Chapter 6 - The Warning from an Unknown Number
I read the message three times.
The helicopter was never supposed to be part of the plan.
Something about that sentence disturbed me more than the threats themselves.
It meant someone had expected my arrival.
Someone had anticipated how I would travel.
And someone was unhappy that I had arrived with a pilot, a flight crew, and four unmistakable witnesses to my presence.
I took screenshots of the messages.
Then I forwarded them to Rebecca.
Her reply came almost immediately.
Call me privately.
I stepped into the empty library.
Rebecca answered before the first ring finished.
“Claire, have you told anyone about the messages?”
“Not yet.”
“Good. Don't respond.”
“Do you think it's Whitcomb?”
“Possibly, but we have no evidence.”
I looked at the window.
The helicopter was still on the lawn.
My pilot, Captain Daniel Mercer, stood beside it speaking to one of the estate's groundskeepers.
Daniel was a former military helicopter pilot and had flown for my company for nearly three years.
I trusted him completely.
“Should I take the kids and leave?”
Rebecca paused.
“I think you should strongly consider it.”
I closed my eyes.
Part of me wanted to walk straight outside and end the entire disastrous Christmas visit.
But another part recognized that leaving without securing the old correspondence could allow crucial evidence to disappear.
“Thomas has the letters,” I said.
“And he appears willing to cooperate.”
“Then ask him to preserve the originals with independent counsel and provide copies.”
I nodded.
“Okay.”
Rebecca continued.
“And Claire?”
“Yeah?”
“Whoever sent those messages knows more about this situation than you do.”
“I figured.”
“Don't mistake that knowledge for power.”
I looked down at the phone.
“I'm not frightened of them.”
“I'm more concerned that you're not frightened enough.”
I smiled faintly.
Rebecca had known me long enough to recognize my worst habit.
When someone threatened my children, fear didn't make me retreat.
It made me stubborn.
“I'll be careful.”
After we ended the call, I sent Daniel a message asking him to remain available and confirm that the aircraft was secured.
Then I returned to the sitting room.
Thomas was seated at the desk, looking ten years older than he had that morning.
Marcus stood beside the fireplace.
Vanessa was speaking quietly with Michael.
Patricia was gone.
“Where is she?” I asked.
Thomas looked up.
“She went upstairs.”
“Alone?”
Marcus nodded.
“She said she needed a moment.”
I didn't like that.
I showed Thomas the messages.
He read them slowly.
His face tightened.
“Have you replied?”
“No.”
He passed the phone to Marcus.
Marcus stared at the screen.
“Who would send this?”
“That,” I answered, “is what I'd like to know.”
Michael stepped closer.
“May I see?”
I showed him.
His expression became unusually serious when he read the last message.
Ask Patricia what happened to the last person who questioned the trust.
“Michael?” I asked.
He looked up.
“What?”
“You recognize something.”
He hesitated.
Then he sighed.
“There's an old matter involving the family accountant.”
Thomas stiffened.
“Andrew Keller.”
Michael nodded.
I looked between them.
“Who is Andrew Keller?”
Thomas removed his glasses.
“He worked for Reynolds Mountain Holdings for seventeen years.”
“What happened to him?”
“He resigned.”
“When?”
“Five years ago.”
Michael shook his head.
“That's the official explanation.”
Thomas stared at him.
“What do you mean?”
Michael looked at Marcus.
“Andrew contacted my office shortly before he left.”
“He said he'd found irregularities in distributions from a Reynolds-controlled account.”
Thomas gripped the armrests.
“Why wasn't I told?”
“You were hospitalized after your stroke.”
“And after I recovered?”
Michael lowered his eyes.
“I was advised that the matter had been resolved internally.”
“By whom?”
Nobody needed him to answer.
Patricia.
I felt a chill.
“What happened to Andrew?”
Michael hesitated.
“He was accused of taking confidential company records.”
“Was he charged?”
“No.”
“Did he go to court?”
“No.”
“Then where is he?”
Michael looked troubled.
“I don't know.”
The silence that followed was heavy.
Then Vanessa spoke.
“I do.”
We all turned.
She swallowed.
“Andrew Keller lives in Longmont.”
Thomas stared.
“How do you know that?”
Vanessa looked at Marcus.
“Because he contacted me three weeks ago.”
Marcus looked bewildered.
“Why would he contact you?”
“Because I was helping Patricia plan the engagement dinner.”
She took a breath.
“He sent me a message saying that I should be careful before marrying into the Reynolds family.”
Marcus frowned.
“You never told me.”
“Because your mother said he was a disgruntled employee trying to damage the family.”
