Chapter 6 - THE WOMAN IN THE PHOTOGRAPH
The photograph arrived in a plain envelope.
No return address.
No note.
Just one picture.
I opened it at my kitchen table while Alex stood beside me.
The photograph showed a woman I didn't recognize.
She was sitting in a hospital bed.
Her face was bruised.
Her stomach was swollen with pregnancy.
On the back, someone had written:
She asked questions too.
My hands began shaking.
Alex took the photograph.
“Don't look at it.”
“I need to know who she is.”
“I'll find out.”
“Alex.”
He looked at me.
“She could be alive.”
He nodded.
“I'll find out.”
Detective Ellis traced the photograph.
The woman was named Rebecca Sloan.
She had been reported missing eighteen months earlier.
Pregnant.
Twenty-eight weeks.
She had been connected to one of the companies inside the Northstar records.
Her husband had died in what authorities initially called an accident.
Rebecca vanished six months later.
I couldn't stop thinking about her.
Not because our stories were identical.
Because they were close enough.
That night, I asked Alex a question.
“What if Trent wasn't acting alone?”
“I know.”
“What if someone else is still watching me?”
“I know.”
“What if they want my baby?”
Alex looked at me.
“Then they picked the wrong family.”
I smiled.
“You always say things like that.”
“Because they're true.”
But the next morning, Alex's confidence was tested.
His car had been tampered with.
Nothing had been stolen.
No damage.
Just a message written across the windshield in black marker.
LET HER STOP DIGGING.
He didn't tell me until after he'd contacted the police.
I knew anyway.
He couldn't hide things from me anymore.
Not after everything.
“I want to help.”
“You are helping by staying safe.”
“I don't want to hide.”
“You don't have to.”
He sat across from me.
“Then tell me what you want.”
I thought about it.
“I want to know what happened to Rebecca.”
So we began looking.
Not recklessly.
Not alone.
Detective Ellis connected us with a federal investigator.
Rebecca's file contained something unexpected.
She had worked for an accounting firm.
Her job had been auditing construction companies.
She had discovered irregular transfers.
She had reported them.
Then she disappeared.
I stared at the timeline.
“Her audit was the beginning.”
“Yes,” Ellis said.
“What did she find?”
“Payments routed through shell companies.”
“Northstar?”
“Northstar was one of them.”
I looked at Alex.
“Why did Richard target her?”
“Because she could prove where the money went.”
Then Ellis placed another document on the table.
A list of names.
Rebecca's.
Mine.
Three others.
All women connected to men involved with Northstar.
My throat tightened.
“What does this mean?”
“We believe Richard's organization identified women who could become financial liabilities.”
I looked at my name.
“I was a liability because I was married to Trent.”
“Possibly.”
“And because I was pregnant.”
“Possibly.”
I hated the word.
Possibly.
It left too much room for nightmares.
Then we found Rebecca.
Alive.
She was living under another name in a small town two states away.
When Detective Ellis told her we had found evidence, she agreed to speak.
She arrived wearing a dark coat and holding a folder.
When she saw me, she stopped.
“You're Ava.”
“Yes.”
She looked at my stomach.
“Your baby?”
I nodded.
Rebecca's eyes filled with tears.
“I wondered if you would survive.”
I swallowed.
“What happened to you?”
She sat down.
“I found the money.”
“What money?”
“The money they were stealing from families whose husbands died.”
I frowned.
She explained.
Insurance policies.
Construction settlements.
Fake debts.
Shell companies.
The organization created financial pressure around certain families, then waited for tragedy.
Sometimes the husband died.
Sometimes the wife disappeared.
Sometimes both.
I felt sick.
“Trent knew?”
“Yes.”
“Richard knew?”
“Yes.”
“Who was in charge?”
Rebecca looked at me.
“I never saw his face.”
“Then how do you know?”
“Because every instruction came through one person.”
“Who?”
She opened her folder.
Inside was a handwritten signature.
I recognized it immediately.
My stomach dropped.
It belonged to someone I had trusted.
Someone who had visited our house.
Someone who had hugged me when I announced my pregnancy.
Someone who had told me Trent was lucky to have me.
I whispered the name.
“Daniel Mercer.”
Alex went still.
My former employer.
The man who had recommended me for my job.
The man who had introduced me to Trent.
The man who had been standing beside Richard at our wedding.
Rebecca looked at me.
“You know him.”
“Yes.”
“Then you need to understand something.”
“What?”
“He wasn't helping Richard.”
May you like
She leaned closer.
“Richard was working for him.”
