Chapter 2: The Girl With the Phone
“Dad?””
Naomi's voice wasn't loud.
It didn't need to be.
Marcus stopped.
Brielle looked down at her.
For a moment, the three of them stood beneath the ballroom lights while conversations slowly died around them.
Marcus forced a smile.
“Hey, sweetheart.””
Naomi looked at Brielle.
“Who is she?””
Brielle's lips parted.
Marcus answered quickly.
“She's a colleague.””
Naomi frowned.
“What's her name?””
“Naomi,” Marcus said quietly.
“What?””
“Not here.””
She looked around the ballroom.
“Why not?””
Someone at the nearest table coughed.
A donor suddenly became fascinated with his wineglass.
Marcus lowered his voice.
“Let's go somewhere private.””
Naomi didn't move.
“Mom said you have a meeting tonight.””
Marcus blinked.
“I do.””
“With her?””
His jaw tightened.
Brielle placed a hand on his arm.
“Marcus, maybe we should—”
Naomi looked at the hand.
Then she looked at her father.
“You hold her like you hold Mom.””
The room became painfully quiet.
Marcus's face reddened.
“That's enough.””
Naomi flinched.
I started toward them.
“Naomi.””
She turned.
I shook my head.
Not because I was angry.
Because I didn't want her carrying this confrontation.
Marcus looked at me.
His expression changed from embarrassment to accusation.
“You brought her into this?””
I stared at him.
“You brought her.””
Brielle stepped backward.
“I didn't know she was coming.””
Naomi's eyes narrowed.
“You knew about Mom?””
Brielle looked at Marcus.
He said nothing.
Naomi lifted her phone.
“Did you know about me?””
“Naomi,” Marcus said.
“Did you?””
His face hardened.
“This isn't a conversation for you.””
“Why?””
“Because you're a child.””
She nodded slowly.
“That's what Mom said.””
Marcus glanced at me.
“What exactly have you told her?””
“Nothing.””
“Then why is she acting like this?””
I walked over and took Naomi's hand.
“Come with me.””
She squeezed my fingers.
“But Mom—”
“Come.””
We turned away.
Behind us, Marcus called my name.
“Claire.””
I stopped.
It was the first time all week he had said my name like he remembered I existed.
I turned.
He was standing beneath the chandelier with Brielle beside him.
His voice was low.
“Can we talk?””
“No.””
His eyebrows lifted.
“Excuse me?””
“Not here.””
He looked around.
People were pretending not to watch.
“I don't know what you think you've seen,” he said.
“I don't think.””
I reached into my purse.
I took out Denise's envelope.
His face changed instantly.
“What is that?””
“A letter.””
“From whom?””
“My lawyer.””
The color drained from his face.
Brielle looked at him.
“Lawyer?””
Marcus ignored her.
“Claire, what are you doing?””
“Protecting myself.””
“You're making a scene.””
“No.””
I held the envelope between two fingers.
“You did that when you walked into this room.””
A man approached from behind Marcus.
Richard Collins.
Marcus's longtime business partner and one of the foundation's board members.
He glanced at the envelope.
“What's going on?””
Marcus answered immediately.
“Nothing.””
Richard looked at me.
“Claire?””
I said nothing.
Denise had warned me.
No public accusations.
No speculation.
No emotional claims.
Just preserve the evidence.
So I handed Richard a second sealed envelope.
“This is for the independent board representative.””
Richard's expression changed.
“What is it?””
“A request to preserve records.””
Marcus stepped forward.
“Richard, don't.””
Richard looked between us.
“Marcus, what's happening?””
“Claire is upset.””
I almost smiled.
“That's convenient.””
He lowered his voice.
“You're overreacting.””
“Am I?””
“I can explain Brielle.””
“I don't want your explanation.””
“Then what do you want?””
I looked at him.
“The truth.””
He stared at me.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then Brielle whispered, “Marcus, you told me she knew.””
