Chapter 5 - THE MAN IN THE REFLECTION
The reflection was distorted.
But not enough.
Dark suit.
Silver watch.
A familiar posture.
I enlarged the image.
Rachel leaned closer.
“Do you recognize him?”
“Yes.”
His name was Martin Hale.
My father’s personal driver.
Martin had worked for our family for almost fifteen years.
He knew where we lived.
Where Sophie went to school.
Where I worked.
My stomach turned.
Police found him that afternoon.
And Martin talked.
Not immediately.
But once detectives showed him the photograph, the CCTV evidence and the threatening messages, his loyalty to my father suddenly became less impressive.
He admitted Dad had asked him to photograph Sophie.
He claimed he didn’t know why.
Then detectives asked about the anonymous child-services report.
Martin denied making it.
They asked about the wedding.
He looked down.
That was when they knew.
According to what Rachel later learned, Martin had driven Dad and Preston to the hotel that afternoon.
During the ride, he overheard them arguing.
Preston had apparently said:
“She’ll never sign after tonight.”
Dad replied:
“She doesn’t need to sign tonight.”
Then:
“She only needs to react.”
That sentence haunted me.
They wanted me angry.
Unstable.
Emotional.
They wanted the version of me they had described for years.
Difficult Evelyn.
Jealous Evelyn.
Dramatic Evelyn.
The daughter who always ruined everything.
But there was another problem.
Martin told detectives Preston had been drinking before the reception.
He was already furious because Vanessa had threatened to postpone the wedding.
Why?
Because she had discovered financial problems.
Preston was nearly broke.
The glamorous lifestyle was borrowed.
The penthouse was heavily mortgaged.
His investment company was collapsing.
He needed access to the trust.
Desperately.
That evening, Vanessa called me.
“I left him.”
I sat beside Sophie’s hospital bed.
“What?”
“I’m at my sister’s.”
She sounded exhausted.
“Preston came to the suite after the police questioned him.”
“What happened?”
“He blamed me.”
“For what?”
“Everything.”
Of course he did.
Then Vanessa said something unexpected.
“He kept talking about a flash drive.”
“What flash drive?”
“I don’t know.”
“He was tearing through drawers.”
“Did he find it?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I have it.”
I stood.
“Vanessa…”
“I found it inside the lining of his garment bag.”
“What’s on it?”
“I haven’t opened it.”
“Don’t.”
There was silence.
“Why?”
“Because if this is connected to what happened, police need it untouched.”
Vanessa agreed.
We arranged for her to turn it over.
But before she could, someone knocked on her sister’s apartment door.
I heard it through the phone.
Three hard knocks.
Vanessa stopped talking.
“Are you expecting someone?”
“No.”
Another knock.
Then a man’s voice.
“Vanessa?”
Her breathing changed.
It was Preston.
“Open the door.”
Vanessa whispered into the phone.
“He found me.”
“Call 911.”
The doorknob moved.
“Vanessa!”
Preston hit the door again.
“Give me the drive.”
My entire body went cold.
He knew.
“Call the police now.”
Then I heard another sound.
A crash.
May you like
Vanessa screamed.
The call disconnected.
