Chapter 6: The Night My Husband Died
Daniel closed the library door.
Slowly.
Then he turned toward me.
"Mom, what happened the night Dad died?""
I couldn't answer.
Not immediately.
For eleven years, I'd protected him from the details of that night.
He'd been twenty-one. He'd been finishing his final year at university, and his father had died suddenly after a brief illness.
I'd told Daniel that Richard had suffered a fatal heart complication.
That was true.
But it wasn't the whole truth.
Vanessa was still sitting in the armchair.
She watched me with an expression that was almost satisfied.
I looked at her.
"Would you mind giving us a moment?""
She crossed her legs.
"Why? Is there something you're afraid I'll hear?""
Daniel turned toward her.
"Vanessa, please.""
She stood, but before leaving, she approached him and kissed his cheek.
"Don't let her manipulate you, darling.""
Daniel didn't respond.
Vanessa walked out.
The door clicked shut.
My son stood across from me.
"Tell me.""
I sat down.
"Your father called me from his office at the foundation that evening.""
Daniel pulled out a chair.
"What did he say?""
"He told me someone had been taking money from the organization.""
Daniel's eyes widened.
"How much?""
"At the time, he believed it was close to two hundred thousand dollars.""
"Why didn't you tell the police?""
"Because Richard asked me not to. He believed the person responsible was someone inside the foundation.""
"Who?""
I looked down at my hands.
"He wouldn't tell me over the telephone.""
Daniel leaned forward.
"What happened next?""
"Your father came home around eleven. He was carrying a brown leather folder. He told me he'd found evidence of fraudulent transfers.""
"Was Uncle Thomas involved?""
"I don't know.""
I paused.
"But your father said something that night that frightened me.""
Daniel waited.
"He told me that if anything happened to him, I shouldn't trust anyone who offered to explain the missing money too quickly.""
Daniel looked confused.
"Why?""
"Because he believed the person responsible would try to control the story before anyone could investigate.""
My son stood.
"Mom, are you saying Dad's death wasn't natural?""
I shook my head.
"I don't know.""
The words felt terrible.
For eleven years, I'd believed that Richard's death was a tragic medical event.
Now, with the strange bank account, the forged documents, and Thomas's warning, I wasn't certain of anything.
Daniel sat down again.
"Did Dad give you anything that night?""
I nodded.
"A small key.""
I stood and walked to the writing desk.
Behind a row of old photographs was a wooden box Richard had given me on our twentieth anniversary.
I had kept it locked ever since his death.
The key was still attached to a faded blue ribbon.
I returned to the desk and opened the box.
Inside were three things.
A photograph of Richard and Daniel at the beach.
A handwritten note.
And a small brass key.
Daniel picked up the note.
The handwriting was unmistakable.
Eleanor, if the foundation ever becomes the subject of an investigation, find the original ledger. Do not rely on copies. The truth is in the last place anyone would think to look.
Daniel read it twice.
"What original ledger?""
"I don't know.""
He examined the brass key.
"What's this for?""
"Your father gave it to me that night. I never found the lock it belonged to.""
Daniel turned it over.
There was a tiny engraving on the handle.
*W-17.*
I frowned.
"That looks like a storage reference.""
Daniel reached for his phone.
"I'll call Margaret.""
I nodded.
He dialed.
"Margaret, it's Daniel. Do you remember whether Dad ever kept a storage unit or a private archive?""
I listened as Margaret answered.
Daniel's expression changed.
"Where?""
He looked at me.
"You're sure?""
Another pause.
"Okay. Thank you.""
He ended the call.
"What did she say?"" I asked.
"Before Dad died, he rented a private storage room at the old Whitmore building in Stamford.""
I stared at the key.
"Why didn't anyone tell me?""
"Apparently, Margaret only knew because she helped him move some boxes. She thought everything had been transferred to the estate after his death.""
Daniel turned the key in his fingers.
"W-17. Maybe it's the room number.""
I looked at the clock.
It was nearly five.
"We should go.""
Daniel nodded.
But before either of us could move, my phone rang.
It was Margaret.
I answered.
"Margaret?""
Her voice was trembling.
"Mrs. Whitmore, you need to come to the main entrance.""
"What's wrong?""
"Someone has been here.""
"Who?""
"I don't know, ma'am. But they've been inside your private office.""
My stomach tightened.
"How?""
"The lock isn't damaged. The door was opened with a key.""
I looked toward the library.
The master key to my office was kept in a locked cabinet.
Only three people had access.
Me.
Margaret.
And Daniel.
"Did you see anything missing?"" I asked.
"Not yet. But there's something else.""
"What?""
Margaret lowered her voice.
"I found the office security system disconnected.""
Daniel stood.
"Mom?""
I put the phone on speaker.
"Margaret, did you see anyone?""
"Yes, ma'am.""
"Who?""
She hesitated.
Then she whispered a name.
"Mr. Thomas.""
Daniel went pale.
"When?""
"About fifteen minutes ago. He came back through the servants' entrance. He said he'd forgotten his briefcase.""
I looked toward the desk.
Thomas had taken his briefcase when he left.
Margaret continued.
"He was carrying a small black case when he came out. And he wasn't alone.""
My fingers tightened around the phone.
"Who was with him?""
"I couldn't see the man's face. But I heard Mr. Thomas say something before they left.""
"What?""
Margaret took a shaky breath.
"He said, 'The ledger is gone. We need to get to W-17 before Eleanor does.''"
Daniel stared at me.
Neither of us spoke.
Thomas knew about the storage room.
He knew about the key.
And he knew exactly where we were going.
I ended the call.
Daniel grabbed his jacket.
"Mom, we need to call the police.""
"We will. But first, we need to make sure nobody destroys whatever your father left behind.""
"Then we're going together.""
I looked at him.
"Daniel, this could be dangerous.""
He shook his head.
"Someone has been stealing from your foundation, using Dad's identity, and possibly hiding evidence for eleven years. I'm not letting you face this alone.""
For the first time that afternoon, I saw the little boy I'd raised inside the man standing before me.
I reached for his hand.
"All right. Together.""
We headed toward the garage.
But as I opened the passenger door, my phone vibrated again.
Another message from the unknown number.
This time, there was no photograph.
Only a sentence.
*IF YOU OPEN ROOM W-17, YOU'LL DISCOVER WHY YOUR HUSBAND REALLY DIED.*
I looked at Daniel.
He had already read it over my shoulder.
Then he asked the question I had been dreading.
"Mom, what if Dad didn't die from a heart condition?""
May you like
I looked toward the darkening sky.
And for the first time in eleven years, I wondered whether my husband's death had never been an accident at all.
