Chapter 13 - THE LAST SIX SECONDS
Daniel recovered six additional seconds from the damaged video.
Six seconds changed everything.
Owen's face flickered.
His voice distorted.
Then three words emerged.
“It was Michael.”
Arthur leaned back.
Michael Wynn.
Harold's nephew.
Former Vance Meridian security employee.
Lucas's kidnapper.
The arsonist.
The man who had access to Claire's garage cameras.
Arthur felt no surprise anymore.
Only a horrible sense of confirmation.
The final recovered words came next.
“But Harold ordered—”
Then nothing.
Arthur stared.
Ordered it.
Harold had ordered Claire's death.
They still needed proof.
A dying woman's suspicion and a fugitive executive's video were not enough for a murder conviction.
Michael had vanished.
Harold had vanished.
Owen had vanished.
Arthur needed one of them alive and talking.
Sarah might know where Michael would go.
She did.
“Canada.”
Arthur frowned.
“Why?”
“Michael worked private security near the border.”
“Where?”
“Lake Champlain region.”
Police already knew he had contacts there.
Federal agents became involved.
Arthur couldn't participate.
This time he didn't argue.
He focused on Lucas.
And Maria.
Maria was released after twelve hours.
Pharmacy records showed the prescription under her name had been paid for by a prepaid debit card.
The prescribing physician turned out to be fictitious.
Someone had inserted data into the pharmacy's system using stolen credentials.
The bottle had been planted.
Maria returned to the hotel exhausted.
Lucas ran into her arms.
Arthur waited until later.
“I'm sorry.”
She looked at him.
“For what?”
“That you were dragged into this.”
“I chose to stay.”
“You didn't choose to be framed.”
“No.”
Maria sat beside the window.
“Neither did you.”
Arthur almost laughed.
“I invited Elena into my life.”
“You married someone.”
“I ignored signs.”
“What signs?”
Arthur thought.
Elena asking about Lucas's trust.
Elena criticizing Claire.
Elena wanting access to company records.
At the time, each had explanations.
Together they formed a warning.
“I wanted life to feel normal.”
Maria nodded.
“After Claire?”
“Yes.”
He had never spoken this openly with anyone.
“I was tired of grief.”
“So you trusted someone who made life easier.”
“For a while.”
“That doesn't mean you agreed to be poisoned.”
Arthur looked at her.
“You have a frustrating habit of being reasonable.”
“I'll work on that.”
He smiled.
For the first time in days, the room felt human.
Then Lucas screamed from the bedroom.
Arthur ran.
The boy sat upright in bed.
Nightmare.
Arthur held him.
Lucas shook.
“He was there.”
“Who?”
“Michael.”
“You're safe.”
“No.”
Lucas grabbed his arm.
“I remembered something.”
Arthur stayed still.
“What?”
“When they had me in the warehouse, Michael called someone.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“What did he say?”
Lucas swallowed.
“He said, ‘The kid saw my face, so the old plan won't work anymore.’”
Arthur frowned.
“What old plan?”
“I don't know.”
Lucas continued.
“Then he said, ‘If Arthur doesn't break, use the papers on the nanny.’”
Arthur looked toward Maria.
She had entered behind him.
Her face went pale.
The framed prescription.
It had been prepared before the kidnapping.
Maria had been part of the contingency plan.
Arthur's phone rang.
Federal agent.
Michael Wynn had been found.
Alive.
At a remote cabin in northern Vermont.
He tried to run.
He failed.
Arthur almost drove there.
He didn't.
The interrogation began without him.
Michael asked for a lawyer.
Then something unexpected happened.
He asked for immunity.
“What can he offer?”
Arthur asked Daniel.
“Murder evidence.”
Arthur stopped.
“Claire?”
“Yes.”
“He confessed?”
“Not yet.”
“What does he want?”
“Protection from Harold.”
Arthur laughed bitterly.
“So he is afraid of the man who ordered him to kill someone.”
“Apparently.”
“What does he say Harold has?”
“People.”
Arthur stared.
“What people?”
“Police.”
“Judges?”
“Possibly.”
“Bank executives?”
“Yes.”
Arthur thought of six years of silence.
Maybe Claire's murder hadn't remained hidden because everyone was incompetent.
Maybe people had been paid to look away.
Michael offered more.
Location of records.
Harold kept a private archive.
Physical.
Not digital.
Insurance against everyone he had helped.
Arthur knew what that meant.
Blackmail.
Michael said the archive was located inside an abandoned private club Richard Vance once owned outside Boston.
Federal agents obtained a warrant.
Inside a concealed basement room, they found twenty-three boxes.
Contracts.
Bank statements.
Photographs.
Audio recordings.
Copies of checks.
And one folder labeled C.V.
Claire Vance.
Arthur was not allowed to see it immediately.
The district attorney called him personally.
“We found documentation connecting Harold Wynn to your wife's death.”
Arthur sat beside Lucas's sleeping bed.
His voice barely worked.
“What documentation?”
“A payment.”
“To Michael?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Two hundred fifty thousand dollars.”
“When?”
“Two days after Claire died.”
Arthur closed his eyes.
The prosecutor continued.
“And there is an audio file.”
Arthur's breath caught.
“What file?”
“A recording between Harold and Michael.”
“What does it say?”
A pause.
“It discusses making a vehicle malfunction look accidental.”
Arthur lowered his head.
Six years.
Six years of wondering whether Claire had been frightened when the car stopped responding.
Six years telling Lucas his mother died because roads were dangerous in heavy rain.
Six years.
Now the truth had a voice.
Harold's.
“Where is he?”
“We're trying to locate him.”
Arthur's rage returned.
“You have his archives.”
“We also found travel documents.”
“For where?”
The prosecutor hesitated.
“Costa Rica.”
“When did he leave?”
“He didn't.”
Arthur frowned.
“What?”
“The passport was prepared but unused.”
“Then he's still here.”
“We believe so.”
Arthur walked toward the hotel window.
Below, cars moved through Boston.
Millions of windows.
Thousands of streets.
One old man hiding somewhere among them.
Then the prosecutor said something else.
“Mr. Vance, we found another file in the archive.”
Arthur waited.
“Your name.”
His stomach tightened.
“What about me?”
“The folder appears to contain a plan.”
“What kind?”
“To have you declared mentally incompetent.”
Arthur thought of the drugs.
The forged trust amendment.
Elena's court claims.
Everything.
“How far did it go?”
“Far.”
“What does that mean?”
The prosecutor paused.
“There are psychiatric evaluations.”
Arthur stared.
“I've never had a psychiatric evaluation.”
“These reports say you did.”
“What diagnoses?”
“Paranoid delusions.”
Arthur laughed once.
“Convenient.”
“Intermittent explosive disorder.”
“I've never been diagnosed.”
“And early cognitive impairment.”
Arthur stopped laughing.
The prosecutor continued.
“All falsified.”
“For what purpose?”
“To support emergency removal as trustee and chief executive.”
Arthur closed his eyes.
“They were going to drug me until I looked unstable.”
“Yes.”
“Then use fake medical records to prove it.”
“That appears to be the plan.”
Arthur thought of Elena making his coffee.
Of his dizziness.
Of forgetting a meeting two weeks earlier.
He had blamed stress.
They were manufacturing a version of Arthur who couldn't be trusted.
Then the prosecutor added.
“One doctor's signature appears repeatedly.”
“Who?”
“Dr. Franklin Meade.”
Arthur knew the name.
Everyone in Boston finance did.
Franklin Meade served on Vance Meridian's board.
Arthur's hand tightened around the phone.
May you like
The conspiracy wasn't ending.
It was moving back inside his company.
