Chapter 5 - The Coffin With the Wrong NameThe next morning, Nora drove to Ash Point.
She had not slept.
Her wedding gown lay folded in the trunk of her car because she could not bear to bring it inside her apartment.
Her engagement ring remained on the altar at Bellwether Hall.
And Julian had called thirty-seven times.
She hadn't answered once.
Ash Point occupied nearly two hundred acres along the Massachusetts coast. Once an industrial waterfront, it had gradually become a strange mixture of abandoned warehouses, aging apartment buildings, fishing businesses, and homes occupied by families who had lived there for generations.
Cross Harbor Development had spent years buying the surrounding properties.
Nora knew the district well.
For the past eight months, she'd been consulting on an architectural preservation proposal funded by the Harbor Homes redevelopment initiative.
Julian had encouraged her involvement.
"I want you to help make something beautiful," he had said.
Now she wondered whether he had wanted her expertise or simply her name.
She parked outside a small brick apartment building overlooking the harbor.
A sign on the front door read:
ASH POINT RESIDENTS' ASSOCIATION — COMMUNITY MEETING, 10 A.M.
Inside, twenty people sat in a cramped recreation room.
An elderly woman recognized Nora immediately.
"You're the architect."
Nora nodded.
"I'm Nora Bellamy."
The woman folded her arms.
"You're marrying the man who's trying to throw us out."
"Not anymore."
The room became quiet.
A younger man stepped forward.
He was tall, with deep-set eyes and a faded navy work jacket.
"Samuel Wade."
Nora stared at him.
"Wade?"
"Lillian Wade was my mother."
The name struck her like a physical blow.
Samuel watched her carefully.
"I heard what happened at your wedding."
"I'm sorry."
He gave a short, bitter laugh.
"Everyone's been sorry about my mother for three years."
Nora didn't know what to say.
Samuel led her to a folding table covered in letters.
"The company promised my mother that Ash Point would remain affordable housing. They said the original tenants would have first priority after redevelopment."
Nora examined a document.
It bore the Harbor Homes logo.
She recognized the wording.
The same promises appeared in the concept drawings Julian had shown her.
"What changed?"
Samuel handed her a second letter.
"Three weeks ago, Cross Harbor notified us that our leases would not be renewed. They're converting the property into luxury waterfront residences."
Nora read the notice.
A property management subsidiary was offering relocation payments.
The amounts varied by unit.
The deadline to accept was November 1.
That date made her pause.
Julian had mentioned an important corporate closing at the beginning of November.
He'd called it the culmination of years of work.
She turned to Samuel.
"What happened to the affordable housing agreement?"
"That's what we've been asking."
A woman near the back raised her hand.
"My husband is seventy-eight. He's been on dialysis for six years. Where exactly are we supposed to go?"
Nora had no answer.
She looked at the architectural drawings pinned to the wall.
Her drawings.
Her name.
And beneath them, a bright rendering of new glass towers she'd never designed.
"Who produced that?" she asked.
Samuel followed her gaze.
"The developer's sales office."
Nora stepped closer.
Someone had taken her original historical preservation plan, removed the protected housing blocks, and replaced them with a luxury development.
Her title block remained in the lower-right corner.
NORA BELLAMY, AIA — LEAD PRESERVATION ARCHITECT.
"That's not my drawing."
Samuel frowned.
"What?"
"My name is on it, but I never approved this."
He regarded her with new interest.
"Then somebody wants people to think you did."
Nora took photographs of the documents.
"May I have copies of everything?"
Samuel nodded.
Then he reached beneath the table.
"There's something else."
He withdrew a yellowed envelope.
It had been folded so many times that its edges had begun to split.
"My mother gave this to me a week before the fire."
Nora looked at the handwriting on the front.
SAM — IF ANYTHING HAPPENS, MAKE SURE ELISE SEES THIS.
"Did you give it to her?"
Samuel shook his head.
"Elise was dead. That's what everybody said."
"Did you open it?"
"Not until last night."
He removed a single sheet of paper.
It contained a list of account transfers.
Dates.
Amounts.
A company called Harbor Civic Services LLC.
Nora recognized none of the transactions.
But one number appeared repeatedly.
$12,400,000.
At the bottom, Lillian had written:
These are the families' homes, not their private bank account.
Nora felt her chest tighten.
"Have you shown this to the police?"
"Not yet."
"You need to."
Samuel studied her face.
"Why would you help us?"
She thought of Julian's hands around hers in Venice.
Of the way he had promised her a life built on honesty.
Of the wedding guests staring at a woman wrapped in bandages.
"Because I think my work has been used to help steal something from you."
Samuel looked down at the paper.
"My mother trusted Elise."
Nora nodded.
"I know."
"She said Elise was the only person in that company who cared what happened to ordinary people."
Nora wanted to believe that.
But one question still troubled her.
"Why didn't Elise tell anyone she was alive?"
Samuel looked toward the harbor.
"I've been wondering the same thing."
Outside, a black SUV rolled slowly past the building.
Its windows were dark.
Nora barely noticed until Samuel stepped closer to the window.
"That car's been here every morning since the wedding."
She followed his gaze.
The SUV stopped.
A man in a gray coat climbed out and photographed her vehicle.
Samuel reached for his phone.
Nora's own phone vibrated.
An unknown number.
A message appeared.
You should have married him, Nora. Now you've made yourself part of the problem.
Attached was a photograph taken less than a minute earlier.
It showed her standing beside Samuel Wade.
Through the recreation room window.
May you like
Someone was watching them.
And whoever it was already knew they had found each other.
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