Chapter 3 - The Second Tape and the Missing Envelope
“Where?”
“Storage cabinet three.”
He stood so quickly the chair scraped backward.
“I need to see it.”
I blocked him.
Not dramatically.
I simply stepped between Nathaniel Reed and the doorway.
His eyebrows lifted.
“What?”
“Not with Sophia awake.”
His face hardened slightly.
“My wife is on that tape.”
“And my daughter has been copying her for four months without understanding who she is.”
“I know.”
“No. You just learned.”
He stared at me.
I continued.
“If there is anything upsetting on that recording, I don’t want Sophia hearing it because you decided tonight was the night you could finally open boxes.”
He went very still.
That sentence could have cost me my job.
I knew it.
My nails pressed into my palm.
Nathaniel looked past me toward the table where Eli had fallen against Sophia’s shoulder laughing.
Then he nodded.
“You’re right.”
I moved.
He didn’t ask me to stay late.
He didn’t demand the tape immediately.
He waited until both children were asleep.
At 10:14 that night, Nathaniel Reed watched the second recording alone.
I know the exact time because he called my phone at 10:42.
I was halfway home.
Rain hammered the windshield.
Sophia was asleep in her car seat.
I almost didn’t answer.
“Mr. Reed?”
“Rosa.”
Something in his voice made me pull into a gas station.
“What happened?”
“Do you remember exactly which box this came from?”
“Yes.”
“Was there anything else inside?”
“Five tapes. One external drive. A blue envelope.”
Silence.
“What blue envelope?”
I gripped the steering wheel.
“Standard letter size. Dark blue. Sealed.”
“Where is it?”
“Same archive cabinet.”
“Did you open it?”
“No.”
“Did anyone?”
“Not while I had it.”
His breathing changed.
“Do not let anyone touch that cabinet tomorrow.”
I looked through the windshield at rain flowing under fluorescent gas-station lights.
“Why?”
Another silence.
Then he said, “Because Evelyn wasn’t talking to herself on that tape.”
“Who was she talking to?”
“My sister.”
Caroline Reed.
Nathaniel’s older sister.
President of the Reed Family Foundation.
Member of Reed Development’s board.
The woman whose photograph appeared beside hospital wings, museums, political fundraisers, and charity galas all over Connecticut and New York.
I had met her maybe six times.
She wore expensive perfume that smelled like orange blossom and something metallic.
She always remembered my name.
That had once impressed me.
“What did Mrs. Reed say?”
Nathaniel answered carefully.
“She said Caroline had no authority to move money out of something called the Open Floor Fund.”
I frowned.
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“Neither have I.”
The next morning, the blue envelope was gone.
I knew before I opened the cabinet fully.
Shelf three was wrong.
I had arranged the archive boxes by date.
The box with Evelyn’s unlabeled media had been second from the left.
Now it was third.
Small thing.
Most people would not notice.
I did.
I pulled it out.
Five tapes.
External drive.
No envelope.
My mouth went dry.
Margaret entered behind me carrying an inventory clipboard.
“You look like you’ve seen a body.”
“The blue envelope is gone.”
She frowned.
“What blue envelope?”
“The one in this box.”
She put down the clipboard.
“When?”
“Yesterday it was here.”
“Who knew?”
“Me.”
“Nathaniel?”
“Yes.”
“Anyone else?”
“No.”
Margaret walked to the door.
Then stopped.
“Caroline arrived at seven this morning.”
I stared at her.
“Why?”
“Foundation committee meeting.”
“Does she usually come through this wing?”
“No.”
Margaret’s face changed.
“Lock the cabinet.”
“There are master keys.”
“I know.”
She took out her phone.
“What are you doing?”
“Something I should have done years ago.”
She photographed the cabinet.
Then the shelf.
Then the box.
I liked Margaret even more.
“Do not accuse anyone,” she said.
“I wasn’t going to.”
“Good.”
May you like
She looked at me.
“And don’t be naive enough to assume only poor people steal.”
