Chapter 9 - The Home Office
Rachel reached the house twenty-seven minutes later.
Evan's car was still in the driveway.
She called Allison before going inside.
“Stay on the phone.”
“Where are you?”
“Home.”
“Is Evan there?”
“Yes.”
“Rachel, don't confront him alone.”
“I'm not confronting him.”
That was partly true.
Rachel opened the front door.
She heard drawers closing upstairs.
The home she had decorated suddenly felt unfamiliar.
Every framed photograph looked staged.
Every luxury purchase looked like camouflage.
She walked toward Evan's office.
The door was open.
Two banker boxes sat on the floor.
One was half full.
Folders.
USB drives.
A laptop.
Printed financial statements.
Evan stood behind the desk.
He stared at her.
“You shouldn't be here.”
Rachel almost laughed.
“Interesting choice of words.”
“I'm removing Morrow Gate property.”
“From our house?”
“My office.”
“Our house.”
He closed a drawer.
Rachel held up her phone.
“I'm not stopping you.”
“Good.”
“But I'm documenting what you're taking.”
His face changed.
“Turn that off.”
“No.”
He walked toward her.
Rachel stepped back.
“Allison is listening.”
He stopped.
For several seconds neither spoke.
Then Evan smiled.
Not warmly.
“You've been busy.”
“Apparently I needed to be.”
“You've spoken to Maya.”
“Yes.”
“Your mother.”
“Yes.”
“David Chen.”
“Yes.”
“You have no idea what you're doing.”
“That sentence used to work.”
“What?”
“You saying I'm stupid without using the word.”
“I never called you stupid.”
“You didn't need to.”
Evan turned away.
“I built our life.”
Rachel looked around.
“No. You managed the accounts.”
“I multiplied what you inherited.”
“You transferred three million dollars out of our joint investments.”
“Into a deal that would have returned five times that.”
“With forged documents.”
“I didn't forge anything.”
“You keep saying that very carefully.”
He looked at her.
Rachel continued.
“Did Derek Sloan forge my signature?”
Evan went still.
It was the first time she had said the name.
Rachel saw the answer before he spoke.
“Who told you about Derek?”
“My mother.”
“Your mother barely understands email.”
“Apparently she understands character.”
Evan's composure cracked.
“Derek worked for Charles. That isn't a crime.”
“No.”
Rachel stepped closer.
“But Dad fired him for copying records.”
“You have no idea what happened.”
“So explain.”
“I don't owe you an interrogation.”
“You owe me three million dollars.”
His jaw tightened.
Rachel looked past him.
A photograph sat on the credenza.
Their wedding.
Evan's hand around her waist.
Colin beside him as best man.
Rachel suddenly noticed how young she looked.
Not innocent.
Certain.
Certainty had been her favorite luxury.
She glanced at the open drawer.
Inside lay a red leather notebook.
She recognized it.
Her father's.
Rachel moved toward it.
Evan closed the drawer.
“That's company property.”
“That was Dad's.”
“He used it for business.”
“So why is it here?”
Evan stepped between her and the desk.
Rachel's pulse accelerated.
“Allison,” she said loudly, “did you hear that?”
“Yes,” Allison answered through the speaker.
Evan swore.
Rachel backed away.
“I'm leaving.”
“Good.”
“But I want that notebook.”
“No.”
“I'll request it through counsel.”
“Do whatever you want.”
Rachel turned.
Then she noticed something in the half-filled box.
A photograph.
High school.
Westbridge Future Leaders banquet.
Maya stood holding her scholarship certificate.
Charles Morgan stood three people behind her.
Rachel picked it up.
“Why do you have this?”
Evan looked irritated.
“It was in Charles's files.”
“Why are you taking it?”
“Because I'm taking the entire file.”
“What file?”
Evan hesitated.
Rachel looked at the label.
BENNETT / CHARLES — PERSONAL.
Her heartbeat changed.
She lifted the folder.
Evan grabbed it.
“Give me that.”
Rachel held on.
“Why did my father keep a personal file on Maya?”
“Rachel.”
“Why?”
He pulled harder.
The folder tore.
Papers spilled across the floor.
Both froze.
Rachel looked down.
There were restaurant reviews.
Lease negotiations.
Old scholarship documents.
And letters.
One envelope bore Maya's mother's name.
LORRAINE BENNETT.
Rachel reached for it.
Evan caught her wrist.
Not violently.
But firmly.
“Don't.”
Rachel stared at his hand.
Evan released her immediately.
“I said don't.”
Rachel bent and picked up the envelope.
It had been opened years earlier.
Inside was a letter addressed to Charles.
Rachel read the first line.
Charles,
I am grateful for what you did for Maya, but she can never know why.
Rachel stopped.
Evan reached down.
She moved away.
“Why what?”
“It's irrelevant.”
Rachel continued reading.
The letter was dated fourteen years ago.
Two years before Maya opened her first restaurant.
Lorraine thanked Charles for the scholarship.
For recommending Maya to a culinary program.
For “keeping his promise to Henry.”
Rachel frowned.
“Who's Henry?”
Evan said nothing.
She read farther.
The final paragraph made her sit on the floor.
If Maya ever learns what happened at the factory, let it come from me. She already carries enough anger toward the company without knowing Charles tried to stop Henry from going back inside.
Rachel looked up.
“What factory?”
Evan stared.
“I don't know.”
“You read this.”
“Years ago.”
“What happened?”
“Ask your mother.”
Rachel folded the letter.
Evan extended his hand.
“That belongs to Morgan Commercial.”
“No.”
“It came from Charles's office.”
“It concerns Maya.”
“That doesn't make it hers.”
Rachel looked at the torn folder.
Then she understood why Evan had rushed home.
He wasn't only removing transaction files.
He was removing history.
“What does this have to do with the restaurants?”
Evan said nothing.
“What happened to Henry Bennett?”
His expression told her there was an answer.
Rachel's phone buzzed.
Maya.
She answered.
“Rachel?”
“Yes.”
“I found something in the original lease file.”
Rachel closed her eyes.
“What?”
“A handwritten note from your father.”
“What does it say?”
Maya paused.
“He wrote, ‘For Henry, but never as charity.’”
Rachel looked down at Lorraine's letter.
“Maya.”
“Yes?”
“Who was Henry?”
Silence.
Then Maya answered.
“My father.”
Rachel stared at Evan.
Maya's voice changed.
“My father died when I was sixteen.”
Rachel whispered,
“How?”
“In a warehouse fire.”
Rachel looked at the letter in her hand.
Not a warehouse.
A factory.
Morgan Commercial had owned industrial properties before Charles shifted into retail development.
Rachel remembered that now.
One property had burned.
There had been a lawsuit.
Her father never spoke about it.
“Maya.”
“What?”
“I think my father knew yours.”
Another silence.
Then Maya asked,
“How well?”
Rachel looked at Evan.
“I don't know yet.”
And across the room, Evan's eyes moved toward the fireplace.
Rachel followed his gaze.
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Inside the cold fireplace were fresh ashes.
Something had already been burned.
