It was a man in a suit, his face turned away, his profile hidden, but his hand rested on the handle of the car, as if he were waiting for someone. The caption on the back read:
“For the night you thought you were in control.”
My heart pounded. I realized then that the woman in the white blouse was not the mastermind. She was a pawn, a distraction.
There was a second envelope, sealed with a red wax stamp bearing the initials “J.D.” Inside was a single sheet of paper, typed, with a single line:
“You never knew I was the one you were meeting.”
My mind raced. The “secretary” was a front. The board member, the woman in the blouse, the perfume—all had been arranged by someone else.
And then I heard a soft click from the upstairs bathroom. The door opened slowly, and there, standing in the doorway, was a man I recognized from the photo—my husband’s brother, Jason, his expression unreadable.
