Chapter 5 - The Last Call
Caroline still had the voicemail.
She had listened to it twelve times without telling our mother.
When she pressed play, my father’s breathing came through first.
Fast.
Uneven.
“Carrie.”
He had always called her that.
“I’m at the old plant.”
Caroline lowered her eyes.
“I found what Mother was looking for.”
Paper rustled in the background.
“The original capital ledger.”
Then my father coughed.
“There are names in here that should not be here.”
A metallic sound followed.
A door perhaps.
My father stopped talking.
Then, much quieter:
“Someone just pulled into the lot.”
The recording ended.
No goodbye.
No explanation.
Nothing.
Marcus looked toward Mark.
“Where were you that night?”
Mark laughed.
“You cannot be serious.”
“Where?”
“At home.”
“With anyone?”
Mark’s jaw tightened.
“My wife.”
I remembered that Mark had married a woman named Rebecca three years after my wedding.
I had never met her.
Samuel looked at Caroline.
“Did you provide this voicemail to the police?”
“No.”
I stared at her.
“Why not?”
“Mom said Dad had a heart attack.”
Our mother stood.
“He did.”
“You don’t know that.”
“He had severe coronary disease.”
“Then why hide the voicemail?”
“I was trying to protect your sister from turning a tragedy into a conspiracy.”
Marcus spoke.
“Did the police know he was investigating financial misconduct?”
My mother looked away.
That was answer enough.
Samuel stood.
“I will contact the county investigator.”
Mark shook his head.
“This is ridiculous.”
He grabbed his coat.
“I am not staying here while everyone turns Dad’s death into some crime drama because Anna suddenly decided to come home.”
I stared at him.
“You think I wanted to be here?”
“No.”
He looked directly at Marcus.
“I think he did.”
Marcus did not rise to it.
“What exactly do you think I came for?”
“Money.”
The word hung there.
Simple.
Ugly.
Familiar.
Marcus nodded slowly.
“Of course.”
Mark crossed his arms.
“You discover your grandfather supposedly deserved part of a company worth almost two hundred million dollars and I’m supposed to believe money never entered your mind?”
Marcus looked at the old partnership document.
Then at Mark.
“My grandfather died believing nobody would ever put his name back on that building.”
His voice remained quiet.
“If you think a check fixes that, you understand less than your father did.”
Mark left.
This time no one followed.
Two hours later, the county investigator arrived.
Detective Laura Gaines was forty-something, compact, gray-eyed, and unimpressed by family wealth.
She listened to the voicemail twice.
Then asked Caroline why she had waited.
Caroline’s shame filled the room.
“I thought Mom was right.”
Gaines turned to my mother.
“About what?”
“That Dad had a heart attack.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
My mother’s lips tightened.
“I didn’t want rumors surrounding his death.”
The detective gave a small nod.
“Rich families always hate rumors.”
Nobody knew whether it was sarcasm.
Probably.
“Was an autopsy performed?” Marcus asked.
“Limited examination.”
Gaines looked at him.
“Mr. Holloway had documented cardiac disease.”
“Could stress have triggered it?”
“Certainly.”
“Could an argument?”
“Yes.”
“Could someone have been with him?”
“Also yes.”
Gaines asked Samuel to provide financial documents.
Then she requested security records from the factory.
Samuel’s expression darkened.
“There may be a problem.”
“What?”
“The old plant’s cameras were scheduled for replacement.”
“When?”
“Last week.”
Gaines stared at him.
“Who authorized that?”
Samuel looked at the invoice.
“North Vale Strategic.”
My stomach dropped.
Mark’s company.
That evening, Marcus and I checked into a hotel ten minutes from the house.
I could not sleep.
At eleven thirty, I found Marcus sitting by the window with the old photocopy of the partnership agreement Samuel had allowed him to keep.
“You should sleep.”
“So should you.”
I sat beside him.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
Then he said, “I’m angry with a dead man.”
“You’re allowed.”
“I’m angry with your grandfather.”
“You’re allowed that too.”
“And I’m angry with my own family.”
I looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because somebody knew pieces of this.”
He rubbed his forehead.
“My grandmother always said Elijah had been cheated.”
“I thought she meant cheated out of a promotion.”
He stared down at the page.
“What if my dad knew more?”
“Have you called him?”
Marcus’s father, James Bennett, lived in North Carolina.
We saw him twice a year.
He was reserved, funny in dry flashes, and almost impossible to get into a serious conversation.
Marcus shook his head.
“Not yet.”
“Call him.”
“It’s midnight.”
“Then call him tomorrow.”
Marcus looked at me.
“What are you afraid of?”
I laughed softly.
“Everything.”
“Specific.”
I thought about it.
“I’m afraid Dad was trying to fix things only because he was dying.”
“That might be true.”
“I’m afraid I’ll find out he loved Noah.”
Marcus nodded.
“And that makes it worse?”
“Yes.”
Because love without action felt crueler than indifference.
I leaned my head against the glass.
“What are you afraid of?”
Marcus took longer to answer.
“That I’ll start wanting something from these people.”
“Money?”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“An apology.”
That hurt.
Because I wanted one too.
A knock sounded at our hotel door.
We both froze.
It was almost midnight.
Marcus stood.
“Who is it?”
A woman answered.
“Rebecca Holloway.”
Mark’s wife.
Marcus opened the door but left the security latch engaged.
A brunette woman in a raincoat stood outside.
She looked frightened.
“I need to talk to Anna.”
“About what?”
Rebecca glanced over her shoulder.
“Richard.”
I stepped closer.
“What about him?”
May you like
She lowered her voice.
“Mark wasn’t home the night your father died.”
