The Voice Behind the Door
Chapter 03 - The Voice Behind the Door
Adrian didn't take us to a penthouse or a private restaurant. He arranged to meet in an ordinary rehearsal studio on the Upper West Side. Sunlight poured through tall windows onto scuffed floorboards. Somebody had left a pair of pink ballet shoes beneath a chair.
“This belonged to Lydia,” he said. “She paid the rent herself. I didn't know about it until after she died.”
I gave him the notebook. He read the first page and sat down slowly.
“To Dad,” it began in Lydia's slanted handwriting, “when you finally understand why this work matters.”
His lower lip trembled. Sophie pretended not to notice, carefully arranging her rabbit on a bench.
I explained how Lydia and I had met while volunteering at the same community center, how she had practiced with Sophie as a toddler, and how she'd insisted that talent didn't require a wealthy family. Adrian listened without correcting me.
“Why did you never contact me?” he asked.
“I tried. Twice.”
He looked up.
“Your office said you didn't want to hear from anyone making claims about the accident.”
His eyes moved toward Nina, who shook her head. “I was not in that role at the time.”
Adrian asked for dates. I had kept one certified letter and a copy of an email. His former executive assistant had acknowledged neither. Celeste was a member of the foundation's event committee that year, though they hadn't begun dating until later.
Then I played Lydia's message.
“Mara, if something happens, look at the scholarship files. Ask my father why the winter grants never reached the schools. And don't tell Celeste until you—”
There was a scuff, a door opening, a woman saying, “Lydia, we need to settle this,” and the recording ended.
Adrian stared at my phone. “Play the last part again.”
I did. He closed his eyes.
“That's Celeste.”
I watched his face. Recognition wasn't proof of wrongdoing, and he seemed to know it.
“We need the original file examined,” Nina said. “And we shouldn't draw conclusions about the crash from a recording alone.”
Adrian nodded. “I want an independent investigation of the foundation's records. No one involved in the current committee chooses the auditors.”
Sophie wandered to a framed photograph of Lydia performing in a theater. She touched the glass.
“That's Aunt Lydia,” she said.
Adrian joined her. “You remember her?”
“She smelled like oranges. And she always said you can start again after a mistake.”
Adrian covered his eyes. I looked away so he could have the moment without an audience.
When we left, he asked whether Sophie wanted lessons with a qualified instructor. I told him she already studied in a small free program and needed to finish the year with her friends. His response surprised me.
“Then perhaps we should help that program instead of moving her somewhere more impressive.”
That afternoon, Celeste called me from an unlisted number.
“You've enjoyed your little performance,” she said. “Now leave Adrian alone.”
“Your name was on Lydia's message.”
A long silence followed.
May you like
“Be careful what you think you heard,” Celeste said. “Your daughter has a future you can ruin.”
The call ended. I saved the time and immediately told Nina. For once, I wasn't going to keep someone else's threat to myself.
