Chapter 10 - THE FIRST BRIDE

Harold Finch had a daughter.

Evelyn.

She married Daniel when he was twenty-two.

The marriage lasted eleven months.

Then Evelyn died.

Car accident.

At least, officially.

Marcus found the record.

Daniel had never mentioned her.

Neither had Margaret.

“That makes Rebecca the second legal wife,” Naomi said.

“And me what?”

“Possibly the third ceremony.”

I stared at Evelyn’s photograph.

Young.

Blonde.

Smiling.

Dead at twenty-four.

The brass key Andrea gave me had the number 114 engraved into it.

Marcus traced it to an old train station locker facility.

Locker 114.

Inside was a small red box.

Letters filled it.

Letters from Evelyn.

The first began:

Dad, I made a terrible mistake marrying Daniel.

Harold’s daughter had been afraid of Daniel.

But she was more afraid of Margaret.

One letter described forged documents.

Another described sedatives.

A third mentioned Daniel pressuring her to transfer an investment account.

Then came the last letter.

If I die, it wasn’t an accident.

I looked at Marcus.

“Harold knew.”

“Yes.”

“So why would he help Daniel?”

Marcus lifted another document.

“Because Evelyn wasn’t Harold’s biological daughter.”

“What?”

“She was his stepdaughter.”

I kept reading.

After Evelyn died, Harold received control of her trust through a legal loophole.

He had benefited.

That changed everything.

Evelyn hadn’t been someone Harold failed to protect.

She might have been the first victim.

Police reopened her death.

Meanwhile, investigators found traces of a sedative in archived toxicology records.

Same drug Andrea remembered being given before her car crash.

The case exploded.

Reporters surrounded Margaret’s courthouse hearing.

I watched from Naomi’s office.

Margaret emerged in handcuffs.

Still proud.

Still cold.

A reporter yelled,

“Did your son kill his first wife?”

Margaret stopped.

She looked directly into the camera.

Then smiled.

That smile made my stomach turn.

An hour later, Naomi received a courier envelope.

No return address.

Inside was one photograph.

Rebecca Lawson.

Alive.

Standing beside Daniel.

The date was printed from two weeks earlier.

On the back:

You’re looking in the wrong direction.

I stared at Rebecca’s face.

“She’s alive.”

Marcus nodded.

“And she’s with Daniel.”

But Naomi saw something we didn’t.

She pointed to Rebecca’s wrist.

A hospital bracelet.

Then to the building behind them.

“I know that place.”

“What is it?”

“A private psychiatric facility.”

My throat tightened.

Marcus was already reaching for his coat.

“Then maybe Rebecca didn’t disappear.”

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He looked at me.

“Maybe they buried her while she was still alive.”