The Girl at Gate Seven

By noon, everyone seemed to know I’d missed my honeymoon flight.

My mother called nine times. The tenth time, I answered.

“Your father is furious,” she said.

“He can call me himself.”

“He has. You won’t answer.”

“Did you know Valerie was pregnant?”

Silence.

“Mom.”

“I knew she claimed she was.”

“Did you see her?”

“She came to the house once. She was upset.”

“How far along?”

“I don’t remember.”

“You remember what she wore to dinner three Christmases ago. Try.”

My mother’s voice broke. “She had a small belly. She brought an ultrasound picture.”

I leaned against Owen’s conference room wall.

“You let me believe she’d left for someone else.”

“I thought Richard had dealt with it. He told me the test came back negative.”

“There was no test.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“You could have called her. You could have called me.”

“I know.”

She began to cry, but I couldn’t comfort her. I ended the call and found Chloe waiting by the window.

“My mother says Richard needed the affidavit for Friday’s sale,” she said. “She denies touching my laptop.”

“Did you believe her?”

“I used to know when she was lying.”

Chloe had spoken to her family’s attorney. The Vances held enough shares to block the sale. If we raised the affidavit now, the deal would stop while the buyers examined it.

“What are they buying?” I asked.

“A chain of childcare centers your family acquired last year.”

I looked at her.

She looked back at me, then called up the sale summary. There were seventy-three centers across four states. The parent company had purchased several smaller operators, including the nonprofit where Valerie worked.

“She teaches preschool,” I said.

Chloe scrolled. “The nonprofit is listed as an operating partner.”

Valerie had worked at her school since before Lucy was born. Richard must have known exactly where she was.

Owen called us back to the table. “I have Dana Price’s office on the line.”

The notary remembered the affidavit. She said Richard had brought it in already signed and swore that I’d signed in his presence. Owen thanked her and ended the call.

“That stamp doesn’t mean Carter appeared before her,” he said. “We can challenge it.”

My phone lit up with a text from an unknown number. It contained a photograph of Valerie and Lucy outside their apartment building, taken from across the street less than an hour ago.