Chapter 4 - THE DEAD MAN IN THE REFLECTION
Victor Sloane had been a legend in Chicago's criminal world.
Twenty years earlier, he managed financial operations for several powerful families.
He knew where money moved.
Which politicians were compromised.
Which businesses were legitimate.
And which existed only on paper.
Then, twelve years ago, his car exploded outside a warehouse.
Authorities found remains.
The case was closed.
Everyone believed Victor Sloane was dead.
Including Adrian.
“Why would he be following Lily?” I asked.
Adrian looked troubled.
“I don't know.”
“Did she know him?”
“Not that I'm aware of.”
I leaned back.
“Then why did she go to Boston?”
He stared at the photograph.
“Maybe she discovered something.”
I laughed bitterly.
“My sister discovered plenty seven years ago.”
Adrian looked down.
“I deserve that.”
I studied him.
“Did you ever speak to her after I left?”
“Yes.”
“How often?”
“For a few months.”
My stomach tightened.
“Why?”
“Because she kept insisting we should be together.”
I stared.
“And?”
“I told her no.”
“After sleeping with her for three months?”
He closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
I shook my head.
“You really did destroy two relationships at once.”
He said nothing.
I continued.
“What happened to her?”
“She left Chicago for a while. Worked in Los Angeles. Came back two years ago.”
“Doing what?”
“Public relations.”
I frowned.
“For whom?”
Adrian hesitated.
“Several private clients.”
“Names?”
“I don't have them.”
I stared.
“You expect me to believe you don't know?”
“I stopped keeping track of her.”
I looked away.
For years, I had imagined Adrian and Lily living happily together.
I pictured holidays.
Anniversaries.
Children.
I had imagined them laughing about the foolish older sister who disappeared.
Now I was learning that their affair hadn't become a love story.
It had become a wreckage neither of them knew how to repair.
That evening, I visited my mother.
She still lived in the same brick house on Chicago's North Side.
The porch light was on.
The flower boxes were empty.
I stood outside for a long moment before ringing the bell.
When she opened the door, her face changed.
“Evelyn?”
I nodded.
“Hi, Mom.”
She covered her mouth.
Then pulled me into her arms.
I stood stiffly at first.
Then slowly hugged her back.
She smelled like lavender soap and coffee.
For one painful moment, I was twenty-six again.
Heartbroken.
Exhausted.
Desperate for someone to tell me I wasn't crazy.
We sat in the kitchen.
My mother made tea.
She kept looking at me as though afraid I might disappear again.
“You look well,” she said.
“Thank you.”
“Your business?”
“Doing well.”
She smiled faintly.
“I'm proud of you.”
I looked down.
Seven years earlier, she had told me to reconsider leaving Adrian.
She said powerful men made mistakes.
She said Lily was young.
She said families survived worse.
I had never forgotten those words.
“Mom,” I said quietly, “did Lily tell you she went to Boston?”
My mother's hand stopped.
“What?”
“Three months ago.”
She looked pale.
“No.”
I studied her.
“Did she tell you anything before she disappeared?”
My mother hesitated.
Then stood.
She walked to a kitchen drawer.
Opened it.
And removed a small envelope.
“She left this here.”
My heart began racing.
“What's that?”
My mother handed it to me.
On the front, in Lily's handwriting, were four words.
FOR EVELYN. WHEN SAFE.
I looked up.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
My mother's eyes filled.
“Because she made me promise not to open it.”
I stared.
“And you thought that meant you shouldn't tell me?”
She began crying.
“I didn't know what to do.”
I looked down at the envelope.
For seven years, my family had been full of secrets.
And now one of those secrets might explain why my sister had disappeared.
I opened it.
Inside was a single photograph.
A younger Adrian.
Victor Sloane.
And my father.
Standing together outside a warehouse.
May you like
On the back, Lily had written:
DAD DIDN'T DIE THE WAY WE WERE TOLD.
