Chapter 5 - THE FIRST CRACK IN THE BENNETT EMPIRE
By midnight, the hospital had become the center of an investigation the Bennett family could no longer control with a telephone call.
Two detectives had interviewed the driver who helped Emily escape.
Angela Ruiz confirmed that Emily had been frightened, injured, and desperate to reach her mother.
She also confirmed that a dark SUV had followed them toward the hospital.
Hospital security preserved surveillance footage from the emergency entrance.
The medical team documented Emily's injuries.
And Detective Mercer requested emergency investigative assistance regarding the Bennett guesthouse.
But the first major breakthrough came from an unexpected source.
A security guard.
His name was Walter Briggs.
He had worked at the Bennett estate for eleven years.
And shortly after one in the morning, he walked into the police station carrying a cardboard box.
Inside were printed security logs, old employee schedules, and a collection of handwritten notes.
Walter told investigators he had been afraid to speak.
For years, he had convinced himself that the things he witnessed were family disputes.
Private matters.
None of his business.
But that afternoon, he had seen Emily running through the garden with blood on her face.
And he had watched Jason order another guard to bring her back.
Walter refused.
Jason threatened to fire him.
Walter walked away.
Then he went home, opened the box he'd hidden in his garage, and finally called the police.
At two thirty in the morning, Mercer returned to Emily's room.
His expression was grim.
“We've located someone who may corroborate parts of your account.”
Emily sat upright.
“Who?”
“Walter Briggs.”
She covered her mouth.
“He helped me once.”
“When?”
“Last week. He left the garden gate unlocked.”
Mercer nodded.
“He mentioned that.”
I studied the detective.
“What else did he mention?”
Mercer hesitated.
“Something concerning Claire Whitmore.”
My heart began pounding.
“Is she alive?”
“I don't know.”
“Then what did he tell you?”
Mercer looked at Emily.
“Walter says that four years ago, he was instructed to disable the security cameras around the guesthouse for one night.”
Emily gripped my hand.
“He knows what happened?”
“Not entirely.”
Mercer continued.
“According to Walter, a vehicle arrived shortly after midnight. Two men carried someone from the basement and placed that person in the back.”
I felt sick.
“Did he identify the person?”
“No.”
“Did he identify the men?”
“One was Jason.”
Emily began shaking.
“And the other?”
Mercer looked directly at me.
“Richard Vale.”
The same name Jason had mentioned in the hospital.
The same man Emily said had made Claire disappear.
And now, for the first time, there was a witness placing him at the guesthouse on the night Claire vanished.
Mercer closed his notebook.
“We're seeking warrants and working to locate Mr. Vale.”
“Who is he?” I asked.
The detective paused.
“Former law enforcement. Later a private security consultant for the Bennett family.”
I thought of Evelyn's smug expression.
Her confidence.
Her certainty that money and influence would protect her.
“Does he still work for them?”
“Officially, no.”
“Unofficially?”
Mercer didn't answer.
He didn't have to.
Then my phone vibrated again.
This time, the caller ID displayed an unfamiliar number.
I answered.
A man's voice spoke.
“Colonel Hart?”
“Yes.”
“You need to stop asking questions about Claire Whitmore.”
I looked toward Mercer.
He saw my expression and immediately reached for his notebook.
“Who is this?” I asked.
The man ignored the question.
“Take your daughter home. Let the Bennett family handle its own affairs.”
I kept my voice steady.
“And if I don't?”
There was a brief silence.
Then the man said:
“You spent twenty-seven years protecting your country, Colonel.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“It would be a shame if you couldn't protect your own family.”
The line went dead.
Mercer looked at me.
“What did he say?”
I repeated every word.
Then I handed him the number.
He stared at the screen.
And for the first time that night, Detective Thomas Mercer looked genuinely frightened.
“Colonel.”
“What?”
May you like
He swallowed.
“That number belonged to Claire Whitmore.”
