She Was Hired to Finish the Book—But the Last Chapter Was a Confession
CHAPTER 5
Mara confronted Ethan.
He listened without interrupting.
When she finished, he poured himself whiskey.
“You’ve been talking to Noah.”
“Yes.”
“That’s inappropriate.”
“He’s eleven.”
“Exactly.”
“Then why is he afraid of you?”
Ethan looked at her.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“June.”
His hand stopped.
Mara saw it.
The smallest reaction.
But enough.
“What happened to her?”
“She died.”
“Where is her body?”
Ethan’s face hardened.
“Some questions have no useful answers.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“No.”
He walked toward her.
“It’s a warning.”
Mara refused to move.
“You hired me to finish your wife’s books.”
“Yes.”
“Why me?”
“Because Celia requested you.”
Mara froze.
“What?”
“Before the accident, she told me your name.”
“She knew me?”
“She read your first novel.”
Mara had published exactly one book.
It had sold fewer than two thousand copies.
Celia Vale had personally requested her?
“Why?”
Ethan smiled.
“That’s what you should be asking.”
That evening, Mara searched her own email archives.
Seven months earlier, she had received an anonymous message.
No subject.
No signature.
Only one line:
If you want to become the writer you were meant to be, don’t stop looking.
She had assumed it was spam.
Now she wasn’t so sure.
Daniel called.
“I found something.”
“What?”
“June Vale’s death certificate.”
“And?”
“The signature belongs to a doctor who died two years before June supposedly drowned.”
Mara sat down.
“You’re kidding.”
“No.”
“Then the death certificate is fake.”
“Yes.”
A second message arrived.
I also found a photograph of June taken four years after her supposed death.
Mara’s pulse quickened.
“Where?”
“Someone uploaded it anonymously to a private archive.”
“Send it.”
Her phone buzzed.
Mara opened the photograph.
June stood outside a train station.
Older.
Alive.
And beside her stood Celia.
But Celia wasn’t smiling.
She looked terrified.
Mara enlarged the photograph.
Someone was standing behind them.
A man.
Ethan.
Daniel called again.
“Mara.”
“Yes?”
“I found something else.”
“What?”
“The photograph was taken three months before Celia’s accident.”
Mara looked toward the hallway.
Ethan stood there.
Watching her.
