“You look the same.”
“I don't remember ever meeting you.”
“Yes, you do.”
“No.”
“1998. Harbor Club.”
A memory surfaced.
A fundraiser.
Alex had introduced me to dozens of people.
One thin man with nervous eyes.
Martin.
“You were Alex's accountant.”
“I was many things.”
“You asked to see me.”
His eyes studied my face.
“Did Alex tell you why your marriage ended?”
I stiffened.
“I was there.”
“No.”
“You don't know anything about my marriage.”
Martin breathed painfully.
“Your husband didn't leave because he stopped loving you.”
“I left him.”
“Did you?”
Anger flared.
“What do you want?”
“Ask him about December seventeenth.”
The date meant nothing.
He smiled.
“Ask what happened at Pier Nine.”
I stood.
“This is pointless.”
“Your daughter was never the target.”
I stopped.
Martin's eyes glittered.
“Neither was the condo.”
I turned.
“What?”
He whispered, “Caroline misunderstood.”
“Misunderstood what?”
“She thought Alex hid the evidence in the walls.”
