Chapter 3 - The Man Who Was Supposed to Be Dead
I called the number back.
It no longer existed.
Jonathan’s team tried immediately.
Nothing.
The signal had been routed through three locations and disappeared.
I stood beside the library desk staring at my phone.
Richard was alive.
Or someone wanted me to believe he was.
Both possibilities terrified me.
Ethan had gone completely pale.
“Was that Dad?”
I looked at him.
He had been nine years old the last time he saw Richard.
Old enough to remember.
Young enough to spend years convincing himself the memories were better than they were.
“I don’t know.”
Preston moved toward the door.
Jonathan blocked him.
“Where are you going?”
“This absurd performance is over.”
“No.”
My voice stopped him.
“You are going to tell me what happened to Richard.”
Preston turned.
“I don’t owe you an explanation.”
I almost laughed.
“You no longer control the company protecting your family assets.”
“I have documentation connecting you to financial transfers involving a man linked to my supposedly dead husband.”
“And your daughter publicly decided tonight was a good evening to discuss what kind of rooms I belong in.”
I stepped closer.
“So yes, Preston.”
“You are going to explain.”
Caroline slammed her hand against the desk.
“This is my wedding.”
Nobody answered.
Her face crumpled with disbelief.
For perhaps the first time in her life, the room had stopped orbiting around her.
Diana sat down slowly.
“Preston.”
He looked at his wife.
“Don’t.”
“You should tell her.”
His expression hardened.
“Diana.”
She turned to me.
“Richard approached Preston nineteen years ago.”
I stopped breathing.
Preston closed his eyes.
Diana continued.
“Your husband was trying to raise money.”
“For what?”
“A development fund.”
I remembered it.
Richard had talked about an investment platform that would change our lives.
I had believed him.
Then I had watched it destroy us.
Diana clasped her hands tightly.
“Preston introduced him to investors.”
“And?”
“And some of the money disappeared.”
I looked at Preston.
“Richard stole it?”
“No,” Diana said.
Preston snapped,
“That is enough.”
She ignored him.
“Richard discovered someone else was moving money through the fund.”
“Who?”
Diana looked at her husband.
That was answer enough.
Ethan whispered,
“Oh my God.”
Preston’s face tightened.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I knew more than you thought.”
Diana looked at me.
“Richard confronted Preston.”
“Then what?”
“He threatened to go to federal investigators.”
Jonathan was typing notes now.
Preston moved toward him.
“You will stop recording this.”
Jonathan looked up.
“I’m not recording anything.”
“You’re documenting.”
“Yes.”
“That is worse.”
Diana gave a humorless laugh.
“For you, maybe.”
She looked at me again.
“Richard disappeared three weeks later.”
I felt something cold settle into my chest.
“Did Preston kill him?”
Caroline gasped.
“Don’t you dare.”
Diana shook her head quickly.
“No.”
“Then where did Richard go?”
“I don’t know.”
Preston finally spoke.
“He ran.”
Everyone looked at him.
“He was frightened.”
“Of you?”
“Of what he had discovered.”
“Which was?”
Preston exhaled.
“The fund was being used by people far more powerful than I was.”
Jonathan leaned forward.
“Names.”
Preston laughed bitterly.
“You think buying Meridian Crest makes you invincible?”
“No,” I said.
“It makes me responsible for what I now own.”
“And if crimes were committed through those entities, I intend to know.”
Preston studied me.
For the first time, there was something almost like respect in his expression.
Or fear wearing respect’s clothing.
He sat.
Then he looked at Ethan.
“You should leave.”
Ethan shook his head.
“No.”
“What I’m about to say involves your father.”
“All the more reason I’m staying.”
Preston looked at me.
“Richard discovered that Whitmore Capital had been used to route payments connected to public development contracts.”
“Bribes?”
“Consulting fees.”
Jonathan said,
“Bribes.”
Preston ignored him.
“I tried to shut it down.”
Diana laughed again.
“You tried to keep control of it.”
Preston’s eyes flashed.
“But Richard panicked.”
“He copied records.”
“He threatened everyone.”
“And then?”
“He disappeared.”
I looked at the old photograph.
“You met him after he supposedly died.”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Vancouver.”
“Why?”
“Because he contacted me.”
“What did he want?”
“Money.”
The answer hit me like a slap.
“Richard blackmailed you.”
Preston nodded.
“For years.”
Jonathan changed the display.
The transfers suddenly made sense.
Not completely.
But enough.
Daniel Mercer had served as an intermediary.
The Cayman account had received regular payments.
Richard may have been alive all along.
Paid to remain silent.
I turned to Ethan.
“When you learned about the account, did Preston tell you any of this?”
“No.”
“What did he tell you?”
Ethan’s face twisted.
“That the payments protected the company from an old liability.”
“And you signed anyway.”
He looked down.
“Yes.”
Caroline stared at him.
“You said it was routine.”
Ethan snapped,
“Because your father told me it was.”
I felt anger rising.
Not theatrical anger.
Not loud anger.
The kind that makes everything suddenly clear.
My son had not simply remained silent while his wife humiliated me.
He had spent more than a year attaching his name to transactions he did not understand because he desperately wanted admission into the Whitmore family.
That was the real problem.
He had not lost himself tonight.
He had been giving pieces away for years.
My phone vibrated again.
A text.
This time from an unknown number.
One photograph.
Richard.
Older.
Gray-haired.
Standing outside what looked like a roadside motel.
Holding today’s newspaper.
Below it was one sentence.
May you like
IF PRESTON KNOWS YOU OWN MERIDIAN, YOU ARE ALREADY IN DANGER.
Then every light in the library went out.
