“Who do you know in the department?”
Vivian stared at him.
“Hundreds of people know me.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“Your father supported half the civic organizations in Fairfield County.”
“Names.”
“Ethan.”
“Names.”
She folded her arms.
“Police Commissioner Daniel Sloane was your father’s friend.”
Ethan remembered him.
Sloane attended the funeral.
Rachel’s funeral.
He had hugged Vivian.
Whispered something.
Ethan had assumed it was condolences.
“What did you ask him to do?”
“Nothing.”
“Did you call him after Rachel died?”
Vivian said nothing.
Ethan’s face changed.
“What did you ask him to do?”
“I asked him to make sure the investigation did not destroy you.”
“What does that mean?”
“The newspapers were already circling.”
“Because my wife died?”
“Because she had been investigating Cole Development.”
Ethan stared.
“You knew police found that?”
“They found files in her car.”
That was new.
“What files?”
“Financial documents.”
Ethan felt dizzy.
“No one told me.”
“I asked Daniel to keep company matters out of the press until we understood them.”
“You interfered with the investigation.”
“I protected four hundred employees.”
“Did you tell him Rachel was having an affair?”
Vivian looked away.
Ethan knew.
“You did.”
“I believed—”
“You created it!”
“I created nothing about her secrecy.”
“You forged evidence.”
“I did not know she was investigating me when I first—”
Ethan laughed sharply.
“When you first what?”
Vivian stopped.
There it was.
Something else.
“When you first what?”
She whispered, “Hired someone.”
Ethan stared.
“Who?”
“A private investigator.”
“Why?”
“I thought Rachel was hiding something.”
“She was.”
“I didn’t know what.”
“You had my wife followed?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Six weeks.”
Ethan felt physically sick.
“Name.”
“Caleb Ross.”
“Where is he now?”
“I don’t know.”
“Give me everything you have.”
“Ethan.”
“Now.”
Vivian understood.
The argument was over.
Twenty minutes later she left the house.
Ethan watched her car disappear beyond the front gate.
Then he returned to the living room.
The hole in the floor remained open.
Rachel’s letter lay on the table.
For two years Ethan had believed grief was the worst thing that could happen after someone died.
He had been wrong.