Chapter 6 - The Memorial of Shadows
Holy Trinity Cathedral was shrouded in a heavy morning mist. Black luxury sedans lined the avenue for three blocks, their polished surfaces reflecting the somber gray sky. It was the social event of the season, masquerading as a funeral.
Hundreds of high-profile executives, politicians, and socialites filled the vaulted stone sanctuary, whispering condolences in hushed, reverent tones. At the front of the nave, beneath a massive stained-glass depiction of the resurrection, stood a mountain of white lilies and orchids.
At the center rested Chloe’s small urn, flanked by massive, flattering portraits of Brendan and me holding her when she was an infant—photographs taken years before Brendan began locking her away in the far wing of the house.
Brendan stood near the entrance, greeting every prominent guest with a somber nod, receiving condolences like an actor collecting awards at an after-party. Samantha stood half a step behind him, greeting donors for the newly announced Chloe Fairchild Foundation.
"Arthur, thank you for coming," Brendan said, stepping forward with outstretched hands to greet an older, silver-haired gentleman whose imposing presence immediately silenced the nearby murmurs.
Arthur Sterling, the venerable founder of Sterling Capital, looked at Brendan with piercing, steel-gray eyes. He did not take Brendan's outstretched hand.
"A terrible tragedy, Brendan," Sterling said, his voice deep and entirely unreadable. "A profound loss."
"Thank you, Arthur," Brendan said, lowering his eyes with manufactured sorrow. "Your presence means everything to us. Chloe was our whole world. After the service, perhaps we could spend ten minutes reviewing the final escrow signatures for Thursday?"
"We will discuss signatures when the appropriate time comes," Sterling replied curtly, his gaze sweeping over Brendan’s shoulder toward the back of the cathedral.
I entered through the heavy bronze doors.
I was not wearing the designer Valentino dress Vivienne had chosen for me. I wore a tailored, sharp charcoal suit—the very suit I had worn seven years ago when I presented my risk models before the federal banking committee. My hair was pulled back into a severe, elegant chignon. I wore no jewelry except for a small, sterling silver pendant containing a lock of Chloe’s baby hair.
The murmurs in the cathedral shifted. I didn't look like a shattered, fragile widow awaiting institutionalization.
I looked like an executioner.
Vivienne hurried toward me, her eyes flashing with fury. "Evelyn! What are you wearing? Where is the black dress? You look like you're attending a board meeting!"
"I am, Vivienne," I said calmly, stepping past her without breaking stride. "You just haven't realized it yet."
Brendan rushed over, catching my arm, his voice a furious, suppressed hiss. "What the hell do you think you're doing? Why did you ignore my calls this morning? Where is Ximena? She hasn't arrived at the office, and her phone is disconnected!"
I looked down at his hand on my forearm until he felt the icy disdain in my gaze and let go.
"Ximena is currently at the United States Attorney’s Office for the Southern District of New York," I said, loud enough for Samantha and Arthur Sterling to hear. "She’s having breakfast with the Chief of the Complex Frauds Unit."
Brendan froze. His jaw slacked. "What did you say?"
May you like
"The service is beginning, Brendan," I said, offering him a serene, razor-sharp smile. "You should take your seat. You wouldn't want to keep your daughter waiting."
---
