“What file?”
“Rachel—”
“What file?”
He looked toward the door.
“Close it.”
I set down the coffee.
“No.”
“Close the door.”
“Tell me.”
His jaw tightened.
“Please.”
That word stopped me.
Christopher Bennett did not say please.
I closed the door.
He turned toward the desk.
“Bottom drawer.”
“What?”
“Open it.”
I moved around the desk.
The drawer was locked.
He gave me the key from around his wrist.
Inside was a black folder.
My hands shook as I opened it.
The first page contained a photograph.
Ryan.
Alive.
Older.
The picture had been taken in 2013.
Three years after his supposed death.
I couldn’t breathe.
“No.”
I touched his face in the photograph.
Ryan stood beside Christopher outside a building in New York.
He looked thinner.
Harder.
But unmistakably alive.
Tears blurred everything.
“You knew.”
Christopher said nothing.
“You knew he was alive.”
“Yes.”
I slapped him.
The sound cracked through the room.
Mrs. Alvarez appeared in the doorway.
Christopher raised a hand.
“Leave us.”
She hesitated.
Then obeyed.
I stared at him.
“You let me bury an empty urn.”
“I was twenty-three.”
“You let my grandmother die believing he was dead!”
“I didn’t know you existed.”
“You knew his name.”
“Ryan wasn’t using his real name.”
I threw the folder onto the desk.
“Then explain.”
Christopher looked exhausted.
“My father was not a good man.”
I said nothing.
“Everyone remembers Arthur Bennett as a visionary. A developer. Philanthropist. He built hospitals and schools.”
His voice hardened.
“He also laundered money for organized crime.”
I stared.
“Ryan discovered it.”
“How?”
“He worked for one of our construction companies.”
That made sense.
Ryan had been an electrician.
“He noticed invoices for materials that never arrived. Properties purchased through shell companies. Payments routed offshore.”
Christopher continued.
“He tried reporting it internally.”
“And?”
“My father found out.”
My stomach twisted.
Christopher looked toward the window.
“Ryan was offered a choice. Disappear or die.”
I whispered, “So he disappeared.”
“Yes.”
“And the body?”
“Someone else.”
I covered my mouth.
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I was a kid trapped inside my father’s world.”
