Chapter 2 - The Empty Chair
By Christmas morning, Daniel had read the message so often that the words seemed burned into the glass.
Ask your boss what happened to Rachel.
Rachel had died from cancer.
He had sat beside her through appointments, treatments, and the terrible final afternoon when her breathing changed. No anonymous stranger could rewrite that.
Still, there had been other losses before her death.
The medical bills.
The missed mortgage payments.
The employee hardship application that had disappeared into some corporate office while Daniel begged for an answer.
He had eventually received a brief rejection.
Insufficient qualifying documentation.
He remembered Rachel reading it from her hospital bed.
“Apparently dying requires better paperwork,” she had whispered.
Daniel had laughed because she wanted him to.
Now he wondered who had written those words.
He saved the message, took screenshots, and called the number. It went straight to an automated announcement saying the subscriber was unavailable.
At noon, he sent Victoria a careful message.
Someone knows we looked at those invoices.
She called immediately.
“What happened?”
He described the photograph and repeated the sentence underneath.
Victoria went silent.
“Did you send anyone those documents?” he asked.
“No.”
“Could someone see that you opened them?”
“Yes. Certain administrators could.”
“Martin Bellamy?”
Another silence.
“Yes.”
Daniel looked through the kitchen doorway. Lily stood on a chair, solemnly decorating cookies with enough frosting to repair masonry.
“What did the company do with employee hardship applications three years ago?” he asked.
“Our foundation administered emergency grants.”
“I applied when Rachel was sick.”
“I didn’t know.”
“Someone did.”
“Daniel, I’m going to find the record.”
He wanted to believe her.
That frightened him almost as much as the message.
At five fifty-eight, his doorbell rang.
Victoria stood on the porch holding a grocery-store pie and wearing a simple navy sweater beneath her wool coat.
“I wasn’t sure about wine,” she said.
“Pie outranks wine here.”
Behind him, Lily appeared.
She examined Victoria with frank curiosity.
“You’re Daddy’s boss.”
“I am.”
“Are you the reason he missed my school concert?”
Victoria glanced at Daniel.
“That was a burst pipe,” he said quickly.
Lily considered this.
“Okay. Pipes are rude.”
“I’ve found that too,” Victoria said.
Lily stepped aside.
“You can sit by me.”
Their house was small, warm, and visibly lived in. A crooked Christmas tree occupied one corner. Handmade ornaments hung low enough for a child to reach. Above the fireplace, three stockings remained in place.
Victoria saw the third name.
Rachel.
She said nothing.
During dinner, Lily asked whether hotels had secret tunnels.
“Some have service corridors,” Victoria answered.
“That sounds like what someone would say if there were secret tunnels.”
Daniel laughed into his water.
Victoria relaxed slowly, as though comfort were a language she still understood but had forgotten how to speak.
She helped pass potatoes. She listened to a complicated account of a playground disagreement. When Lily accidentally spilled gravy, Victoria reached for a towel before Daniel could stand.
Afterward, Lily brought over a paper crown.
“We made extras at school.”
Victoria accepted it.
“It’s beautiful.”
“You have to wear it.”
“Even while washing dishes?”
“Especially then.”
At the sink, Daniel dried while Victoria washed.
For several minutes, they discussed nothing heavier than broken dishwasher racks.
Then she said, “Emma used to put glitter in the dishwasher.”
Daniel looked at her.
“She believed everything deserved to sparkle.”
“That sounds expensive.”
“It was.”
Victoria smiled, but tears spilled before she could stop them.
Daniel set the towel down.
“You don’t have to apologize.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“Good.”
She pressed a wrist against her eyes.
“I was.”
From the living room, Lily called, “Do grown-ups cry at Christmas too?”
Victoria turned.
“Sometimes.”
“Daddy does when he thinks I’m asleep.”
Daniel closed his eyes.
Lily approached carrying a cookie shaped vaguely like a star.
“I miss my mom,” she told Victoria.
“I miss my daughter.”
Lily held out the cookie.
“You can miss her here.”
Victoria took it with both hands.
Later, after Lily fell asleep on the couch, Victoria showed Daniel her phone.
She had found the hardship database.
His application was listed as approved.
Award amount: $ forty-eight thousand.
Disbursement status: completed.
Daniel stared.
“We never received a cent.”
Victoria scrolled down.
May you like
The grant had been charged to the Emma Hayes Memorial Fund.
And the person who had authorized the payment was Martin Bellamy.
