Chapter 7 - Anne’s Last Witness
The fire department called the wine-cellar blaze electrical.
Dominic called it convenient.
Claire called Naomi Grant.
By midnight, Anne’s trust documents were being copied in three separate law offices.
Charles could no longer destroy them.
But proving ownership was one thing.
Proving murder was another.
Dominic spent the night tracing Harbor Automotive.
At 2:17 a.m., he found a name.
Samuel Pierce.
Former mechanic.
Seventy-one years old.
Living outside Annapolis.
Claire was at his door by nine.
Samuel opened it, saw her face, and almost shut it again.
“You’re Anne’s girl.”
Claire froze.
“You knew my mother.”
“I serviced her car.”
Dominic stood several feet behind Claire.
Samuel looked at him.
Then at the black-stone ring.
His face drained.
“Victor Vale’s boy.”
Dominic nodded.
Samuel whispered, “I knew this day would come.”
They sat in a small kitchen smelling of coffee and motor oil.
Samuel’s hands shook.
“Your mother brought that Mercedes in three days before the crash.”
Claire swallowed.
“For brakes?”
“No. Routine service.”
“What did you find?”
“Nothing.”
Claire’s shoulders dropped.
Samuel continued.
“But the night before the crash, Charles called.”
Dominic leaned forward.
“What did he want?”
“He said Anne complained about the brakes. Told me one of his men would bring the car over.”
“Did they?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
Samuel looked at Claire.
“Richard Hale.”
The CFO.
Claire felt numb.
Samuel stood and pulled a small metal box from a cabinet.
Inside was a work order.
Original carbon copy.
Date.
Vehicle identification number.
Richard Hale’s signature.
And one handwritten note.
Customer requested brake line inspection. Found deliberate cut. Customer instructed no repair.
Claire stared.
“You found a cut?”
Samuel nodded.
“Richard told me not to touch it. Said Charles wanted another shop to handle it.”
“And you let the car leave?”
His eyes filled with shame.
“I was forty-six. I had two kids. Charles controlled half my commercial accounts. I told myself they’d tow it somewhere else.”
“But they didn’t.”
“No.”
“Why didn’t you go to police?”
“I did.”
Claire looked up sharply.
Samuel laughed bitterly.
“Detective took my statement. Two days later, he came back and told me I was mistaken.”
Dominic’s expression darkened.
“Name?”
Samuel gave it.
Marcus, standing by the door, wrote it down.
Claire touched the work order.
Her mother’s death suddenly became real in a new way.
Not tragedy.
Choice.
Someone had made a choice.
“Did my father order it?”
Samuel shook his head.
“I never heard him say it.”
Claire’s anger collapsed into frustration.
Not enough.
Still not enough.
Samuel looked at her carefully.
“But I heard Richard.”
She stared.
“What did he say?”
“When he saw the cut brake line, he said, ‘Charles was right. She won’t stop unless someone stops her.’”
Silence.
Claire closed her eyes.
Dominic reached for her hand but stopped before touching it.
Claire noticed.
She turned her palm upward.
He took it.
Just for a moment.
Then Marcus’s phone rang.
He answered.
His expression changed.
“What?”
Dominic stood.
Marcus lowered the phone.
“Richard Hale is gone.”
“Gone where?”
“Airport security spotted him forty minutes ago.”
Claire rose.
Dominic asked, “Flight?”
“No flight.”
Marcus looked directly at Claire.
“He rented a car.”
“To where?”
“Savannah.”
Claire’s blood ran cold.
The disputed Savannah payment.
The warehouse expansion.
Her mother’s ledger.
Dominic looked at her.
“Whatever Richard is running toward, Charles is afraid you’ll find it first.”
May you like
Claire grabbed her coat.
“Then we get there first.”
