Chapter 8 - WHAT EVELYN WENT TO BURN

Richard stared at the image.

“No.”

Evelyn was upstairs.

Or at least we thought she was.

Daniel ran first.

We found her bedroom empty.

Her car was gone.

Richard called.

Straight to voicemail.

Again.

Voicemail.

Rachel wiped her face.

“She knew about the warehouse.”

Everyone turned.

Richard looked at her.

“What?”

Rachel hesitated.

“She found out last month.”

“How?”

“She followed me.”

Richard pressed a hand against his chest.

“What did she say?”

“She begged me to stop.”

“And you didn’t?”

Rachel’s face hardened.

“You didn’t stop when she begged you in 2009.”

That landed.

Samantha grabbed her coat.

“We need to go.”

The second warehouse was thirty-five minutes away.

Police blocked the entrance.

An ambulance waited outside.

My stomach twisted when I saw it.

Daniel squeezed my hand.

Inside, detectives led us to a small office behind the loading floor.

Evelyn sat in a chair wrapped in a blanket.

Alive.

Richard almost collapsed.

He rushed toward her.

“What happened?”

She looked at him.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you here?”

“I came for the files.”

Rachel stepped closer.

“What files?”

Evelyn’s gaze moved toward her daughter.

“The ones Marcus kept.”

Rachel went pale.

Samantha crouched beside Evelyn.

“What files?”

“Copies of everything.”

Richard’s voice hardened.

“You knew?”

Evelyn nodded.

“Marcus came to me six months ago.”

Rachel stared.

“What?”

“He wanted money.”

Her daughter stopped breathing.

“He threatened you?”

“He threatened all of us.”

Marcus had discovered Richard’s illegal trust withdrawal years earlier.

Then he discovered Rachel’s warehouse arrangement.

Instead of choosing a side, he collected evidence against everyone.

A family blackmail portfolio.

“How much did you pay him?” Richard asked.

Evelyn whispered, “Four hundred thousand.”

Richard staggered backward.

“You never told me.”

“I was trying to protect you.”

“By paying him?”

“I was trying to protect our children!”

Rachel laughed.

“You mean Daniel.”

Evelyn looked at her.

“I meant both of you.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Rachel—”

“You’ve protected Daniel his entire life.”

“This isn’t about that.”

“It’s always been about that!”

A detective approached.

“We located the source of the blood.”

Everyone fell silent.

“Mr. Lane?”

“No.”

He pointed toward a shattered glass panel.

“Mrs. Whitmore cut her hand breaking into the office.”

Evelyn raised her bandaged palm.

Relief washed over me.

Then the detective’s face remained serious.

“But there’s something else.”

He led us to a metal cabinet.

Its lock had been broken.

Inside were empty hanging folders.

Whatever Marcus kept there was gone.

Except one envelope.

The detective held it up.

CLAIRE BENNETT WHITMORE.

My name.

My knees weakened.

Daniel looked at me.

“Why would Marcus have a file on you?”

I had no idea.

The detective opened the envelope.

Inside were photographs.

Me leaving the office.

Me meeting Nathan for coffee.

Me at the county clerk’s building.

Me sitting inside my car.

Someone had been following me for weeks.

Then Daniel picked up the final photograph.

It had been taken through our kitchen window.

Our eight-year-old daughter, Sophie, was visible in the background.

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