Chapter 12 - The Godfather Who Sold Us Out
Richard Sloane called himself my brother.
We weren't related.
But for twenty years, I'd treated him like family.
He'd stood beside me when my first company nearly collapsed.
He'd lent me money when banks refused to take my calls.
He'd introduced me to Victoria.
And when Emily was born, he'd held her in his arms and promised to look after her if anything ever happened to me.
I remembered that promise now.
And I wanted to be sick.
I called Samuel.
“Freeze Richard out of everything you legally can.”
Samuel paused.
“Jonathan, we need grounds.”
“You'll have them.”
“What's happened?”
“Richard may be involved.”
A long silence followed.
Then Samuel whispered, “That would explain some things.”
My chest tightened.
“What things?”
“The account access.”
“Explain.”
Samuel sounded exhausted.
“Richard authorized Meridian as an outside financial administrator.”
I stared at the wall.
“When?”
“Two months before the fire.”
“Without telling me?”
“He presented it as a routine restructuring.”
I remembered the meeting.
Richard had brought a stack of documents.
I'd been preparing for a trip to Singapore.
He'd said the changes were administrative.
I signed.
Of course I signed.
Richard had been my friend for twenty years.
I trusted him more than I trusted some members of my own family.
Samuel continued.
“He had enough access to coordinate parts of the transfer structure.”
I closed my eyes.
“Who benefited?”
“We're still tracing the final recipients.”
“Find them.”
“I will.”
I ended the call.
Then I sat alone for several minutes.
For years, I'd believed loyalty was something money could strengthen.
Good salaries.
Large bonuses.
Stock options.
Private schools for employees' children.
I had given people opportunities most could only dream of.
And I had mistaken their gratitude for character.
Richard wasn't loyal.
Thomas wasn't loyal.
Edward wasn't loyal.
They were simply comfortable.
And I had made it easy for them.
At 9:30 p.m., Hayes called.
“We found Daniel Bennett.”
I stood so fast my chair fell.
“Where?”
“At the Langford property.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
“Is he okay?”
“He's being evaluated.”
“Can Clara see him?”
“When it's medically appropriate.”
“Rebecca.”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
She was quiet for a second.
Then said, “Don't thank me yet.”
My stomach tightened.
“Why?”
“Edward Langford wasn't there.”
I gripped the phone.
“Where is he?”
“We don't know.”
“What about Thomas?”
“He was released pending further proceedings before we had enough to hold him on the major allegations.”
I felt cold anger move through me.
“He's free?”
“Subject to conditions, yes.”
“Then my family isn't safe.”
“We're taking precautions.”
I looked toward the window.
The night was black.
My mansion sat beyond rows of trees.
Somewhere in that darkness, people who had once entered through my front door were trying to avoid the consequences of what they'd done.
“Where's Richard?” I asked.
Hayes paused.
“That's another problem.”
“What?”
“He left his home this afternoon.”
I shut my eyes.
“Has he fled?”
“We're trying to determine that.”
I looked toward Emily's room.
She had fallen asleep after drawing another picture with Clara.
A blue bird.
A yellow house.
Three stick figures holding hands.
I couldn't let the nightmare reach her again.
“Rebecca, I want Emily moved somewhere secure.”
“We can coordinate that.”
“No one from my private security team.”
“Understood.”
“And Clara stays with her if the care team agrees it's appropriate.”
Hayes paused.
“We'll speak with Clara and Dr. Kim.”
I exhaled.
“Thank you.”
The next morning, I visited Daniel.
He was being treated in a hospital under police protection.
Clara had already seen him.
When I entered the room, she was sitting beside his bed, holding his hand.
Daniel looked much thinner than the man in the old photographs.
His hair was streaked with gray.
A faint burn scar crossed the right side of his neck.
His left hand trembled slightly.
But his eyes were clear.
Clara stood.
“Daniel, this is Jonathan.”
He looked at me.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then he said, “You finally came.”
I felt my throat tighten.
“Yes.”
His expression held no warmth.
“Two years.”
I lowered my eyes.
“I know.”
“Two years, Mr. Whitmore.”
“I know.”
He studied me.
“Clara tried to reach you.”
“I know that now.”
“She wrote letters.”
I nodded.
“She came to your office.”
My chest tightened.
“She called your assistants.”
I couldn't speak.
Daniel's voice began shaking.
“They told her you didn't want to be disturbed.”
I sat down slowly.
“I didn't know.”
He stared at me.
“That seems to be what everyone says.”
I accepted the blow.
He had earned the right to say it.
After a moment, I whispered, “I'm sorry.”
Daniel looked away.
Clara gently squeezed his hand.
I waited.
Then he asked, “How's Emily?”
The question nearly broke me.
“She's safe.”
He swallowed.
“Does she remember?”
“Some things.”
Daniel closed his eyes.
“I promised her.”
“I know.”
“I told her I'd come back.”
His voice cracked.
“I tried.”
Clara began crying.
Daniel looked toward her.
“I tried every day.”
She kissed his forehead.
“I know, honey.”
I looked down.
For two years, this man had lived behind locked doors because he'd tried to save my daughter.
And I had been signing contracts.
Attending galas.
Flying around the world.
