Chapter 3 — The Woman Who Knew His Passwords
Lena moved before the door opened.
She pressed the emergency button beside my bed and stepped between me and the entrance.
The man who entered wore a gray suit and carried a leather portfolio. He appeared to be in his early fifties, with silver hair and rimless glasses.
He smiled as though nothing was wrong.
“Mrs. Cross, I apologize for the late hour. My name is Martin Cole. I’m with the district attorney’s office.”
“No, you aren’t,” Lena said.
His smile barely changed.
“I believe there’s been a misunderstanding.”
Hospital security arrived behind him.
Two officers blocked the hall.
“Sir,” one said, “we need to see your identification.”
Martin slowly reached into his jacket.
Lena’s body tensed.
He removed a wallet and handed over a card.
The security officer examined it.
“This expired four years ago.”
Martin sighed.
Then he looked directly at me.
“Daniel said you were intelligent.”
The security officers grabbed his arms.
He did not resist.
“He also said pain would make you careless.”
“Who are you?” I asked.
“Someone who offered your husband a way out.”
They began pulling him toward the door.
He twisted his head back.
“You should ask Sophie what happened to the missing twenty-three million.”
Then he was gone.
The room filled with nurses, security personnel, and eventually Detective Brooks. Martin Cole turned out to be a former investigator fired from the county prosecutor’s office for mishandling evidence. He now worked as a private security consultant.
His most recent client was Gerald Pike.
Daniel’s attorney.
“He wasn’t armed,” Detective Brooks said after searching him. “But he had a forged hospital authorization form and an audio recorder.”
“He wanted me to say something confused,” I replied.
“Or sign something.”
Inside Martin’s portfolio, they found a statement written in my name.
It claimed Vivian had thrown the oil during a sudden argument after I attacked her with a kitchen knife. It also stated that Daniel had tried to save me and that my accusations were caused by medication and emotional instability.
At the bottom was a blank signature line.
Daniel wanted a confession.
Not because he expected me to sign it willingly.
Because he expected the medication, pain, and isolation to make coercion possible.
“He’s still trying to control the story,” Lena said.
“He’ll never stop voluntarily.”
Detective Brooks sat beside the window.
“Who is Sophie?”
“I don’t know.”
“Martin told us to ask Sophie about the money.”
“Daniel employs a Sophia Vale.”
My mind sharpened.
Sophia—usually called Sophie—was Daniel’s executive assistant at NorthStar Meridian. I had met her twice. She was twenty-nine, organized, and painfully quiet around Daniel.
The second time we met, she had dropped a glass at a company dinner after Daniel placed his hand on the back of her neck.
I remembered thinking she looked afraid.
“I need to speak with her,” Detective Brooks said.
“She may already be running.”
“Why?”
“Because if she knew his passwords, she knew what he was doing.”
The detective sent her partner to locate Sophie.
By morning, my hospital room had become a protected area. A uniformed officer remained outside. Only Lena, authorized nurses, detectives, and Samuel Rhodes were allowed inside.
Daniel and Vivian were both released before noon.
Vivian was charged with aggravated assault and reckless endangerment, but her attorney secured bail by arguing that she was elderly, had no criminal record, and posed no flight risk.
Daniel was released pending further investigation.
The camera footage showed him watching the attack and stepping over me, but it did not clearly prove he had ordered Vivian to pour the oil.
His statements at the hospital were damaging.
They were not yet enough for the charges I knew he deserved.
Lena told me Daniel had been ordered not to contact me or enter the hospital.
The protective order felt like a paper shield against a man who forged court documents.
Around two in the afternoon, Detective Brooks returned.
“We can’t find Sophie Vale.”
“Home?”
“Empty. Her car is gone. Her phone is off.”
“Airport?”
“No travel record.”
“Daniel’s office?”
“NorthStar says she called in sick yesterday.”
The day of the attack.
“What about her bank accounts?”
“We’re working on it.”
“Check parking garages near Union Station. She once mentioned taking the train to visit her sister.”
Detective Brooks raised an eyebrow.
“I remember details.”
“I’m starting to understand that.”
At three seventeen, an unknown number called Lena’s phone.
No one spoke when she answered.
Then a woman whispered, “Is Claire alive?”
Lena looked at me.
“Who is this?”
“Sophie.”
Detective Brooks activated the recording function on her own phone.
“Where are you?” Lena asked.
“I can’t say.”
“Daniel has been released.”
A soft sob traveled through the speaker.
“He knows I copied the files.”
“What files?” I asked.
There was a silence.
“Claire?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For helping him.”
My body hurt too much for anger.
“Tell me what you did.”
“I created the companies.”
Detective Brooks began writing.
Sophie spoke quickly, as though she expected the line to disappear.
Daniel had ordered her to register shell entities under the names of employees, relatives, and former clients. He told her the companies were part of a confidential tax strategy.
At first, she believed him.
Then he asked her to backdate invoices.
After that came false consulting agreements, invented vendors, and transfers routed through foreign accounts.
“When did you know?” I asked.
“Two years ago.”
“Why didn’t you report him?”
“He had videos.”
Lena’s expression changed.
“What kind of videos?”
“Personal ones. He recorded us.”
So there had been an affair.
I waited for betrayal to cut through me.
Nothing happened.
Whatever love I had once felt for Daniel had been burned away long before the oil touched my back.
“He said he would send them to my family and my employer,” Sophie continued. “Then he showed me records he had created making it look like I stole the money. He said if anything happened, I would go to prison.”
“You continued helping him,” Detective Brooks said.
“Yes.”
“Did you know about the planned attack on Claire?”
“No. Not until yesterday morning.”
My heart rate increased.
“What happened yesterday?”
“Daniel asked me to prepare a transfer for ten million dollars. It was supposed to process after confirmation of Claire’s death.”
The monitor beside me began beeping faster.
Lena checked my pulse.
“Where was the money going?” I asked.
“First to Blue Ash Strategies. Then to an account in the Cayman Islands.”
“Controlled by Daniel?”
“Yes.”
“Did Vivian know?”
“I don’t think she understood the transfer. Daniel told her she would receive Claire’s house.”
Detective Brooks leaned toward the phone.
“Sophie, we need to place you in protective custody.”
“No.”
“Daniel may be looking for you.”
“He is.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he found my sister.”
A car horn sounded in the background.
Then tires screeched.
Sophie gasped.
“Where are you?” Detective Brooks demanded.
“I left something for Claire.”
“What?”
“A key.”
“To what?”
“The locker with the original ledger.”
A loud impact came through the phone.
Sophie screamed.
The call ended.
Detective Brooks immediately ordered a trace, but the phone had been routed through an internet service. The signal vanished.
For several seconds, no one spoke.
Then Lena’s phone vibrated again.
A text message had arrived from Sophie’s number.
It contained a photograph of a brass key lying on a folded newspaper.
Beneath the image were six words.
ASK HIM ABOUT THE FIRST WIFE.
May you like
I stared at the message.
Daniel had told me he had never been married before.
