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“Emma, that’s . . . tragic. I’m so sorry. It must be horrible to . . . have that tape. To have that reminder.”
“There’s more,” Emma said. “Another message. And that’s what I really want you to hear.”
Emma took a deep breath and another sip of wine before starting the answering machine again.
“Emma, it’s me. Umm . . . listen. I’m hearing some crazy things right now. It’s all very chaotic and I don’t know what to believe. Terrorists and airplanes. There was another explosion and people are saying a second plane hit the tower. Or the South Tower. I don’t . . . there’s nowhere for us to go. The door to the roof was locked, so we’re going to try to go down again. Someone said they know a different stairwell that might be open. So . . . I’m going now. But . . .”
A long pause hollowed the air on the patio and Avery noticed she had stopped breathing. She was leaning closer to the answering machine, waiting for Victoria Ford’s next words. There was a softness to this recording that was not present in the first. A lack of background noise and absence of the chaos that had been present in the first recording lent a stillness to this message that gave Avery the impression that not only Victoria Ford, but the building itself had given in to its fate. Victoria’s voice finally came.
“Everything that’s happening with me. Everything with the investigation. Please know . . . It’s important to me that you know . . . I didn’t do the things they’ve accused me of. I loved Cameron, that much is true. But I didn’t kill him. You know me, Em. You know I’m not capable of that. They said they found my blood and urine at the scene. But that can’t be true. None of it can be true. Please believe me. If I . . . Emma, if I’m not able to get out of this building . . . Please believe that I’m innocent. Please . . .”
Avery waited through several seconds of silence. For a moment she thought the recording was finished, but Emma made no move to stop the machine. Finally, Victoria Ford’s voice came back to them one last time.
“Find a way, Em. Find a way to prove it. Please? Just find a way to prove to the world that I’m not the monster they’ve painted me to be. I’ve gotta go now. I love you. ”
Emma reached to the center of the table and stopped the recording. She looked up at Avery.
“So there you have it. My sister’s dying request was for me to prove her innocence. I’ve tried for twenty years but have made little progress. The people who were involved with the case back then, like the rest of the world, became overwhelmed by the aftermath of 9/11. When things returned to some state of normal, my sister and the case against her was packed away. The matter was considered finished. I tried to keep the investigation going, knowing that the things they claimed my sister did could not be true. But no one wanted to hear from me. No one wanted to talk to me. No one cared.”
“I care,” Avery said.
She had not simply found a story that would stand out from the fall lineup of exposés commemorating the twenty-year anniversary of 9/11, she had found a mystery. She had traveled across the country for another, perhaps more important, reason. She was using the identification of Victoria Ford’s remains as cover to hide the real purpose of her presence in New York, which was to finish the business of the Montgomery family for good. But somehow, without looking for it, Avery found herself in the middle of the Catskill Mountains with an afternoon wine buzz and staring at a big, fat ratings giant of a mystery.
“I’m a big believer in fate,” Emma said. “Everything happens for a reason. I believe fate brought you to my doorstep. Victoria asked me to clear her name. She didn’t want to be remembered as a killer. Over the years, I haven’t had much success in disproving any part of the case against Victoria. The blood, the urine, or any of the other evidence. But I haven’t had much help either. Maybe that’s about to change? With your help . . . I mean together, maybe you and I will have better luck. The same way that Victoria will always be that young and healthy woman in my mind, she will always be innocent to me, as well. So when you asked if finally identifying my sister’s remains brings me closure . . . perhaps a bit. But the only thing that will bring me peace is finally proving that my baby sister never killed anyone. Will you help me?”
Avery’s agent had asked for details about the content Avery planned to bring to the upcoming season of American Events. Dwight Corey had asked for ammunition before he went back to the negotiating table. She had just stumbled into a munitions factory.
“Will you help me?” Emma asked again.
Avery slowly nodded. “I will.”
PART III
Deception
CHAPTER 21
Manhattan, NY Monday, June 28, 2021
“WHERE?” DWIGHT COREY ASKED.
Avery sat at Jacques, the bar at the Lowell Hotel, and used the straw to stir the ice in her Tito’s and soda. It had been three days since her drunken afternoon with Emma Kind, when two bottles of chardonnay had accompanied some startling revelations about Victoria Ford.
“New York,” Avery said.
“What are you doing in New York?
“Chasing a story.”
“Well, your timing is for shit. Mosley Germaine wants to meet to discuss your contract. He’s left a string of messages for me to call him back.”
“Did they come up from seven-fifty?”
“They’re holding firm, but they want to talk incentives and perks.”
“I’m not talking incentives and perks until the base is set. Did you get my e-mail?”
Avery had sent her agent an e-mail detailing the salaries of newsmagazine hosts for the past twenty years, adjusted for inflation and according to ratings. The spreadsheet included the hosts of Dateline, 20/20, 48 Hours, and 60 Minutes coupled with the Nielsen ratings for each. According to the models Avery compiled, pitting her ratings against the competition, $750,000 per year would be grossly underpaying her.
