Chapter 3 - The Woman in Chicago
Evelyn Price had worked in vendor compliance for Daniel’s company before leaving suddenly the month he died.
Rebecca traced her to a small accounting practice outside Chicago.
Evelyn refused our first call.
She refused the second.
On the third, Rebecca told her Daniel’s widow wanted answers and that a newborn daughter was involved.
Evelyn asked to speak with me alone.
Her voice was steady but guarded.
“Did Daniel ever tell you he was frightened?” she asked.
“He told me to trust him,” I said.
“He wasn’t easily frightened.”
“No.
He wasn’t.”
I heard a chair scrape on Evelyn’s side of the line.
“I tried to warn him that someone inside his family had obtained credentials used for vendor approvals.”
“Vanessa?”
“I cannot say that without documents.”
“Can you say who signed them?”
A long pause followed.
“Your father’s business received the money, but the authorizations originated from an account that belonged to your husband.”
Rebecca was beside me and heard every word through the speaker.
“Are you saying Daniel transferred the money himself?”
I asked.
“I’m saying somebody wanted the audit trail to look that way.”
The implication made the room tilt.
If investigators decided Daniel had participated, his reputation could be destroyed before Grace could even learn his name.
Evelyn agreed to meet Rebecca in person if we arranged independent legal protection for her.
Before ending the call, she offered one more detail.
Daniel had planned to meet a confidential source at a hotel near O’Hare Airport.
That meeting never appeared in the company calendar.
“He asked me to keep the appointment off the shared system,” Evelyn said.
“I thought he was protecting the investigation.”
“Do you believe someone was watching the calendar?”
“I know someone was.”
In the afternoon, I found a sealed envelope among Daniel’s papers.
The handwriting on the front belonged to my father.
It contained an unsigned agreement promising him a consulting position and a percentage of future vendor revenue.
In the margin, Daniel had written three words in red ink.
Absolutely not authorized.
I photographed the paper and placed it in a document sleeve.
That evening, Dad finally called.
He did not ask about Grace.
He did not ask whether I was healing.
He said, “Your lawyer is getting involved in business she doesn’t understand.”
“How do you know what she’s doing?”
I asked.
He ignored the question.
“Daniel was under tremendous pressure before the accident.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“What pressure?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
He exhaled with theatrical patience.
“Some reputations are worth more than money, Claire.”
Then he hung up.
Ten minutes later, an anonymous email arrived with a photograph of Daniel entering the Chicago hotel.
May you like
The caption read: ASK WHO HE WENT THERE TO MEET.
