Chapter 5 - The Dead Man's Last Secret
Richard's father had been dead for eight years.
Arthur Blackwood had built the family empire from a struggling construction business into a multinational corporation.
He had been demanding.
Ruthless.
Impossible to please.
But Richard had never believed him capable of kidnapping anyone.
Not even Caroline.
Brooks studied the photograph.
"Whoever sent this wants you to question your father."
"My father died before Caroline disappeared."
"That doesn't mean his decisions died with him."
Richard looked up.
"What are you suggesting?"
"That the conspiracy may have begun earlier."
He remembered a conversation from his father's final months.
Arthur had called Richard into his private study.
He was weak from cancer.
His voice had been little more than a whisper.
"Your brother wants everything."
Richard had smiled.
"Andrew's ambitious."
Arthur had grabbed his wrist.
"No. He's hungry."
Then he had said something Richard dismissed as the bitterness of a dying man.
Never let him near the trust.
Richard had assumed he meant the corporate trust.
Now he wasn't sure.
"There's something in my father's office."
Brooks looked up.
"What?"
"A safe."
"Does Andrew have access?"
"Not to that one."
"Why not?"
"Because my father never trusted him."
An hour later, Richard sat in a secure police interview room while Brooks arranged a search of the Blackwood estate.
Oliver remained in protective care with a pediatric specialist just down the hall.
Richard had refused to send him anywhere unfamiliar.
When officers entered Arthur's old study, Richard guided them by video.
"Behind the portrait."
An officer lifted the painting.
A steel safe appeared.
"Combination?"
Richard gave it.
His father's birthday.
Nothing happened.
The officer tried again.
Incorrect.
Richard frowned.
"Try December twenty-fourth."
The date Arthur had married Richard's mother.
The lock clicked.
Inside were company records.
Property deeds.
Two sealed envelopes.
And a small leather notebook.
The officer held the notebook toward the camera.
Richard recognized his father's handwriting.
"Bring everything."
Brooks examined the contents under evidence procedures.
The first envelope contained an updated will.
The second contained a letter addressed to Richard.
He asked to read it.
Brooks photographed it first.
Then she passed him the original inside a protective sleeve.
Richard unfolded the pages.
Richard,
If you are reading this, something has happened that I was too cowardly to prevent while I was alive.
Richard swallowed.
Your brother has always wanted the company, but money alone is not what drives him.
He believes I loved you more.
Perhaps I did.
And perhaps my greatest failure was allowing that belief to poison him.
Richard looked away.
His father had never spoken like this.
Not once.
He continued.
There is a second trust.
Your mother established it before she died.
It does not belong to me, to you, or to Andrew.
It belongs to the children of our bloodline.
Richard's heart began pounding.
Andrew discovered it shortly before my diagnosis.
He also discovered its restrictions.
No adult beneficiary may seize control.
The trustees are required to protect minor descendants, and any controlling-interest transfer involving their beneficial assets must receive independent judicial approval.
Richard frowned.
He read the next paragraph.
Your brother cannot legally take the full family estate while Oliver remains a protected beneficiary.
Unless someone changes the records.
Richard lowered the letter.
"That's what the papers are for."
Brooks leaned forward.
"Explain."
"The transfer agreement."
He pointed at the document.
"Andrew wasn't just taking my shares. He was trying to combine them with the trust's assets."
"Could he?"
"Not legally."
Richard looked at the final paragraph of his father's letter.
His blood went cold.
There is one more thing.
Your mother suspected Andrew had been altering medical records connected to the family trust.
She wanted an investigation.
I refused.
I told myself my son would never hurt his own family.
I was wrong.
Richard stared at the page.
Arthur had written the letter eight years ago.
Long before Caroline's disappearance.
Long before Victoria entered their lives.
The conspiracy hadn't begun with Caroline.
She had simply discovered it.
Brooks examined the notebook.
Several entries contained dates, initials, and bank transfers.
One entry appeared repeatedly.
C.B.
Richard felt sick.
"Caroline Blackwood."
Brooks looked at him.
"Maybe."
He shook his head.
"She wasn't even my wife when some of these entries were written."
Brooks studied the pages.
"Then C.B. stands for someone else."
Richard looked at the dates.
Then he remembered.
His father had employed a private accountant for years.
A woman named Cynthia Bell.
She had disappeared after Arthur's death.
Andrew said she'd moved overseas.
Richard hadn't questioned it.
"Detective."
"Yes?"
"I know another person we need to find."
Before Brooks could answer, her phone rang.
She listened.
Her face grew tense.
"Where?"
She stood.
"When?"
Then she turned toward Richard.
"We found the vehicle that transported Caroline."
Richard shot to his feet.
"Where is she?"
Brooks paused.
"The vehicle was abandoned near Gloucester Harbor."
The red lighthouse.
Richard looked at the photograph again.
Brooks continued.
"Inside, we found blood, restraints, and medical supplies."
"Caroline?"
"No body."
Richard exhaled.
Then Brooks said something worse.
"There was another passenger."
"Who?"
"A child."
Richard stared.
"What child?"
"We found a small pink jacket and a hospital identification bracelet."
She placed the photograph of the bracelet on the table.
The name was partially obscured.
But the surname was unmistakable.
BLACKWOOD.
Richard looked up.
"Oliver doesn't have a sister."
Brooks didn't answer.
Instead, she turned the photograph around.
May you like
The date of birth was three years earlier.
Six weeks after Caroline's supposed death.
