Chapter 5 - The Woman He Always Chose|
For twelve minutes, nobody could reach June.
I called her phone six times.
Naomi called twice.
Every unanswered ring made my imagination darker.
Finally, a message appeared.
I'm safe. Don't come back to the house.
I stared at the words until my eyes burned.
Naomi immediately called again.
This time, June answered.
She had escaped through the service entrance after Celeste went upstairs to make a phone call.
She was sitting in a grocery store parking lot, too frightened to drive.
Naomi sent someone from her office to collect her.
Only when I knew June was safe did I allow myself to breathe normally.
We moved into a furnished apartment Naomi had arranged near Boston.
It wasn't luxurious.
There were no marble floors or crystal chandeliers.
The kitchen barely accommodated two people.
But the windows opened without permission, and no guard stood outside my bedroom.
That alone made it feel like a palace.
The first evening, I stood before the bathroom mirror and studied my reflection.
My cheeks were pale.
Dark circles shadowed my eyes.
I looked older than thirty-two.
But something in my face had changed.
I no longer looked like a woman waiting to be chosen.
At 8:43 p.m., an unfamiliar number sent me a message.
Hannah, it's Sloane. We need to talk.
I almost deleted it.
Then another message appeared.
What happened on Briar Ridge wasn't what you think.
I sat on the edge of the bed.
For five years, Sloane Avery had existed in my marriage like an invisible third person.
She attended every important celebration.
Graham sent flowers when she was sad.
He canceled vacations when she needed him.
Once, on my birthday, he left dinner halfway through because Sloane had lost her dog.
The dog was found an hour later.
Graham didn't come home until morning.
Now she wanted to explain the night he had abandoned his pregnant wife.
I forwarded the messages to Naomi.
Her answer came immediately.
Don't meet her alone.
The following afternoon, Sloane arrived at a quiet café near Naomi's office.
She looked different from the woman I remembered.
Her blond hair was tied back carelessly.
Her eyes were swollen.
She wore jeans and a plain sweater instead of one of the designer dresses Graham usually purchased for her.
Naomi sat at the next table, close enough to hear if I raised my voice.
Sloane stopped when she saw me.
“Hannah.”
I remained seated.
“What do you want?”
She glanced at the empty chair.
“May I?”
I gestured toward it.
She sat down and twisted her hands together.
“Graham told me you left him.”
I gave a humorless smile.
“Did he mention where?”
She looked away.
“He said you were being dramatic.”
“Did he tell you he ordered me out of the car on a freezing highway?”
Her eyes widened.
“No.”
I watched her carefully.
Something in her expression seemed genuine.
“That night,” she whispered, “I wasn't crying because I was lonely.”
“Then why?”
“Because someone had threatened me.”
I leaned back.
“Who?”
“Victor Dane.”
The name was familiar.
Victor managed Locke Medical Logistics, one of the family companies supplying hospitals and private clinics throughout New England.
He was also one of Graham's oldest associates.
“What did Victor want?”
Sloane glanced toward the café windows.
“He said there was a problem with documents at the Meridian Relief warehouse.”
I frowned.
“Meridian Relief?”
“The charitable medical supply program.”
I knew the name.
The Locke Foundation publicly celebrated the program every year.
Photographs showed smiling children, grateful nurses, and trucks delivering donated equipment.
Graham loved standing beside those trucks.
Apparently generosity photographed well.
Sloane continued.
“Victor told me to call Graham immediately.”
“Why didn't Victor call him?”
“Because Graham was supposed to be attending the family memorial.”
She swallowed.
“And someone needed him to leave without telling his mother what was happening.”
I felt my pulse quicken.
“Why would your tears accomplish that?”
Sloane looked ashamed.
“Because Victor knew Graham would come if I asked.”
The admission hung between us.
Even Sloane understood how thoroughly my husband had humiliated me.
“Were you actually in danger?” I asked.
“I thought I was.”
“Or were you told to pretend?”
She reached into her handbag.
“I have messages.”
She placed her phone on the table.
There were several texts from Victor.
One instructed her to call Graham before midnight.
Another warned her not to mention the warehouse over the phone.
The final message made me sit forward.
Keep him occupied until the files are moved.
I stared at the screen.
“Files?”
Sloane nodded.
“I didn't understand at first.”
“What files?”
“I don't know exactly.”
She looked at me.
“But I heard Victor tell Graham that his father had discovered the wrong shipment records before he died.”
Arthur.
The blue ledger.
The warning hidden in his study.
Suddenly, separate pieces began fitting together.
My father-in-law hadn't simply distrusted his son.
He had been investigating him.
I looked at Sloane.
“Why are you telling me this?”
Her eyes filled.
“Because Victor came to my apartment yesterday and told me to forget everything.”
“And?”
“He said accidents happen to women who become inconvenient.”
For the first time, I saw genuine fear behind her carefully constructed beauty.
I didn't forgive Sloane for the years she had enjoyed being the center of my husband's attention.
But I recognized that fear.
I had lived with it.
Sloane reached across the table.
“I know you hate me.”
I didn't take her hand.
“I don't have room for hatred anymore.”
She lowered her eyes.
“I never wanted him to leave you out there.”
I looked straight at her.
“Then you should understand something.”
She waited.
“You didn't make Graham abandon me.”
My voice remained steady.
“He made that decision himself.”
Sloane began crying.
I felt no satisfaction.
Just exhaustion.
Before leaving, she handed Naomi copies of the messages and agreed to preserve the originals.
Then she turned toward me.
“There's one more thing.”
I looked up.
“Victor told Graham the original inspection reports couldn't be allowed to reach a doctor.”
A cold feeling settled beneath my ribs.
“Why a doctor?”
Sloane hesitated.
“Because a doctor would recognize what was wrong with the medication.”
My fingers tightened around the edge of the table.
For the first time since leaving Locke House, I wasn't thinking about Graham's betrayal.
I was thinking about the hospitals that had accepted donations from the Locke Foundation.
About pregnant women.
About newborn babies.
And about how many patients might have trusted those shipments.
I stood so quickly that my chair scraped against the floor.
Naomi approached.
“Hannah?”
May you like
I looked at her.
“We need to find out what was in those boxes.”
