CHAPTER 7 The Woman Nobody Remembered
Eleanor placed the photograph on the table.
The woman in the picture looked young.
Beautiful.
Happy.
She was standing beside Julian with her hand resting gently on his arm.
The expression on her face was the kind of expression people had when they trusted someone completely.
Before they learned they shouldn’t.
“Who is she?” Eleanor asked.
Julian said nothing.
That silence was an answer.
Clara whispered:
“Julian?”
He looked toward her.
“Don’t.”
The warning in his voice made her step back.
Eleanor noticed.
Again.
Fear.
Not respect.
Not sadness.
Fear.
“Her name,” Eleanor said.
Julian looked at his mother.
“You don’t want to know.”
“That isn’t your decision.”
Marcus stepped closer.
“Her name was Vanessa Cross.”
The room went still.
Eleanor searched her memory.
The name sounded familiar.
Then she remembered.
A newspaper article.
A decade ago.
A young woman who disappeared after accusing a wealthy businessman of fraud.
The case had disappeared quickly.
Too quickly.
“Why do I know that name?” Eleanor asked.
Marcus answered:
“Because Julian made sure everyone forgot it.”
Julian’s voice turned cold.
“You’re insane.”
Marcus ignored him.
“Vanessa worked for one of Julian’s investment companies.”
Eleanor looked at her son.
“She worked for you?”
Julian said nothing.
“She discovered money was being moved through fake accounts.”
Marcus continued.
“She was going to report it.”
Clara covered her mouth.
Eleanor felt the room shift.
“What happened to her?”
Marcus looked directly at Julian.
“Ask him.”
Julian finally exploded.
“Enough.”
The word shook the room.
For the first time, his perfect control disappeared.
“She made a mistake.”
Everyone stared.
Marcus laughed bitterly.
“There it is.”
Eleanor’s eyes narrowed.
“What mistake?”
Julian breathed heavily.
“She thought she could destroy me.”
“And?”
Julian looked at him.
“She lost.”
A terrible silence followed.
Because those two words revealed something.
Not regret.
Not guilt.
Pride.
Eleanor felt something inside her break.
Not a mother’s love.
Something deeper.
The illusion she had protected for thirty-four years.
“Where is Vanessa now?” Eleanor asked.
Marcus looked down.
“She’s dead.”
Clara gasped.
Eleanor went completely still.
“How?”
Marcus hesitated.
Then:
“The official report said suicide.”
Nobody spoke.
“But I know Vanessa.”
His voice became quiet.
“She would never have done that.”
Eleanor looked at Julian.
And saw something she had never seen before.
Not guilt.
Fear.
Because Marcus had not come to accuse him.
He had come prepared.
The question was no longer:
Did Julian have secrets?
The question was:
How many people had been hurt by them?
That night, at 3:17 a.m., Eleanor received a message on her phone.
Unknown number.
One photo.
No words.
She opened it.
Her heart stopped.
It was a picture of the old chapel.
The abandoned one Clara had mentioned.
And standing inside the doorway…
May you like
Was Vanessa Cross.
Alive.
