Chapter 6: The Woman Before Me
Conrad read the message twice.
Then he sat down.
"Portland," he said.
"You know something," I said.
"Not yet.
But I will in an hour." He was already typing.
"Who sent this?"
"Unknown number.
I can't trace it."
"I can." He didn't look up.
"Go make coffee.
This will take a few minutes."
I made coffee I didn't drink.
I stood at the kitchen window and watched the gate at the end of the drive.
It was closed.
The roses I had dropped when I pushed open the kitchen door were still on the floor near the island, scattered across the tile, already wilting.
Conrad came back into the kitchen eighteen minutes later.
He set his phone face-up on the counter between us.
"Richard Calloway," he said.
"Retired tech executive.
Portland, Oregon.
Widower.
He died twenty-two months ago — cardiac event, ruled natural causes.
He was sixty-one." A pause.
"He was engaged to be married at the time of his death.
His fiancée's name was listed in the obituary as a woman named Sylvie Grant." Conrad looked at me.
"Sylvie Grant is one of four known aliases used by Genevieve Sutter."
The coffee cup was warm in my hands.
I set it down.
"Calloway had two adult children from his first marriage," Conrad continued.
"After his death, his estate entered probate.
His children contested the will.
They alleged that a document signed six weeks before his death — modifying the beneficiary structure of his primary investment trust — had been executed under undue influence." He paused.
"The case settled.
Confidentially.
The terms are sealed."
"How much?" I said.
"I don't know the exact figure.
But Calloway's estate was valued at approximately forty million dollars at the time of his death." Conrad picked up his phone.
"His daughter's name is Wren Calloway.
She's thirty-four.
She lives in Portland.
I believe she's the one who sent you that message."
I looked at the unknown number on my screen.
"She's been watching Genevieve."
"For nearly two years, by the look of it." Conrad set the phone down.
"She couldn't prove anything after the settlement.
Whatever Genevieve's attorneys agreed to, it included silence.
But she kept watching.
And when she saw the engagement announcement—"
"She waited," I said.
"She waited until there was something to show."
"She waited until there was someone who might actually listen." Conrad looked at me steadily.
"Dorian, Richard Calloway's cardiac event.
His children have always believed it wasn't entirely natural.
They could never prove it.
The autopsy found nothing conclusive." He let that sit for a moment.
"I'm not telling you what to think.
I'm telling you what they believe."
The kitchen was very quiet.
Upstairs, the floorboards creaked once — Yasmin shifting in the nursery chair.
I picked up my phone and called the unknown number.
It rang three times.
Then a woman's voice answered.
Careful.
Controlled.
The voice of someone who had been waiting for this call for a long time and was determined not to waste it.
"Mr.
Ashcombe," she said.
"Wren Calloway," I said.
A short silence.
"You found me fast."
"I have a good attorney."
"So did my father." Another silence.
"Is she still in the house?"
"She left an hour ago."
"Then you have time." A breath.
"I have a folder.
I've been building it for twenty-two months.
Photographs.
Financial records.
A timeline of every alias I've been able to confirm.
Correspondence between Genevieve and Fletcher Pryce going back three years — before my father, before you, and during both." Her voice didn't waver.
"I also have a copy of the document my father signed six weeks before he died.
And I have a handwriting analysis comparing his signature on that document to every other signature in his estate file." A pause.
"They don't match."
My hand was tight on the phone.
"Can you come to Atherton?"
"I'm already in California," Wren said.
"I drove down two days ago when I saw the petition filed with the recorder's office.
I've been waiting to see whether you'd figure it out yourself or whether I'd need to knock on your door." A beat.
"I'm glad you called first."
"Where are you?"
"Twenty minutes away."
"Come now," I said.
May you like
"Please."
Conrad was already clearing the kitchen table.
