The Choice
The SUV disappeared into the white silence of the forest. Lauren stood in the center of her quiet kitchen, the card still beneath her palm.
She flipped it over. It was for a private Swiss bank, but on the back, a series of dates and numbers were scrawled—dates that matched the “meetings” and “errands” Charles had supposedly been running. Below them, a single sentence was written in a hand that didn’t look “muddled” at all:
“The pills make me forget, but the ledger doesn’t lie. Look for the Arthur Winthrop Trust.”
Lauren looked at the iron poker by the fire. She looked at the empty chair where Mabel had sat. Charles had underestimated Lauren. He thought she was just a “practical girl” in a storm. He didn’t know that she was an expert in recognizing a predator’s shadow.
The snow was still falling, but for the first time in years, Lauren wasn’t hiding. She was hunting.
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