Chapter 7 - The Christmas Photograph
Jessica did not sleep.
At four in the morning, Chloe woke crying.
Her cheek hurt.
Jessica lay beside her until sunrise painted the Chicago skyline pale blue.
"Mommy?"
"Yes."
"Is Aunt Victoria mad at me?"
Jessica turned toward her.
"No."
Chloe's lip trembled.
"Did I make her go to jail?"
"No."
"Because I spilled gravy?"
Jessica sat up.
"Listen to me."
Chloe looked at her.
"You never cause an adult to hurt you."
"But I made a mess."
"Accidents don't give people permission to hit."
"What if Grandma says I was bad?"
"Grandma can be wrong."
Chloe considered this carefully.
"Can grown-ups be wrong a lot?"
Jessica almost smiled.
"More than you'd think."
At seven-thirty, Sloan entered the guest room doorway.
"Sorry."
Jessica looked up.
"What happened?"
"We found Thomas Carter."
Jessica froze.
"Where?"
"Not physically."
Sloan stepped inside.
"We found records."
In 2004, two years after Thomas disappeared, a man using his Social Security number opened a corporate account in Nevada.
The account remained mostly inactive.
Then twelve years later, it began receiving money.
Property settlements.
Consulting payments.
One payment originated from a Hayes-controlled corporation.
Jessica looked toward sleeping Chloe.
"David?"
"No evidence yet."
"Margaret?"
"Likely."
Jessica stood.
"What does she say?"
"Nothing."
"Richard?"
"He says he believed Thomas was dead."
"Do you?"
Sloan hesitated.
"I think someone benefited from making the world believe he was."
At nine, Jessica returned to the penthouse living room.
Margaret had changed clothes.
White cashmere.
Perfect hair.
It was as if the previous night had never happened.
Richard sat alone.
David had left.
Jessica walked directly to Margaret.
"Where is my father?"
Margaret looked at her coffee.
"I don't know."
"Then tell me what you do know."
"I have counsel arriving."
"I don't care."
"You will."
Jessica leaned down.
"You knew my grandmother."
Margaret remained silent.
"You knew my father."
Still silence.
"And you knew exactly who I was when David introduced me."
Margaret looked up.
For once, no smugness remained.
"You resemble her."
"My grandmother?"
"Very much."
"Why did you hate her?"
Margaret smiled faintly.
"I didn't."
"Then why did you destroy her trust?"
"Because Eleanor made the mistake idealists always make."
Jessica waited.
"She believed ownership on paper could protect something valuable."
"And you proved her wrong."
"I proved the world was more complicated."
"You stole from veterans."
Margaret's expression hardened.
"Your grandmother wasn't a saint."
"I didn't say she was."
"She threatened people."
"Who?"
Margaret looked toward Richard.
He refused to meet her eyes.
Jessica followed the glance.
"What aren't you telling me?"
Richard stood.
He walked to an antique cabinet.
Margaret's face changed.
"Richard."
He opened the cabinet.
"Don't."
From behind a stack of old photo albums, he removed a flat envelope.
Margaret moved toward him.
Sloan stepped between them.
Richard handed the envelope to Jessica.
Inside was a photograph.
Christmas.
1996.
A younger Margaret stood beside a large tree.
Richard beside her.
And another couple.
Jessica immediately recognized Eleanor Carter.
Beside Eleanor stood a younger Thomas.
Jessica's father.
But someone else in the picture stopped her.
A little boy of perhaps eight years old.
Blond.
Smiling.
Standing between Thomas and Margaret.
Jessica turned the photograph over.
Four names had been written on the back.
Richard.
Margaret.
Eleanor.
Thomas.
And beneath them:
David.
Jessica stared at the child.
Then at Margaret.
May you like
David had always said Margaret and Eleanor had never known each other.
But David had been standing beside Jessica's father twenty years before Jessica ever met him.
