Chapter 2 - The Woman Michael Called Paranoid
The investigator's name was Lena Ortiz.
She was forty-seven, formerly with the Manhattan District Attorney's financial crimes bureau, and dressed like someone who expected to be ignored.
Plain black trousers.
Gray sweater.
No jewelry.
No perfume.
She met Caroline at a coffee shop in Tribeca the following morning.
"You want surveillance?"
"I want facts."
"Same thing, sometimes."
Caroline slid copies of the forged agreement and photograph across the table.
Lena studied them.
"Who knows you received these?"
"My attorney."
"Your fiancé?"
"He knows I asked about Halcyon."
"That was a mistake."
"I know."
Lena looked up.
"Do you?"
Caroline bristled.
Lena's expression did not change.
"If this man is trying to steal an eight-million-dollar asset from you, the most dangerous thing you can do is warn him that you're suspicious."
"I wasn't thinking like a criminal."
"Start."
The word hit harder than Caroline expected.
Lena closed the folder.
"Your wedding is in eighteen days?"
"Yes."
"You still planning to marry him?"
Caroline looked out the window.
A delivery cyclist passed through the rain.
"I don't know."
"Then act like you are."
Caroline turned back.
"Excuse me?"
"If he's hiding something, he relaxes only if he believes the plan is working."
Lena leaned forward.
"Smile. Choose flowers. Taste cake. Let his mother insult your seating chart. Whatever people do before expensive weddings."
Caroline almost laughed.
"You make marriage sound like a sting operation."
"Right now, yours might be."
That evening Michael arrived at Caroline's apartment carrying Thai food and an apology.
"For what?"
"For being distracted."
He kissed her forehead.
Caroline forced herself not to recoil.
Michael removed his jacket and walked directly toward the wine cabinet.
He knew the apartment as well as she did.
That used to comfort her.
Now every familiar movement felt like trespassing.
"I talked to Margaret," he said.
Caroline opened the containers.
"About?"
"The prenup."
Her hand stopped.
They had signed a prenuptial agreement six weeks earlier.
Caroline had insisted after Evelyn's death.
Michael had pretended not to care.
"What about it?"
"Nothing major."
He poured wine.
"She thinks we should have a post-wedding financial planning session."
"With your mother?"
Michael laughed.
"No. God, no. With Ross."
Ross Kellerman was the Harper family's accountant.
Caroline disliked him instinctively.
He had a wet handshake and a habit of talking about women as though they were tax categories.
"Why?"
"Estate efficiency."
"We don't have an estate."
"We will."
Michael smiled.
"You own this place. I have the company shares. Future kids. Retirement. It's normal."
Caroline looked at him.
"Is Halcyon part of that planning?"
The wine bottle stopped above his glass.
Then continued.
"You're still thinking about that?"
"Shouldn't I?"
"Caroline."
His voice softened.
It was the voice he used whenever he wanted her to feel unreasonable.
"I have no idea what Halcyon is."
"Okay."
"You don't believe me."
"I said okay."
Michael set down the bottle.
"I hate this."
"What?"
"This thing you do."
Caroline waited.
"Where you decide there's a problem and suddenly I'm on trial."
"I asked a question."
"You asked like a prosecutor."
"You said you didn't know. I accepted that."
"No, you didn't."
He stepped closer.
"You're doing the thing your aunt taught you. Assume everybody wants something."
Caroline stared at him.
There it was.
Evelyn.
Always Evelyn.
"She taught me to read before I signed."
Michael's jaw shifted.
Then he smiled.
"Fine."
He kissed her cheek.
"Read everything."
The tension vanished so quickly Caroline almost doubted she had felt it.
Almost.
At eleven, after Michael fell asleep, Caroline entered the bathroom and locked the door.
She texted Lena.
He brought up post-wedding financial planning.
The reply came immediately.
Good. Keep listening.
Caroline typed again.
He denied knowing Halcyon.
Three dots appeared.
Then Lena's answer.
He lied.
Caroline's pulse quickened.
How do you know?
A photograph loaded.
Michael stood outside a private bank on Madison Avenue.
Beside him was Ross Kellerman.
Between them stood Margaret.
All three were looking at a document held by a fourth person.
The fourth man's face was turned away.
But on the glass doors behind them, the bank's security reflection showed his profile.
Gray suit.
Silver tie.
Lena sent one more message.
They met this afternoon for ninety-three minutes.
May you like
Caroline stared at Michael's sleeping silhouette through the bathroom door.
For the first time since accepting his proposal, she wondered whether she had ever known the man in her bed.
