Page 71 of The Senator's Wife

She went back inside and watched as he drove away. Things were coming to a head. Athena knew it all had to play out with precision if she was to get what she wanted. Whit’s firing Doris would make things that much easier for Athena without the woman constantly observing her. Once Whit was gone, she went to the bedroom he’d been using since Sloane’s surgery. The key to his office had to be here somewhere, unless he kept it with him at all times. She stood in the doorway and surveyed the guest room, one not quite as large as the room he once shared with Sloane, but exquisitely decorated nonetheless. Where to start? Going first to the low dresser against the far wall, she went through each drawer, careful to replace every item in the same way she’d found it. Next, she searched the closet, going through the pockets of every pair of pants and every jacket. With Whit’s sizable wardrobe, this was time-consuming. No key.The night tables produced nothing either. Then she had a thought. It was a long shot, but the only place she hadn’t looked was the bathroom. Naturally, the room was three times the size of the average bathroom, Athena thought wryly as she took in the large vanity boasting nine drawers and a center cabinet in addition to a linen closet on the far wall. She let out a whoosh of air and sat on the commode before attacking all those drawers and shelves, when suddenly an idea occurred to her. Could it be? She swiveled around, lifting the lid of the antique toilet tank. Bingo!

Clutching the key in her hand, she hurried downstairs to Whit’s office and, taking a deep breath, smoothly inserted it. The sound of the lock turning was gratifying. Finally, she was in. Closing and locking the door behind her, she leaned her back against it and took another deep breath. There was no time to waste.

A brief glance around the room made clear the reason Whit spent so much time locked away here. Beautiful leather volumes filled built-in bookcases made of mahogany so dark it almost looked black. The hunter green walls and jewel-toned rug gave the space a rich, warm feel. In one corner sat two leather wing chairs with a small round table between them. She took a seat behind Whit’s uncluttered desk and pulled the handle of the top drawer on the left, the one that looked most like a file drawer, but it didn’t budge. She quickly determined that it was the only locked drawer. Pulling two bobby pins from her pocket, she inserted them into the lock, keeping the one on the bottom still and wiggling the top one until the lock turned.

She quickly thumbed through the hanging folders until a thick one labeled “Estate Planning” caught her eye. She placed it on the desk and opened it. Inside were copies of Whit’s and Sloane’s wills. She took the phone from her pocket and methodically scanned each page, which she’d read later. Casting an eye over the other files, she saw little of interest—health insurance information, credit card statements, and other household matters—until she noticed an unlabeled folder with a red star on it. Bank statementsin the name of an LLC, which she scanned into her phone before returning the file and closing the drawer. She’d have to hope Whit would assume he’d forgotten to lock the drawer. Athena looked at her watch. She’d been in the office a little over eight minutes.

Standing, she went to one of the bookcases and knelt down to open the cabinet doors. She blinked in confusion; her brow furrowed as she took a closer look. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. She snapped pictures of the items, one by one, then put everything back as it was. Rocking on her heels, she closed the doors and stood.

Sloane was asleep when Athena walked into the bedroom, and the sound of the door sensor beeping did nothing to rouse her. She would have to let her know later that the laptop hadn’t been in his office. Sloane looked like death warmed over, but no wonder, Athena thought. Anyone would look like that with the combination of potent drugs she’d been given. Drugs that were actually making her sicker, not better.

After returning Whit’s key to its hiding place, she sat on her bed, opened the PDF she’d scanned, and began to read. Finally—the answer she’d been seeking. If Sloane died, Whit stood to inherit everything. He’d already been placed on all the house trusts, and so the residential real estate holdings would be his. And now that he was cotrustee with Sloane of the foundation trust and in control of all its assets, all that money would be at his disposal alone once Sloane was gone. Sloane Montgomery had to die. And soon. She would talk to Whit when he came home tonight and make him see that the only merciful thing to do was to relieve Sloane of her misery.

- 56 -

WHIT

Whit was wiped out when he got home a little past nine. The house was quiet, and when he stopped by Sloane’s room, he sat on the bed.

“How are you feeling?”

“Some pain, but I’ll survive.”

“Athena said you haven’t been sleeping well and you refuse to take a sedative. I called the doctor, and he said sleep is integral to your recovery. You need to take one.” He picked up the bottle on the nightstand and opened it, putting a pill in his hand, then passed it to her with a cup of water. “I insist.”

Sloane took the pill from him, and he watched as she put it in her mouth and drank from the cup. “Good girl. I’ll be back to check on you in a little while.”

He continued to Athena’s room and knocked on the door.

“How are you doing?” she asked. “Have you decided what to tell Sloane about the test results?”

“Let’s take a drive. I don’t want her to overhear.”

“But with Doris gone and Yvette’s shift over, there’s no one here. Do you think it’s a good idea to leave her?”

“I just gave her a sedative. She’ll be out for hours. And we won’t be gone that long.”

They made small talk as Whit drove, until they reached Montrose Park and he put the car in park. He turned to face Athena.

“I’ve thought about this a lot, and I don’t think I’m going to say anything to Sloane. What’s the point of being cruel? It’s pretty clear that she’s not going to get better. I don’t want to make her final days any worse.”

“I have to agree. I don’t think she’s ever going to improve.”

“It’s so hard. I’m only coping at all because of you. The only thing I look forward to anymore is seeing you every night.” He paused a moment, then went on. “I don’t think I could make it through this if you weren’t here. The outlook is so bleak. If only the doctor had given me more hope, but no amount of medication can reverse the damage to her brain.”

Athena spoke calmly. “I haven’t wanted to say anything, but I’ve seen this before. Once things progress to this level, there’s no going back. The possible neurological disorders are horrendous. Physical things like peripheral and sensory neuropathies, paralysis, and seizures. And even worse, the psychological possibilities—confusion, personality changes, paranoia, mania, schizophrenia. The memory loss and confusion are already manifesting. There’s nothing we can do except watch her suffer until she dies…unless…”

Whit’s hand reached out to grasp hers. “Unless what?”

Athena squeezed his hand. “She could have a stroke at any time, descend into a vegetative state, hover between life and death. It would be cruel to let that happen. You know Sloane would want us to do something. Imagine this elegant, refined woman of such intelligence and charm being reduced to an incoherent and paralyzed shell of her former self.”

Whit sighed. “I don’t want to see her suffer either, but…”

Athena leaned in closer to him. “You know better than anyone what she’s been through with her illness. How hard it’s been. She’s not a wife any longer. Sloane knows that. You know that she doesn’t want to live this way. She’s said the same thing to me over the past few weeks. We owe it to her to help her end her pain.” She paused. “I know you can’t bring yourself to do it. But I can. I’ll be her angel of mercy.”

“Her angel of mercy?”

Athena nodded. “Sloane isn’t really living anymore. We have to end her suffering. You’ve been so good to her. The best gift you can give to her is to help her escape her pain. You know there’s nohope for her now. We’re only prolonging her misery.” She gave him an earnest look. “You’ve told me yourself that she never wanted to end up like Harold’s wife.”

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