Chapter 4 - WARREN ASKED HIS WIFE ONE QUESTION SHE COULDN’T ANSWERWarren waited until Elliot was asleep.
Irene stayed outside his room.
Monique waited downstairs.
She had poured herself wine.
That detail almost made Warren laugh.
His son had spent part of the afternoon crying in wet clothes because of her.
And she was drinking Cabernet.
When Warren entered the living room, she set the glass down.
“Are you finally ready to talk?”
“Yes.”
She softened.
“Good.”
He sat across from her.
No yelling.
No accusation.
Just one question.
“When did you first hear the name Elliot Carter?”
Monique blinked.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“When I met you.”
“Where did we meet?”
“At the Calden Foundation dinner.”
“When?”
“Three years ago.”
“And before that?”
“I didn’t know you.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Her face tightened.
“I had never heard of Elliot.”
Warren pulled out Amelia’s photograph.
Monique outside the attorney’s office.
Her eyes dropped.
Then returned to him.
“What is that?”
“You.”
“I can see that.”
“Five years ago.”
“So?”
“That office represented Amelia’s father.”
Monique stared.
Warren continued.
“You requested information about Elliot’s trust.”
“No.”
“I have the access record.”
“That’s impossible.”
Wrong answer.
Warren leaned back.
“Why impossible?”
Monique opened her mouth.
Stopped.
Then tried again.
“I mean, I never requested anything.”
“Amelia knew your name.”
“She may have heard it professionally.”
“You told me you had no connection to Landon Medical.”
“I didn’t.”
“Amelia wrote that you did.”
Monique’s face hardened.
“She was sick.”
Warren went still.
“What did you just say?”
“She was under enormous stress.”
“You never met her.”
“I didn’t.”
“But you know what state she was in.”
“Everyone knew she had cancer.”
“Not what I asked.”
Monique stood.
“This is ridiculous.”
“Sit down.”
“You’re interrogating your wife because an eight-year-old found old papers.”
“No.”
Warren’s voice sharpened.
“I’m interrogating my wife because I watched her terrorize my son in a bathroom.”
Her expression changed.
“He was being disciplined.”
“With cold water?”
“He refused to wash.”
“He was begging you to stop.”
“He’s dramatic.”
Warren felt something inside him turn cold.
Exactly like the video.
“Don’t call him that again.”
Monique crossed her arms.
“You’re letting guilt cloud your judgment.”
“Guilt?”
“You travel constantly. You barely know what happens here.”
That landed because it was true.
Warren didn’t deny it.
She saw the hit and pressed harder.
“I am the one who deals with his tantrums. His lying. His stealing.”
“Stealing what?”
Monique hesitated.
“The key.”
There it was.
Warren stared.
“What key?”
She realized the mistake.
“The one he took from my desk.”
Warren slowly smiled.
“The brass key?”
Silence.
Monique’s face drained.
“You knew.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“The basement box.”
“No.”
“You knew there was a key.”
“He takes things.”
“Stop.”
Warren stood.
“You knew about the box.”
Monique backed up.
“I found it months ago.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because it belonged to Amelia.”
“That’s exactly why you should have.”
“I was protecting you.”
Warren laughed.
“From my dead wife?”
“From obsession.”
His face hardened.
“What did you remove from it?”
“Nothing.”
“What did you take?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why was the box in the basement?”
“I don’t know.”
“Elliot found it there.”
“He lies.”
Warren took one step toward her.
“Every time you call my son a liar, you make yourself less believable.”
Monique grabbed her wine.
Her hand was trembling now.
Finally.
Warren continued.
“Did you lock him in the basement?”
“No.”
“He says you did.”
“He went down there himself.”
“In the dark?”
“He likes hiding.”
“Did you lock him outside the wine cellar?”
“No.”
“You don’t even know where I’m talking about.”
Monique froze.
Warren hadn’t mentioned the wine cellar before.
Yet she reacted.
He saw it.
“You did.”
She put the glass down too hard.
Wine spilled across the table.
“Warren, you need to understand something.”
“I’m listening.”
“Elliot has serious behavioral problems.”
“According to Dr. Pike?”
“Yes.”
“The therapist you recommended.”
“Yes.”
“The therapist connected to your old consulting firm.”
Monique went completely still.
Warren watched her.
“Amelia left his name in the box.”
Silence.
Then Monique whispered:
“You opened the flash drive?”
Warren stopped breathing.
He had not.
He had only seen the drive.
She knew what was on it.
“You know the flash drive.”
Monique realized too late.
Warren’s voice dropped.
“What is on it?”
She grabbed her handbag.
“I’m leaving.”
“No.”
“I’m not staying here while you threaten me.”
“I haven’t threatened you.”
“You’re frightening me.”
He almost laughed.
“Call the police.”
She stared.
“Go ahead.”
She didn’t move.
Because police meant questions.
Evidence.
The video.
Amelia’s records.
Warren pointed toward the guest wing.
“You stay there tonight. You do not go near Elliot.”
“You can’t order me around.”
“I can keep you away from my child.”
“He is my child too.”
“No.”
The answer came instantly.
“He is Amelia’s son.”
Monique’s face changed.
Something ugly.
“You always do that.”
“Do what?”
“Make me second.”
“To Amelia?”
“To a dead woman.”
Warren stared.
For the first time, he saw the jealousy without disguise.
And suddenly he wondered if this had ever been only about money.
Monique had researched Amelia.
Studied the trust.
Entered Warren’s life.
Married him.
Then spent years living beside the memory of the woman whose son held the fortune she wanted.
Monique walked toward the stairs.
At the bottom step, she turned.
“If you open that flash drive, you’re going to regret it.”
Warren stared at her.
“Why?”
Her eyes looked almost frightened.
“Because Amelia didn’t only investigate me.”
She glanced upstairs.
May you like
Toward Elliot’s room.
“She investigated you too.”
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