My Six-Year-Old Daughter Knocked the Tea From My Hand and Pointed at My Wife—Then the Spill Started Foaming on the Marble
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Chapter 9 / 27
Chapter 9 - The Other Man
The first time I became ill, another person entered my home.
His name was Adrian Vale.
Forty-six.
Private art adviser.
Nora introduced him to me a year earlier.
Educated.
Discreet.
Expert in postwar American painting.
He had helped us evaluate acquisitions.
I liked him.
During my February illness, security logs showed Adrian entering through the west service entrance.
He remained forty-seven minutes.
Why?
Nora told security he was collecting material for an insurance appraisal.
That was plausible.
We owned significant art.
The December episode:
Adrian again.
October:
Again.
Always while I was sick.
May you like
Never when I was well.
That was no longer coincidence I could dismiss casually.
