Chapter 2 - The Woman in the Photograph
“Vanessa was my only link to the people who murdered my wife.”
Arthur’s words followed me into the private medical room downstairs.
A doctor treated the burn on my hand while Bella sat beside me, gripping two of my fingers.
She had refused to let go.
Outside, the charity gala continued as if nothing had happened.
Hundreds of wealthy guests drank champagne beneath crystal chandeliers while Arthur’s fiancée was escorted from the mansion in handcuffs.
Arthur entered twenty minutes later.
He had removed his tuxedo jacket.
For the first time, he looked less like a billionaire and more like a man who had not slept in years.
He placed an old photograph on the table.
It showed Arthur’s late wife, Evelyn, standing beside Vanessa.
They were smiling.
“They knew each other?” I asked.
“Vanessa was Evelyn’s private assistant.”
My stomach tightened.
Arthur sat across from me.
“Three weeks before Evelyn died, she told me someone inside my company was stealing money through fake defense contracts. She believed Vanessa was involved.”
“Then why did you get engaged to her?”
“Because after the funeral, Vanessa claimed Evelyn had trusted her with evidence.”
His jaw hardened.
“She said she would give it to me when she felt safe.”
“But she never did.”
“No.”
Instead, Vanessa slowly entered Arthur’s life.
First as Bella’s grief counselor.
Then as a family friend.
Then as the woman standing beside him at public events.
Arthur admitted that the engagement had never been about love.
It was a trap.
He had kept Vanessa close while his security team searched for the evidence she was hiding.
“And Bella?” I asked. “You left her alone with someone you suspected?”
The question landed hard.
Arthur looked toward his daughter.
“I thought Vanessa wanted money. I didn’t know she was hurting Bella.”
“That doesn’t make it better.”
His eyes met mine.
“I know.”
It was not the answer I expected from a man like him.
Before I could speak again, Arthur’s head of security entered.
Marcus Hale was a broad man in a dark suit with a scar above his right eyebrow.
He placed a clear evidence bag on the table.
Inside was a small silver key.
“We found this sewn into the lining of Vanessa’s purse,” Marcus said.
Arthur stared at it.
A number had been engraved into the metal.
317.
Bella suddenly tightened her grip on my hand.
Then, for the first time in two years, she whispered one word.
“Station.”
Arthur stopped breathing.
I looked at Bella.
“What station?”
Her lips trembled.
She pointed at the key.
May you like
“Mommy.”
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