I looked at her.
Marcus turned sharply.
“Brielle.””
“You said you were separated.””
My stomach dropped.
Marcus's eyes widened.
“We are not doing this here.””
Brielle's face had gone pale.
“You said the papers were already being prepared.””
“I said—”
“You said your marriage was over.””
The room seemed to shrink.
I looked at Marcus.
He couldn't meet my eyes.
Naomi whispered, “Mom?””
I turned toward her.
“Let's go.””
We made it halfway to the exit before my phone vibrated.
A message from Denise.
*Don't confront him. I just received something from the board. Call me immediately.*
I stepped outside into the cold Chicago night.
Naomi stood beside me, rubbing her arms.
“Mom?””
“Wait in the car.””
“What happened?””
“Nothing you need to worry about.””
She studied my face.
“That's not true.””
I crouched in front of her.
“Naomi, listen to me. Whatever happens between your dad and me, none of it is your fault.””
She nodded.
“Okay.””
“And you don't have to collect anything else.””
Her eyes moved toward her phone.
“I already have everything.””
My heart stopped.
“What do you mean?””
She hesitated.
“There's more.””
“Naomi.””
“I didn't show you all of it.””
She unlocked her phone.
“Why?””
“Because I was scared.””
She opened a folder.
There were several videos.
One showed Marcus entering a parking garage.
Another showed him meeting Brielle.
Then another.
Marcus was sitting in his office.
The video had clearly been recorded from a distance.
His voice was muffled, but audible.
“If Claire finds out, everything falls apart.””
A man across from him asked, “What about the kid?””
Marcus leaned back.
“Naomi doesn't understand the business.””
The man laughed.
“She understands more than you think.””
Marcus smiled.
“She'll believe whatever Claire tells her.””
I couldn't breathe.
The video ended.
Naomi looked at me.
“I didn't know if I should show you.””
I sat down on the curb.
She sat beside me.
“Where did you get these?””
“I didn't make all of them.””
“What?””
“Some were already on my phone.””
“From where?””
She pointed at an old messaging app.
“There.””
I opened it.
A contact name appeared.
*Unknown Number.*
There were messages dating back two months.
The first said:
*Your dad is lying to your mother. Keep these safe. Don't tell him.*
My blood ran cold.
The next message contained a video.
Then another.
Then another.
I looked at Naomi.
“Who is sending these to you?””
“I don't know.””
“Have you ever met this person?””
“No.””
“Have you replied?””
She nodded.
“What did you say?””
“Sometimes.””
I closed my eyes.
“Naomi, you cannot talk to strangers online.””
“I know.””
“Did they ask you for anything?””
“No.””
“Money?””
“No.””
“Pictures?””
“No.””
“Your address?””
“No.””
“Anything about me?””
She shook her head.
“Then why?””
“I asked who they were.””
“What did they say?””
She opened the conversation.
The latest message had arrived that afternoon.
It read:
*Tonight, don't trust your father's story. Ask him about the transfer dated October 3.*
I stared at the screen.
October 3.
I knew that date.
It was the date of a $180,000 transfer from an account I had believed belonged to our foundation.
I had seen the transaction two days earlier in documents Denise asked me to gather.
But I had assumed it was a legitimate grant.
Now my daughter's anonymous contact had named it.
My phone rang.
Denise.
I answered.
“Denise?””
“Claire, where are you?””
“Outside the gala.””
“Good. Stay there.””
“Why?””
“I've just been sent a set of foundation records.””
My pulse quickened.
“By whom?””
“That's the problem.””
She paused.
“The records weren't sent to me by the board.””
“Then who sent them?””
Denise's voice became very quiet.
“Someone inside your husband's company.””
I looked at Naomi.
Her phone was still open.
The anonymous conversation was on the screen.
Then another message appeared.
*He knows someone has the files.*
I stared at it.
May you like
A second message followed.
*And now he's looking for your daughter.*
