Chapter 6: The Woman in the Photograph
Constance had Melissa Varon's full background on my desk by two o'clock that afternoon.
She was thirty-one.
A marketing consultant — freelance, mostly.
She had worked briefly as a contractor for David's company two years ago, which was when, according to the bank records, the first deposit had been made.
I read through the file slowly, at the kitchen table, with my second cup of tea gone cold beside me.
There was nothing in the file that surprised me exactly.
But there was one detail that made me stop.
Melissa Varon had a daughter.
Fourteen months old.
I set the page down.
I picked it up again and read the line twice more, as if the number might change.
It didn't.
I called Constance.
"The child," I said.
"I know." Her voice was quiet.
"I flagged it."
"How certain are we?"
"The timing aligns with the account deposits.
The first payment came six weeks after she would have conceived.
The amounts increased when the child was born." A pause.
"Rachel, I want to be careful here.
We don't have a paternity confirmation.
But the financial pattern is consistent with—"
"With support payments he was hiding from me."
"Yes."
I stood up and walked to the window.
The driveway.
The empty space.
"He was paying for a child," I said.
"For over a year.
Out of company funds.
While living in this house.
While—" I stopped.
"Rachel."
"I'm here."
"Do you want to take a break before we continue?"
"No." I pressed my hand flat against the glass.
It was cold.
"What are our options?"
"On the paternity question — that becomes relevant in the divorce proceedings, not the fraud case.
The fraud case stands on its own.
The shell vendor, the redirected funds, the false invoices — that's complete regardless of what the money was used for."
"But if he was using corporate fraud to support a child he fathered outside our marriage—"
"Then it becomes part of the divorce picture, yes.
Dissipation of marital assets.
Potentially significant."
I turned away from the window.
"Find out," I said.
"Whatever you need to do.
Find out."
"I will." A beat.
"There's one more thing.
Melissa Varon's attorney contacted our office an hour ago."
I stopped walking.
"Her attorney."
"She has representation.
Which means she knew this was coming, or David warned her." Constance's voice was careful.
"Her attorney says she wants to meet with you.
Directly.
Without lawyers present."
"Absolutely not."
"That was my recommendation as well.
But I want you to know she's asking."
"Why would she want to meet with me?"
"Her attorney says she has information about David that she believes you need to hear.
Information that goes beyond the financial records."
The room was very quiet.
"What kind of information?" I asked.
"He wouldn't say.
He said she'll only tell you directly."
I stood in the middle of my kitchen and thought about the photograph.
The restaurant.
The candlelight.
David in the gray jacket, leaning forward, looking at her the way he used to look at me.
"Set it up," I said.
"With lawyers present.
Mine and hers.
If she won't agree to that, the answer is no."
"I'll call his office back."
"Constance." I paused.
"How bad do you think it is?
Whatever she knows."
A long pause.
Longer than Constance usually allowed herself.
"I think," she said carefully, "that you should be sitting down when she tells you."
I was already sitting down.
I just hadn't noticed.
My phone buzzed on the table.
A different number this time.
A number I recognized.
David's brother, Thomas.
I stared at the screen through two full rings.
Then I answered.
"Rachel," Thomas said.
His voice was rough.
Like he hadn't slept either.
"I need to tell you something.
About David.
About what he told me six months ago." He stopped.
"I should have called you then.
I know that.
I'm sorry I didn't."
"Tell me now," I said.
May you like
He did.
And by the time he finished, I understood why David's legs had given out when Thomas had called him last night.
