My Husband Killed My Father to Marry My Cousin

The first call was the hardest.

Harold Brennan picked up on the second ring. He had built half of Midtown. He had also carried my father's casket.

"Claire. Been too long, kiddo."

"It has. How's Ellen's hip?"

"Better than mine." He paused. "You don't call to ask about hips."

I turned Dad's ring once around my finger. "Your contract with Derrick's firm renews in March."

"It does."

"Don't sign it yet."

The line went quiet. I could hear his breathing. Slow. Thinking.

"Is there a problem I should know about?"

"There may be some financial irregularities. They're under review." I kept my voice light. "I can't say more. I just didn't want you caught in it."

"Your father would've said the same thing. In the same tone." Another pause. "Consider it stalled."

"Thank you, Harold."

"Claire? You okay?"

"I'm fine."

I hung up before he could hear that I wasn't.

After that, it got easier. Margaret Liu at Harborline. The Feldman brothers. A pension fund manager I'd roomed with at Princeton. I never asked them to leave. I never said a bad word about Derrick. I just lifted my hand off the scale.

It turned out my hand had been holding everything up.

By the end of the month, three deals had gone cold. Two more were "pending review." Derrick started coming home late. He stopped checking his hair in the spoon.

---

On a Thursday, Liam drove upstate.

I sat in the back of Kai's car on a side street in Tribeca. Rain tapped on the roof. Kai had his phone on speaker between us. Liam's line was open, but he wasn't talking to us. He was talking to her.

"I signed an NDA," a woman's voice said. Thin. Fast. I heard a lighter click. "I can't. I'm not supposed to."

"I understand," Liam said.

"He'll find out. He always finds out."

I pressed my nails into my palm. Dahlia Silva. The woman my father caught. The reason he died.

I wanted to hate her. Mostly, she just sounded scared.

Paper slid across a table.

"That's the account your money came from," Liam said. "It's a shell. Derrick controls it."

Silence.

"And that," he went on, "is a summary of what Marcus Cole told investigators last week."

The lighter clicked again. Then again. It didn't catch.

"Ms. Silva. Right now, you look like you were paid to stay quiet about a murder. A prosecutor will call that conspiracy."

"I didn't know," she whispered. "Not at first."

"Then help us prove it."

Kai looked at me. I didn't look back. I stared at the rain sliding down the window.

A chair scraped. Footsteps. Then a sound I'll never forget. Old wood, creaking up.

When Liam spoke again, his voice was careful. "Deposit slips. Email printouts. And a notebook."

"I wrote down everything he told me," Dahlia said. "Every call. Every date." Her voice broke. "I want immunity. I want it in writing."

"Arthur Sterling will call you tomorrow."

Kai ended the call. The car was very quiet.

"You can breathe now," he said softly.

I realized I hadn't been.

---

Two weeks later, Derrick stood behind me at the mirror, fixing his cufflinks. His fingers were clumsy.

"The Whitmore gala tonight. I need you there."

"You've never needed me at a gala."

"Well, I do now." His jaw flexed. "Talk to Brennan. Talk to Liu. Find out what's going on with them."

"Of course."

I wore ivory. He wore a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

The ballroom was all chandeliers and old money. I worked the room like Dad taught me. Ask about the kids. Remember the dog's name. Touch an arm, never a hand.

Margaret Liu caught me by the dessert table.

"We're not renewing," she murmured. "Neither is Calloway. I thought you should hear it from me."

"I appreciate that."

She squeezed my elbow. "Whatever you're doing, be careful."

I turned around. Kai Vargas was standing three feet away. Navy suit. Glass of something dark.

We had planned this. It still made my pulse jump.

"Mrs. Armstrong."

"Mr. Vargas."

"Your husband's firm has had a rough quarter, I hear."

"Markets change."

"They do." His eyes held mine one second too long. "Enjoy your evening."

That was all. Twenty seconds. Polite. Cold.

Across the room, Derrick was watching. His hand was tight around his glass. His mouth was a hard, thin line.

---

At home, he didn't take off his jacket. He went straight to the bar and poured scotch. Too much.

"What did Vargas want?"

"To gloat, I think."

"He talked to you for a while."

"Twenty seconds, Derrick."

He turned. His knuckles were white around the glass. "Vargas has always been a snake. He's been trying to bury me for years. I don't want you near him."

I walked over. I straightened his crooked tie. Slow. Gentle. The way a good wife would.

"Of course, darling."

He relaxed. He actually relaxed.

I kissed his cheek and went to bed.

Outside, the wind picked up. Somewhere in a locked drawer across town, a rusted tin sat waiting for a judge.

I fell asleep smiling.