Believing that money could solve anything.
I took a breath.
“Daniel, I need your help.”
He looked at me.
“I need to know what Richard Sloane did.”
His expression changed.
Clara noticed immediately.
“Daniel?”
He swallowed.
“Richard wasn't supposed to be involved.”
I leaned forward.
“What do you mean?”
“Adrian told me Richard was the one who first noticed the irregular transfers.”
I frowned.
“Then Richard knew about the fraud?”
Daniel nodded.
“He knew because he'd helped design it.”
I stared.
“Why would he report his own scheme?”
“He didn't.”
Daniel struggled to sit upright.
Clara helped him adjust his pillows.
“He discovered Edward was keeping more money than they'd agreed.”
My stomach sank.
“They were partners?”
“Yes.”
I thought of Edward's foundation.
Richard's investment network.
My company's international accounts.
It had been happening under my nose.
Daniel continued.
“Richard wanted leverage.”
“Over Edward?”
“And over you.”
I stared at him.
“Me?”
Daniel nodded.
“He wanted control of Whitmore Global.”
I almost laughed.
“Richard already owned twenty-two percent.”
“He wanted the rest.”
“How?”
Daniel looked down.
“By making you appear responsible for the transfers.”
A terrible coldness spread through my chest.
“He was going to frame me?”
Daniel nodded.
“He had documents with your signatures.”
“Forged?”
“Some.”
“And others?”
Daniel looked at me.
“Signed by you without knowing what they authorized.”
I closed my eyes.
The paperwork.
The rushed meetings.
The trust I'd placed in him.
I had built the perfect weapon against myself.
Daniel continued.
“Adrian realized Richard planned to blame everything on you.”
“Then why didn't Adrian come to me?”
“He tried.”
I opened my eyes.
“When?”
Daniel gave me a date.
September twenty-third.
Three weeks before the fire.
I remembered that day.
An international conference.
A dinner with investors.
And a message from my assistant saying Adrian had requested an urgent meeting.
I had declined.
I told him to schedule something after Singapore.
I stared at Daniel.
“What happened next?”
“Richard found out Adrian was collecting evidence.”
Daniel's voice lowered.
“He told Thomas to stop him.”
My stomach tightened.
“And the fire?”
Daniel looked at Clara.
Then back at me.
“Thomas started it.”
I gripped the chair.
“Are you certain?”
Daniel nodded.
“I saw him pour fuel by the rear door.”
“Why?”
“He wanted the evidence destroyed.”
I swallowed.
“Did he know Emily was inside?”
Daniel looked directly at me.
“Yes.”
The room went silent.
Then Daniel said something worse.
“Richard knew too.”
I felt the blood drain from my face.
“Richard knew my daughter was there?”
Daniel nodded.
“He was on the phone with Thomas.”
“How do you know?”
“Thomas put him on speaker.”
My hands began shaking.
“What did Richard say?”
Daniel stared at me for several seconds.
Then he whispered, “He said there couldn't be any witnesses.”
I couldn't breathe.
“And Thomas?”
Daniel's eyes filled.
“He asked about the child.”
I gripped the armrest.
“What did Richard say?”
Daniel's voice broke.
“He said, 'Then make sure the child doesn't remember.'”
That night, Hayes informed me that warrants had been issued in connection with the financial and violent crimes under investigation.
Richard Sloane was being sought.
Edward Langford was missing.
Thomas Mercer had stopped communicating with his attorney.
And then, shortly after midnight, my new phone received a message.
A photograph.
It showed the front of my mansion.
Taken from outside the iron gates.
Beneath it were six words.
YOU SHOULD HAVE LEFT THE PAST BURIED.
I showed Hayes immediately.
Her officers traced the sender as far as they could.
The message had been routed through a disposable service.
No useful location.
No name.
Then another message arrived.
This one contained a photograph of Emily's blue rabbit.
Not the rabbit she was holding.
A photograph taken years earlier.
At the lake cottage.
The message beneath it read:
ASK YOUR DAUGHTER WHAT SHE HID INSIDE THE EAR.
I stared at the screen.
And suddenly remembered the crooked white stitches.
The shortened ear.
The yellow ribbon.
Clara had said the rabbit had been repaired.
But she hadn't said who repaired it.
I called her.
She answered immediately.
“Jonathan?”
“Who stitched Emily's rabbit?”
A pause.
“Daniel.”
My heart began pounding.
“When?”
“The day of the fire.”
I looked down at the photograph.
“Why?”
Clara was quiet.
Then she whispered, “Because Emily tore it while playing.”
“Did Daniel put anything inside?”
Silence.
“Clara?”
She inhaled sharply.
“Oh, my God.”
“What?”
“Daniel was carrying a small memory card that afternoon.”
I couldn't breathe.
“He said he needed somewhere safe to hide it.”
I stared at the rabbit.
And understood.
For two years, the people who had destroyed my daughter's childhood had been searching for evidence.
The evidence had never been in a bank.
Or a hidden server.
Or a locked safe.
It had been inside a little blue rabbit.
The same rabbit Thomas had taken from her.
May you like
The same rabbit Clara had spent two years trying to recover.
And the same rabbit now resting beside my sleeping daughter.
