Chapter 6 - The Curve on Blackwood Mountain
Charlotte got me into the car before Vanessa could say another word.
But I couldn't stop looking at my sister.
She stood beneath the mansion lights, trembling in her expensive gown.
For nineteen years, I'd defended her.
When she lost her first job, I found her another.
When her marriage collapsed, I bought her a townhouse.
When she drank too much and crashed her car, I arranged for a lawyer.
And when Richard told me Vanessa had been caring for me after the accident, I'd believed him.
Now I wondered whether she'd been caring for me at all.
Or guarding me.
As Charlotte closed the car door, Vanessa suddenly approached.
She placed her hand against the window.
"Eleanor, don't go to the police yet."
I lowered the glass.
"Why?"
"Because Richard has people there."
"Then I'll go somewhere he doesn't."
"You're not listening."
"Seven years, Vanessa."
My voice broke.
"Seven years I asked you what happened to my child."
She began crying.
I stared at her.
"Did you know he was alive?"
She looked down.
That was answer enough.
Charlotte started the engine.
Vanessa stepped backward.
As we pulled away, she shouted one last thing.
"Ask Richard about the blue truck!"
I turned toward Charlotte.
"What blue truck?"
"I don't know."
But Noah spoke from the back seat.
"Mommy had a picture of one."
I looked at him.
"What kind?"
"A big one. Like the trucks that carry wood."
"Where did she keep the picture?"
"In the wooden box."
"The same box as my bracelet?"
He nodded.
"Where is it now?"
"Mr. Samuel has it."
Charlotte's hands tightened on the steering wheel.
"Then we're going to find Samuel Reed."
First, however, we went to a hospital Richard did not control.
Charlotte chose a major medical center across the city.
She checked me in under my legal name and told the emergency physician exactly why we were there.
I requested an independent medication review, documentation of my neurological condition, and assistance from the hospital's social worker.
The physician listened carefully.
She didn't promise miracles.
She didn't tell me I would walk again.
She explained that some medications could cause weakness, confusion, fatigue, or dangerous interactions, but that only proper testing and review could establish what had happened to me.
It was the most straightforward medical conversation I'd had in years.
Blood samples were collected.
My current medications were documented.
The glass Charlotte had preserved was sealed for independent analysis through appropriate legal channels.
And for the first time since my accident, I made my own medical decisions without Richard standing beside the doctor.
Just after midnight, Charlotte's phone rang.
The caller was Samuel Reed.
"Is Noah safe?" he asked immediately.
Charlotte looked at the boy asleep across two waiting-room chairs.
"He's with us."
A long silence followed.
Then the man exhaled.
"Thank God."
"Mr. Reed, I'm Charlotte Pierce. Eleanor Whitmore is here."
Another pause.
"Is she able to speak?"
Charlotte handed me the phone.
"Hello?"
The man didn't introduce himself.
Instead, he said, "Your father used to call you Ellie-Bell."
My eyes filled with tears.
I hadn't heard that nickname in ten years.
"Who are you?"
"Samuel Reed. I was your father's chief investigator."
"Charlotte says you worked for his security company."
"I did."
"Did my father suspect Richard?"
"More than suspect him."
My stomach tightened.
"Then why didn't he tell me?"
"He tried."
I closed my eyes.
The brown leather folder.
The invitation to visit his study.
The promise that tomorrow he would explain everything.
Tomorrow had never come.
"What did he find?" I asked.
"Financial transfers. False invoices. Properties purchased through shell companies. And evidence that Richard was moving money from Whitmore Holdings into entities you didn't control."
I stared at the ceiling.
"Why didn't Dad take it to the police?"
"He was gathering enough to prove it. He wanted to protect you before Richard realized he knew."
"And then he died."
"Yes."
I swallowed.
"Samuel, was my father's death an accident?"
A long silence.
"I don't know."
It was the first answer that night I almost believed completely.
"Then tell me about my accident."
"Clara was investigating a vehicle connected to Richard's private security contractors."
"The blue truck?"
"Yes."
"Was it on the mountain road?"
"We believe so."
"Did Richard hire someone to cause the crash?"
"Clara believed the vehicle was used to force your car toward the outside barrier."
I closed my eyes.
Rain.
Headlights.
A sudden movement.
A voice outside the car.
Now I remembered something else.
A blue truck appearing behind us on the winding road.
Its headlights filling the rearview mirror.
The driver of my sedan cursing as it moved closer.
Then a terrible metallic impact.
I opened my eyes.
"Samuel, who was driving my car?"
There was a pause.
"A man named Peter Lawson."
"Richard told me Peter died."
"He was listed as deceased."
"Was he?"
Samuel inhaled.
"That's what Clara spent years trying to prove."
My heart pounded.
"That Peter was alive?"
"Yes."
"Did she find him?"
"Not exactly."
"What does that mean?"
"She found evidence that someone using Peter's fingerprints had entered a secure medical facility eighteen months after the crash."
I sat completely still.
"Where?"
Samuel gave me the name of a private rehabilitation center in Connecticut.
"Why would he be there?"
"We don't know."
Then his voice dropped.
"But Clara believed someone was keeping him hidden."
I looked at Noah.
He was sleeping with his cheek against Charlotte's coat.
"Samuel, why didn't Clara come to me herself?"
"She tried."
"When?"
"Six years ago."
"What happened?"
"She was stopped outside your estate."
"By Richard?"
"By his security team."
I swallowed.
"What did they do?"
"She was threatened and ordered to stay away. She documented the encounter, but she was terrified for Noah."
My eyes burned.
"Did she give up?"
"No."
Samuel's voice softened.
"She spent the rest of her life looking for a way to reach you."
I covered my mouth.
"She died before she could."
"Yes."
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then Samuel said, "Mrs. Whitmore, there is something I need to tell you about Clara's illness."
My breath caught.
"What?"
"She knew she didn't have much time left. That's why she finally gave Noah the bracelet and the letter."
I stared at the phone.
"Did she know where my son was?"
"She believed she had found his last known placement."
"Where?"
"In northern Connecticut."
"Who has him?"
Samuel hesitated.
"That's the part that frightened her."
"Tell me."
"The guardian named in the private-placement documents has a family connection to your husband."
My throat tightened.
"Who?"
May you like
Samuel's answer made Charlotte turn toward me.
"Richard's first wife."
