Adanna didn't go to the police.
Instead, she called the only person Malcolm ever warned her not to trust.
Vanessa Grey.
The name alone made her stomach knot.
They had never met, but Adanna had seen her photo once — hidden in a locked drawer Malcolm thought she didn't know about. A glamorous woman in red lipstick, standing beside him in a beachside resort, her smile too intimate to be business.
Now, Adanna sat across from her at a quiet hotel café, the tension between them thick and sharp.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," Vanessa said, sipping her drink like it was champagne and not black coffee.
Adanna didn't flinch. "I buried my husband last week. You might understand."
Vanessa's expression didn't change. "Did you?"
"What?"
Vanessa leaned in slightly. "You said you buried him. But I saw Malcolm two days ago. Alive."
Adanna blinked. "That's not possible."
Vanessa reached into her bag and slid over a photo. It showed Malcolm — same posture, same eyes — walking into a nondescript building. The timestamp? Three days after his funeral.
"I don't know what game you two were playing," Vanessa said. "But I want in. Or I'll blow this wide open."