“I don’t know.”
Ethan grabbed his phone.
“What are you doing?”
“Calling him.”
“You don’t have his number.”
“I have the internet.”
Vivian stepped closer.
“Ethan, wait.”
He looked at her.
“That word has cost me two years.”
He searched Marcus Dean.
The results were sparse but not empty.
Forensic accounting consultant.
Corporate fraud specialist.
A small firm in Boston.
Ethan called the listed office.
A receptionist answered.
“Dean Forensic Advisory.”
“I need to speak with Marcus Dean.”
“May I ask who’s calling?”
“Ethan Cole.”
Silence.
Then, “One moment.”
He waited.
Vivian stood six feet away.
The call clicked.
A man’s voice answered.
“Ethan?”
Ethan’s throat tightened.
“You know who I am.”
“Yes.”
“Did you know my wife?”
A long pause.
“Yes.”
“Did you have an affair with her?”
“No.”
Ethan closed his eyes.
“Were you helping her investigate my family?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Marcus exhaled.
“I tried.”
Ethan opened his eyes.
“What?”
“I called you the week after Rachel died.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“I called your office three times.”
Ethan looked at Vivian.
She shook her head.
He continued.
“I never received a message.”
Marcus went silent.
Then asked, “Is Vivian there?”
Ethan felt cold.
“Yes.”
“That explains it.”
Vivian whispered, “I did not block your calls.”
Marcus heard.
“You certainly told someone to.”
She stiffened.
“I told the office not to put strangers through while Ethan was grieving.”
“You knew exactly who I was.”
Ethan raised one hand.
“Stop.”
Both fell silent.
He asked Marcus, “Where was Rachel going?”
“I don’t know exactly.”
“You were supposed to meet her.”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“A diner on Route 17.”
The road near the crash.
Ethan gripped the phone harder.
“Why there?”
“Because she was meeting someone before me.”
“Who?”
“She wouldn’t say.”
“Why?”
“She didn’t trust phones.”
Ethan looked at Rachel’s letter.
“She said you found something involving my father.”
“Yes.”