Chapter 8: The Night Thomas Died
I held the phone toward Margaret.
“Why were you at the hospital the night Thomas died?””
She stared at the message.
For several seconds, she didn't speak.
Daniel stood a few steps behind us.
Finally, Margaret took a breath.
“I was there because Thomas asked me to come.””
“Why didn't I know?””
“Because he asked me not to tell you.””
I felt something break inside my chest.
“I was his wife. I was sitting beside him every night.””
“I know.””
“Then why was he calling you?””
Margaret's eyes filled.
“He wanted to discuss the estate.””
I shook my head.
“No. I want the truth.””
She lowered her gaze.
“The night Thomas died, he discovered that someone had entered the estate's private archive and removed several documents. He believed the person was connected to Richard Whitmore.””
“And you went to the hospital to discuss that?””
“Yes.””
“While I was sitting beside my dying husband?””
Margaret flinched.
“I am sorry, Leah.””
I turned away.
I couldn't bear looking at her.
For three months, I had replayed Thomas's final days in my mind.
The last dinner we shared.
The last time he held my hand.
The moment his breathing became shallow and the nurse told me to prepare myself.
I remembered falling asleep in the hospital chair shortly before dawn.
I remembered waking to find his hand cold.
And now I was learning that there had been conversations I knew nothing about.
“Did he say anything about me?””
Margaret nodded.
“He asked whether you had eaten.””
I closed my eyes.
“He always worried about that.””
“He also asked me to make sure the estate remained protected. He said you deserved a chance to live without being controlled by anyone.””
I looked at her.
“Was that why you were there?””
“Partly.””
“What else?””
Margaret hesitated.
Then she reached into her briefcase and removed a small envelope.
“Thomas gave me this before he passed away. He instructed me to hand it to you only if someone attempted to challenge the inheritance.””
I opened it.
Inside was a handwritten note and a small photograph.
The photograph showed a building surrounded by snow.
It was a smaller property north of the main estate.
On the back, Thomas had written:
The place where everything began.
I looked at Margaret.
“What happened there in 2019?””
She pulled out another folder.
“Richard wanted to purchase the northern land because it contained a natural spring and a protected water source. Thomas refused.””
“And?””
“Richard began clearing trees on a neighboring parcel. His contractors crossed the boundary and damaged part of the protected watershed.””
I frowned.
“Was anyone hurt?””
Margaret nodded.
“A local worker named Samuel Reed suffered serious injuries when a section of unstable ground collapsed.””
“Was it an accident?””
“That's what Richard claimed.””
She opened the incident report.
The original inspection had found that the contractors had ignored several safety warnings.
But the report had disappeared from the county records shortly afterward.
“Thomas hired an independent investigator,” Margaret continued.
“He discovered that the company responsible for the clearing operation had been secretly funded by one of Richard's subsidiaries.””
I read the company name.
Whitmore Development Group.
My stomach tightened.
“Did Thomas report it?””
“He tried.””
“What happened?””
“Richard threatened to sue him for defamation. Then the investigator received a substantial settlement offer and withdrew his findings.””
I looked at the report.
“Did Thomas give the evidence to the police?””
“He was preparing to.””
I stared at Margaret.
“Was that why Richard wanted the land so badly? To hide what happened?””
Margaret nodded.
“The north property contains the original drainage records and several documents connected to the incident.””
I thought about the warning message.
Your husband knew the truth.
“Who sent me that message?””
“I don't know.””
“Could it be Richard?””
“Possibly. Or someone who wants us to suspect him.””
I looked at the photograph again.
The little building stood beside a frozen stream.
“Can we go there?””
Margaret hesitated.
“There's a problem.””
“What?””
“The road to the northern property has been closed for maintenance. The only access is through a service track.””
Daniel stepped forward.
“I can take you.””
Margaret looked at him.
“Daniel, we don't know whether it's safe.””
“Neither do we know what has happened there.””
He turned to me.
“Mr. Bennett used to take me there himself. I know the route.””
I looked at the photograph.
Thomas had left it for me.
I wasn't going to ignore it.
“Let's go.””
We left shortly after two.
Daniel drove a four-wheel-drive estate vehicle. Margaret sat beside him, while I held the photograph in my lap.
The road climbed steadily.
Pine trees crowded the narrow track, their branches heavy with snow.
After forty minutes, Daniel slowed down.
“There.””
Through the trees, I saw the building.
It was a small timber structure with a stone foundation.
Unlike the main lodge, it looked old and neglected.
A rusted metal sign hung beside the door.
NORTH PROPERTY — PRIVATE ACCESS.
Daniel parked.
“Stay close,” he told me.
We approached the building.
The door was locked, but Margaret had brought a key from the archive.
Inside, the air smelled of dust and damp wood.
There was a desk, two filing cabinets, and a small wood-burning stove.
Thomas's old coat still hung on a hook.
I touched the sleeve.
It felt like touching his shoulder.
On the desk sat a photograph of three men.
Thomas.
Richard.
And a younger man I didn't recognize.
I picked it up.
“Who is this?””
Margaret examined it.
“Samuel Reed.””
I turned the photograph over.
There was a handwritten note.
If anything happens to me, Samuel knows where the original records are.
I looked at Daniel.
“Is Samuel still alive?””
Daniel nodded.
“He lives in Pine Hollow. He manages a small repair shop.””
“Then we need to find him.””
Before Daniel could respond, a noise came from outside.
A car door slammed.
We froze.
Footsteps crunched across the snow.
Then someone knocked twice.
Daniel moved toward the window.
His expression changed.
“Mrs. Bennett…”
“Who is it?””
He looked at Margaret.
“It's Jared.””
My heart sank.
The door opened.
My son stepped inside wearing a dark jacket, his hair disheveled.
“Mom,” he said.
I stared at him.
“How did you find us?””
He glanced at the documents on the desk.
“That's not important.””
“Why are you here?””
He took a step closer.
“Because you're making a terrible mistake.””
I folded my arms.
“Your father left this place to me.””
Jared's jaw tightened.
“Dad left me the penthouse. You got the cabin. That's how it was supposed to be.””
“Then why are you trying to transfer it?””
“I told you. I'm trying to protect the family.””
He looked at the photograph in my hand.
Then his expression changed.
“Where did you get that?””
I looked down.
“Why?””
Jared moved toward me.
“Give it to me.””
I stepped backward.
“No.””
For the first time, I saw something in my son's eyes that I had never seen before.
Fear.
Not anger.
Not frustration.
May you like
Fear.
“Mom,” he whispered, “you don't understand what that photograph proves.””
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