."
His honesty surprised me.
Maxwell moved toward the sitting room.
I followed.
Outside, the snow continued falling, turning the garden into a white blur.
"Isabelle believed our charitable foundation was being used to conceal stolen money," he explained.
"Money from where?"
"Shipping contracts, fake vendors, fraudulent development grants."
"And she told you?"
"Yes."
"What did you do?"
"I asked Victor to investigate."
I stared at him.
"You gave the investigation to the man who might have been responsible?"
Maxwell's face tightened.
"I trusted him."
"Why?"
"He saved my life when I was twenty-three."
I waited.
"We were young and reckless."
He looked down at his hands.
"There was a fight outside a warehouse in Brooklyn."
"Victor took a bullet for you?"
He nodded.
"Afterward, I made him head of my security."
I understood something then.
Maxwell hadn't kept Victor close because he was the most competent man in the organization.
He'd kept him close because he felt indebted to him.
And that debt might have cost Isabelle her life.
"Trusting someone once doesn't mean you have to trust them forever," I said.
Maxwell looked at me.
"No."
His voice was quiet.
"I'm learning that."
At one in the morning, Daniel called.
Maxwell put the phone on speaker.
"Talk to me."
"We found Madame Girard."
I grabbed the edge of the table.
"Is she safe?"
"Physically, yes."
"Where is she?"
"At her apartment."
I exhaled.
Then Daniel continued.
"But someone had been there before us."
My relief vanished.
"What happened?"
"The door was unlocked."
Maxwell's expression sharpened.
"Forced entry?"
"No obvious damage."
"Was she alone?"
"Yes."
Daniel paused.
"She was waiting for us."
I frowned.
"Waiting?"
"She said she knew you'd eventually come."
Something cold moved through me.
Maxwell leaned forward.
"What else?"
"She gave us an envelope."
"What's inside?"
"Photographs, financial records, and a handwritten letter."
"From whom?"
Daniel hesitated.
"Thomas Parker."
The room became silent.
I stared at Maxwell.
For six years, I'd kept every birthday card Thomas had written and every grocery receipt with his handwriting.
The thought that another letter existed somewhere almost hurt.
"Bring it here," I whispered.
Daniel heard me.
"Mrs. Parker, there's something important."
"What?"
"The letter is addressed to you."
I couldn't speak.
"There's a date on the envelope."
"When?"
"Three days before your husband died."
My legs gave way.
Maxwell caught my elbow before I fell.
I sat down heavily.
"Why didn't she give it to me?"
Daniel didn't answer.
But his silence was answer enough.
An hour later, Madame Girard arrived at the townhouse with Daniel.
She looked smaller than I remembered.
Her gray hair was pinned neatly, and she wore the same green coat she'd worn to Lily's last school recital.
When she saw me, tears filled her eyes.
"Katherine."
I stood.
"Why?"
She stopped.
"Ma chère..."
"Don't."
My voice shook.
"Don't call me that."
She looked down.
"Please let me explain."
"You knew something about Thomas."
"Yes."
"You knew all these years?"
She nodded.
I felt as though someone had reached into my chest and broken something.
"And you watched me cry?"
Madame Girard began weeping.
"Every day, I wanted to tell you."
"Then why didn't you?"
"Because Thomas made me promise."
I stared at her.
"What promise?"
She reached into her handbag and removed a sealed envelope.
The paper had yellowed.
My name was written across the front in Thomas's unmistakable handwriting.
I took it with trembling fingers.
Maxwell quietly stepped backward.
"This belongs to you."
But I shook my head.
"Stay."
I opened the envelope.
Inside was a letter and a small photograph.
The photograph showed Thomas holding baby Lily.
He was smiling at her.
I pressed my hand over my mouth.
Then I unfolded the letter.
My dearest Katherine,
If you're reading this, something has gone terribly wrong.
I wish I could explain everything without frightening you.
But I've discovered that the East River organization is being used to move money connected to people far more dangerous than anyone knows.
Isabelle Bennett is helping me collect evidence.
We have proof that innocent families are losing their homes while criminals steal the money meant to help them.
I have hidden copies of everything.
I will tell you where when I know you're safe.
If I don't come home, please remember that I never stopped loving you or Lily.
You are the best things that ever happened to me.
Forgive me for keeping this from you.
Thomas.
I read the last sentence again.
And again.
Then I began crying so hard I couldn't breathe.
Madame Girard approached me.
I stepped away.
"Why did you hide this?"
"Because he asked me to protect Lily."
"You could have told me."
"I know."
"Six years."
My voice broke.
"Six years you let me believe he died because he fell asleep behind the wheel."
She lowered her head.
"I'm sorry."
Maxwell spoke quietly.
"Madame Girard, why did Thomas trust you?"
She looked at him.
"Because my late husband worked with French customs investigators."
Daniel straightened.
"What?"
"Thomas needed someone who could understand documents from Marseille."
Maxwell's eyes narrowed.
"Adrian Laurent."
Madame Girard nodded.
"That is why I recognized him."
I stared at her.
"He came to your building last summer."
"Yes."
"What did he want?"
Her hands shook.
"He wanted to know whether Thomas left anything behind."
"Did you tell him?"
"No."
"What did he do?"
She looked toward the staircase.
"He asked about Lily."
My blood ran cold.
Madame Girard began crying again.
"He knew she was learning French."
Maxwell moved toward the door.
"Daniel, secure every entrance."
But Madame Girard wasn't finished.
"There's something else."
We turned toward her.
She reached into her coat pocket and removed a tiny brass key.
"Thomas left this with me."
I stared at it.
"What does it open?"
"I don't know."
"Then why keep it?"
"Because of what he wrote on the tag."
She placed the key in my palm.
The metal was cold.
Attached to it was a small piece of faded cardboard.
Only four words remained legible.
WHERE LILY LEARNED TO COUNT.
I looked at the key.
Then at Maxwell.
And suddenly I knew exactly where Thomas had hidden his evidence.
It was somewhere in the first apartment we'd shared as a family.
May you like
The apartment where Lily had taken her first steps.
And the building had been demolished five years earlier.
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