Chapter 10 - The Dead Man at the Farmhouse
The photograph changed everything.
If Peter Lawson was alive, then my memory of the crash was no longer the only evidence of what had happened.
There was a witness.
Someone who had been inside my car.
Someone who might know why I lost control.
Someone who might know who stood outside the wreckage while I lay unconscious.
Charlotte immediately contacted Samuel.
He examined the photograph through a secure video call.
For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then he leaned closer.
"That's Peter."
"Are you certain?" I asked.
"I investigated him for your father years ago. He had that scar after a motorcycle accident."
I looked at Margaret.
"Why didn't you tell anyone?"
"I reported the incident to local police. Ethan said the man frightened him, but he hadn't threatened him directly. I was worried someone was trying to find the boy."
"Did Richard know?"
Margaret hesitated.
"I called him."
I closed my eyes.
"Of course you did."
"He told me not to worry."
"What else?"
"That Peter Lawson had worked for the family and had a history of unstable behavior."
I looked at Charlotte.
"Richard was explaining away the return of a dead man."
Charlotte nodded.
"And we need to find out why."
Within hours, Samuel's investigator traced the vehicle visible in Margaret's security footage.
The license plate belonged to a rental company.
The vehicle had been rented under a false identity.
But the credit card used to pay the security deposit was connected to a corporation called Northbridge Consulting.
I recognized the name.
Northbridge had been a Whitmore Holdings contractor for years.
Richard had always told me it handled strategic risk assessment.
Samuel found the company's address.
A small office park outside Hartford.
But before he could investigate further, something else happened.
Charlotte received a call from our corporate attorney.
Richard had requested an emergency meeting of the Whitmore Holdings board.
The stated reason was a sudden deterioration in my mental health.
"He plans to use that to justify removing your remaining authority," Charlotte told me.
I stared at her.
"Can he do that?"
"He can try. Whether he succeeds depends on the governing documents and the court orders he claims to hold."
"What does he control?"
"A majority of day-to-day operations. But your shares are still yours unless he can establish otherwise."
I thought about the company.
The buildings my father had developed.
The hotels I'd helped finance.
The charitable foundation we'd created before Richard took it over.
I had spent seven years believing all of it was gone.
But the ownership documents told a different story.
My forty-eight percent stake hadn't disappeared.
Richard had simply prevented me from exercising it.
"Then I want my voting rights restored."
Charlotte nodded.
"We'll challenge his claimed authority and seek emergency relief."
Richard called me an hour later.
His name appeared on the screen.
I almost ignored it.
Then I answered.
"Hello, Richard."
"Where are you?"
"Somewhere safe."
His tone was calm.
"Darling, this has gone far enough."
"I agree."
"Then come home."
"No."
Silence.
Then he sighed.
"Eleanor, you've been misled by people who want your money."
"Clara Bennett wanted my money?"
"That woman was a thief."
"She died on Sunday."
A pause.
"I heard."
"Did you send flowers?"
"Eleanor—"
"Did you attend her funeral?"
"Don't be absurd."
"She spent seven years trying to tell me what you did."
His voice hardened.
"I don't know what Charlotte has been putting into your head."
"Did our son die?"
There it was again.
The question that stripped away all his polished excuses.
Richard remained silent.
"Did Benjamin die?"
"Yes."
"Then why is there a seven-year-old boy named Ethan Vale living in Connecticut?"
I heard something fall.
A glass, perhaps.
Or a phone knocked against a desk.
"Where did you hear that name?"
"From someone you failed to silence."
His breathing changed.
"Eleanor, you have no idea what you're dealing with."
"Then explain it."
He lowered his voice.
"Some people are better left in the past."
"Is that what you told Peter Lawson?"
Silence.
I waited.
Then Richard said, "Where is Peter?"
My pulse quickened.
"You tell me."
"Listen to me carefully. If you've seen him, you need to stay away."
"Why?"
"Because that man is dangerous."
"To whom?"
Richard didn't answer.
"To you?" I asked.
His voice became almost inaudible.
"To everyone."
The call ended.
I sat staring at the phone.
Richard hadn't denied knowing Peter was alive.
He'd asked where he was.
That meant Peter wasn't entirely under Richard's control.
And perhaps he hadn't been for years.
That evening, Samuel arrived with another discovery.
"We found Northbridge's former bookkeeper," he said.
"What did she tell you?"
"She confirmed that Northbridge received large payments around the time of your accident."
"From Richard?"
"From accounts controlled by his office."
I felt my chest tighten.
"How much?"
"Two million dollars over six months."
I stared at him.
"To arrange the crash?"
"We can't establish the purpose yet."
He placed a copy of a bank record on the table.
"But the payments didn't stop after the accident."
I leaned forward.
"What do you mean?"
"Northbridge continued receiving money every month."
"Why?"
Samuel pointed to a line item.
The payment description read:
P.L. MAINTENANCE.
Peter Lawson.
I looked up.
"Richard was paying to keep him alive?"
Samuel's face was grim.
"Or to keep him quiet."
Then his phone rang.
He answered.
Listened.
And went pale.
"What happened?" I asked.
Samuel lowered the phone.
"Someone broke into Margaret's farmhouse."
I gripped the edge of my wheelchair.
"Ethan?"
"Margaret's safe."
I could barely breathe.
"And the boy?"
May you like
Samuel swallowed.
"Ethan is missing."
