Chapter 2 - The Back Door
Richard ran before anyone else moved.
His dress shoes slipped on packed snow as he crossed the alley behind the laundromat. Little Emily followed until Claire caught her by the shoulders and pulled her close.
"Stay with me," Claire said.
Jonathan did not run.
That frightened Richard more than the scream.
Behind the building, a metal trash bin lay on its side. A grocery bag had split open across the snow, spilling two apples, a carton of milk, and a loaf of discount bread.
Emily Harrington Carter stood against the brick wall with one hand pressed to her mouth.
A man in a gray knit cap was sprinting toward a waiting sedan.
"Stop!" Richard shouted.
The man glanced back once.
Richard saw a narrow face and a pale crescent scar on the chin.
The sedan accelerated before the man had fully closed the passenger door.
It vanished into the storm.
Richard reached his daughter.
"Are you hurt?"
Emily lowered her hand.
There was blood on her lower lip.
"Don't touch me."
The words were quiet.
They had the force of a locked door.
Richard stopped inches away.
"Who was that?"
"Nobody."
"Nobody doesn't hit you in an alley."
She picked up the bread from the snow and brushed ice from the plastic.
"You always did think money gave you the right to define things."
Richard felt the old wound open exactly where it had been twelve years earlier.
"Your daughter found my wallet."
Emily froze.
"I know."
"She asked me to buy you dinner."
A flash of shame crossed Emily's face, followed by anger.
"She shouldn't have done that."
"She shouldn't have had to."
Emily looked past him.
Jonathan had finally entered the alley.
The moment she saw him, her breathing changed. Richard heard it: quick, shallow pulls of air she tried to hide by bending to collect the milk.
Jonathan stopped several yards away.
"Emily."
She straightened.
"Don't say my name."
"I didn't know you were here."
"That's the first true thing you've said to me in twelve years."
Richard turned toward his son.
Jonathan's face had gone bloodless.
"What is she talking about?"
"Nothing," Jonathan said.
Emily laughed once, without humor.
"There it is. The family word. Nothing. Missing files? Nothing. A dead accountant? Nothing. A daughter who disappears because someone tells her father she stole from him? Nothing."
Richard's stomach tightened.
"You did steal from the company."
Emily stared at him.
Snow gathered in her hair.
"You still believe that?"
"There were transfers under your authorization."
"My authorization was forged."
"The audit—"
"Was controlled by Jonathan."
The alley seemed to narrow.
Richard looked at his son.
Jonathan shook his head slowly.
"She's doing what she always did. Turning every consequence into someone else's fault."
Emily stepped toward him.
"Tell Dad about the Halcyon account."
Jonathan's eyes flicked to Richard, then back to Emily.
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Of course not."
She bent for the carton of milk.
Richard noticed her left hand trembling.
Not from the cold.
He remembered the night she left. She had stood in his study with the same tremor, insisting that someone inside Harrington Holdings was moving money through shell vendors.
Richard had told her he trusted the audit.
He had told her he trusted Jonathan.
He had told her to leave until she was ready to admit what she had done.
She had left before dawn.
"Where is Daniel?" Richard asked.
Emily stopped moving.
The milk carton slipped from her fingers and hit the snow.
Little Emily's voice came from the mouth of the alley.
"Mom?"
Emily turned immediately.
"I'm fine, sweetheart."
The child ran to her.
Richard watched his daughter crouch, hide the blood on her lip, and smile as if nothing had happened.
"Did the man hurt you?" little Emily asked.
"I slipped."
The girl studied her mother.
"You said lying makes your stomach sick."
Emily closed her eyes.
Claire looked away.
Jonathan rubbed his hands together, though he wore leather gloves.
Richard asked again.
"Where is Daniel?"
Emily stood.
"Dead."
The word landed softly.
Richard's knees almost gave.
"When?"
"Eleven years ago."
"How?"
"Car accident. At least that's what the police report says."
Jonathan inhaled sharply.
Emily heard it.
So did Richard.
"What aren't you telling me?" Richard said.
Emily's gaze moved to the hotel rising above the roofs across the street.
"Your annual dinner is tonight, isn't it?"
"Yes."
"Then the board will all be there."
"Most of them."
"Including Malcolm Voss?"
Richard nodded.
Malcolm had been Harrington Holdings' chief financial officer for twenty-two years and Richard's closest business confidant.
Emily looked down at her daughter.
"Emmy, go with the nice lady for one minute."
"No."
"Please."
Claire stepped forward and offered the girl her hand.
After a moment, the child took it.
Emily waited until they were several yards away.
Then she reached inside the lining of her coat and pulled out a small brass key.
A black number was stamped into it.
317.
She pressed it into Richard's palm.
"Daniel died trying to get what this opens."
Richard closed his fingers around the key.
"What is it?"
"The reason I disappeared."
Jonathan moved suddenly.
"Give me that."
Richard pulled his hand back.
Jonathan stopped.
The old wall clock inside the laundromat clicked again.
Through the fogged glass Richard saw the minute hand jump backward.
7:23.
7:22.
Emily's face drained of color.
"We have to leave."
Richard examined the brass key again under the alley light. The number 317 had been stamped unevenly, as if done by hand rather than at a locksmith. A dark residue marked the grooves.
"Oil," Jonathan said before Richard asked.
Emily looked at him sharply.
"Interesting that you know."
Jonathan rubbed his thumb against his glove.
"Keys collect oil."
"Not that kind. That's machine lubricant. Daniel used it on old locks because graphite made him sneeze."
Richard watched his son's shoulders draw tighter.
"Did you ever see this key before?"
"No."
Emily stepped closer.
"Try again."
Little Emily watched from Claire's side, silent now. Richard disliked having the child witness the adults circle one another, but sending her away felt worse. Too many decisions in this family had been made in rooms where the people affected were absent.
Jonathan exhaled through his nose.
"I saw Daniel with a brass key once. At the hotel. I never saw the number."
"When?"
"A week before everything happened."
Emily's face hardened.
"And you didn't mention it during the investigation."
"I didn't think it mattered."
"No. You thought anything connected to Daniel mattered only if it helped convict me."
Richard wanted to tell them both to stop. The command rose to his tongue by instinct.
He swallowed it.
"We go to 317," he said instead. "And this time, nobody decides in advance what the evidence means.
"Why?"
She looked toward the alley entrance.
Two black SUVs had stopped there without headlights.
May you like
The doors opened at the same time.
"Because," Emily whispered, "they found us before I found the box."
