Page 74 of The Better Sister

I had shown Nicky the documents I found in my file drawer, and she had convinced me not to take them to the police for now. The way she saw it, Ethan had finally gotten home, and the last thing we needed to do was call attention to our family again. The government was already investigating the Gentry Group and had been worried enough about the potential connection to Adam’s murder to notify Nunzio of Adam’s contacts with the FBI. The day Olivia called an FBI agent to the stand to testify that Adam had offered to turn over incriminating evidence against not only the Gentry Group but other lawyers at Rives & Braddock, Gentry’s stock had dropped nearly 20 percent, and three major R&B clients had announced they were parting ways with their law firm.

Nicky seemed convinced that the FBI would get to the truth, whether I gave them Adam’s notes or not.

“But what if Adam’s murder is never officially solved? Ethan will spend the rest of his life under a cloud of suspicion. People are always going to wonder.”

Nicky gave my forearm a small squeeze. “We talked about this, Chloe. Just lay low for a while. You know the DA’s pissed about getting their asses handed to them at trial. If you embarrass them again, they could start investigatingyou.”

As far as we knew, Jake didn’t have an alibi for the night of Adam’s murder. There was nothing to stop the police from arguing that Jake killed Adam, and I was the one who put him up to it.

Nicky could tell that I was still torn. “The documents will be safe and sound in your desk. If the FBI doesn’t connect the dots on their own, you can always come forward later.”

She was right. I let myself push the thought away. For six months, I had focused on nothing except Adam’s murder. I needed to think about the future.

Part IV

Chloe

38

Three Weeks Later

The smell of fresh pine greeted me when I opened the apartment door.

It was the first time we’d gotten an honest-to-God Christmas tree in three years, and this year, we did it up right. Ethan and Nicky had lugged back a six-foot balsam fir from the Union Square Greenmarket while I served as the sidewalk lookout. And we had an even bigger blue spruce for the house in East Hampton, where we planned to spend Christmas Day.

I tossed my briefcase and the mail on the bench in the foyer, kicked off my boots, and hung my coat in the front closet. As I turned the corner into the living room, I noticed a strand of garland draped on the hardwood floor next to two ornaments that had come loose.

“Panda,” I called out as I tucked the decorations back into place. “Greedy Boy!”

He appeared from beneath the sofa, buzzing past the tree like a ninja, only to circle the room and disappear under the sofa again.

“You’re silly, baby.”

The rest of the apartment was unoccupied, even the kitchen, despite Nicky’s text to me that morning about a recipe she was excited to make. She’d promised an “epic dinner” when I got home from work.

I pulled my cell phone from my briefcase and composed a text.Where’s my dinner, woman?

I waited as dots appeared on the screen, followed bySorry. We ran late Christmas shopping and are getting groceries now. Eataly! Epic, I promise.

I grabbed the mail from the bench and made my way back to the kitchen. I reached for a bottle of wine beneath the island and then opted for a martini instead. I had reason to celebrate. It was Friday night, and the bonus check I got that day made it clear my job atEvewas more than safe.

The first sip of gin burned, but the second went down smooth. I hit the remote control to watch the news on the little TV next to the fridge, and then turned my attention to the pile of mail. There had been so many last-minute holiday-shopping catalogs that the mailman had to leave a rubber-banded heap with the doorman.

When I reached the bottom of the stack, I found a brown mailing envelope addressed to Ethan. It was from the Cuyahoga County Clerk of Courts.

What could Ethan need from the court system in Cleveland? I told myself it was probably something Olivia had asked for in the course of the trial and that, regardless, I’d find out for certain once Ethan came home.

I made it through half my martini and two department-store catalogs before I opened the envelope. The cover document was a form letter, indicating the date of the request, the number of pages, and the amount charged. It showed a deposit of $25 in April to initiate an archive search, and then a recent charge for the balance owed for copying the resulting pages, forty-two in all.

The case wasAdam Macintosh v. Nicole Taylor Macintosh. These were the records from Adam’s custody fight with Nicky before they settled. I vaguely recalled a $25 court system charge I had found on our credit card after Adam died. I had assumed he had once again used our personal card for a work expense, but the transaction had been Ethan’s. He was looking into the circumstances that had taken him away from Nicky.

I had read the file and was stashing the envelope into my briefcase when I heard keys in the door. I was still standing in the foyer when they entered, all four arms loaded down with bags.

“Hey,” Nicky said, nearly bumping me with the door.

“Hey,” I said, reaching for a few of the bags and setting them down on the bench. “I’m sorry. I forgot something at work that I need to do tonight. I just need to grab it, and I’ll be right back.”

Nicky threw Ethan a skeptical look. “I think someone’s trying to get out of cooking.”

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