She looked at Thomas.
“Now I'm starting to think he was trying to warn me.”
I felt a flicker of respect for her.
Vanessa had entered this house expecting a celebration.
She had discovered that her fiancé had abandoned a pregnant wife, that his mother had hidden four grandchildren, and that the family's money might be tied to years of financial misconduct.
Yet she was still standing there asking difficult questions.
I had assumed she would be my enemy.
I was beginning to realize she might be another person Marcus and Patricia had lied to.
“Do you still have his message?” I asked.
Vanessa nodded.
“Yes.”
“Can you forward it to Rebecca?”
She glanced at Marcus.
He looked away.
Then she said, “Of course.”
Thomas stood.
“I want to speak with Andrew.”
Michael held up a hand.
“Let's coordinate that through counsel.”
Thomas looked irritated.
“I'm not going to threaten him.”
“No,” Michael said gently.
“But you might unintentionally complicate an investigation.”
That word changed the room.
Investigation.
Until now, the Reynolds family had treated its secrets as embarrassing private matters.
But missing trust funds and concealed beneficiary records were not simply family arguments.
They could have serious legal consequences.
I thought of the children in the breakfast room.
They were probably decorating cookies.
They had no idea how quickly the day was unraveling.
I turned toward Thomas.
“I want copies of the documents.”
He nodded.
“Michael will help.”
“And then I'm leaving.”
Marcus straightened.
“Claire, wait.”
“No.”
“Please.”
His voice sounded different.
Small.
Desperate.
“I haven't even spoken to them.”
I looked at him.
“You spoke to them when you first saw them.”
“I mean properly.”
I held his gaze.
“Marcus, they're children. Not a surprise inheritance you get to inspect.”
He winced.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
He took a shaky breath.
“I want to know their names.”
That stopped me.
I had introduced them only briefly at the door.
In the chaos that followed, he had barely heard.
I watched him carefully.
Then I answered.
“Noah.”
“Ethan.”
“Sophia.”
“Olivia.”
Marcus repeated the names softly.
As though he were afraid they would disappear.
“Noah. Ethan. Sophia. Olivia.”
His eyes filled.
“They're beautiful.”
“Yes.”
He looked at me.
“They seem happy.”
“They are.”
“Healthy?”
I took a long breath.
“They were premature.”
His expression changed.
“How premature?”
“Thirty-one weeks.”
Marcus stared.
“Were they okay?”
“Eventually.”
I thought of the hospital.
The oxygen tubes.
The alarms.
The nights when I slept in a chair because going home without them felt unbearable.
“Noah spent twenty-three days in neonatal intensive care.”
“Ethan spent twenty-eight.”
“Sophia spent thirty-five.”
“Olivia spent forty-six.”
Marcus put a hand over his mouth.
I continued.
“Olivia needed respiratory support.”
“Sophia had trouble feeding.”
“Ethan had recurring complications with his blood oxygen.”
“And Noah was so tiny that I could fit his entire hand against the tip of my thumb.”
Marcus closed his eyes.
“I didn't know.”
“No.”
I looked at him.
“You didn't.”
For a moment, I almost felt sorry for him.
Then I remembered the letter.
He had known enough to try.
He simply hadn't shown up.
“You don't get those days back,” I told him.
His eyes opened.
“I know.”
“You don't get to hold them for the first time.”
“You don't get their first smiles.”
“Their first birthdays.”
“The first time they called someone Mama.”
His shoulders shook.
I kept my voice steady.
“But that doesn't mean you can't choose what kind of man you'll be from this day forward.”
He looked at me.
“Will you let me try?”
I considered the question.
Then I answered with the only truth I could offer.
“That depends on whether you can put their needs ahead of your guilt.”
He nodded quickly.
“I can.”
“Don't promise me yet.”
I took a step closer.
“Show me.”
Before he could answer, a loud crash echoed from the second floor.
We all turned.
A woman's voice shouted.
Then came the sound of hurried footsteps.
Rosa appeared at the staircase.
“Mr. Reynolds!”
Her face was pale.
“Mrs. Reynolds is in the dressing room.”
Thomas gripped his cane.
“What's happened?”
Rosa swallowed.
“She was trying to burn something in the fireplace.”
My stomach dropped.
“What?”
“Documents.”
Thomas moved toward the stairs.
But Rosa wasn't finished.
“Mr. Reynolds, there's something else.”
She looked at me.
“When I tried to stop her, she said none of the papers mattered anymore.”
“Why?” I asked.
May you like
Rosa's voice trembled.
“Because Gerald Whitcomb had already taken the originals.”
