Chapter 10 - THE LAST EIGHT HOURS
Nathaniel had been in Baltimore the day he died.
That was impossible.
Or rather, it contradicted everything I had been told.
He had left our home outside Chicago that morning.
He told me he was flying to North Carolina for a meeting.
The crash happened outside Asheville that night.
I remembered his navy coat.
Coffee in one hand.
Phone in the other.
Lucas was three.
He ran after Nathaniel because he had forgotten to kiss him goodbye.
Nathaniel came back.
Picked him up.
Spun him around.
Then kissed me.
Normal morning.
Last morning.
But now FBI records showed Nathaniel used a biometric access terminal in Baltimore at 11:26 AM.
His crash occurred at 8:41 PM in North Carolina.
Possible.
Flights existed.
But why Baltimore?
And what did he remove from the locker?
FBI Special Agent Aaron Bell arrived at Sylvester’s estate before noon.
Mid-fifties.
Plain suit.
Tired eyes.
No patience for wealthy men.
I liked him immediately.
He spread maps and records across the conference table.
“Nathaniel entered the Baltimore storage facility at 11:22.”
“Left at 11:39.”
“Then?”
“Private charter departed Baltimore at 12:18.”
“Destination Charlotte.”
I frowned.
“He told me Asheville.”
“Car was waiting in Charlotte.”
“Whose?”
“Rental.”
“Under Nathaniel’s name?”
“No.”
“Whose?”
Bell looked at me.
“Thomas Keene.”
My skin prickled.
“The detective.”
“Yes.”
“The same detective who later investigated the brake report.”
“Yes.”
Sylvester leaned forward.
“So Nathaniel met Keene before he died.”
“Appears so.”
“Can you prove it?”
“Not yet.”
“What happened after Charlotte?”
Bell tapped the map.
“Vehicle traveled west.”
“Traffic cameras captured it at 3:07 PM.”
“Two occupants.”
“Can we identify them?”
“Driver likely Keene.”
“Passenger likely Nathaniel.”
I swallowed.
“Then at some point Nathaniel drove alone.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Unknown.”
Bell continued.
“At 6:14 PM, Nathaniel used his phone near Black Mountain.”
“At 6:52, his phone went offline.”
“Crash 8:41.”
“Two hours missing.”
I stared at the map.
“What was in the locker?”
“We don't know.”
“Camera?”
“Old system.”
“Footage purged.”
“Witness?”
“Three years ago.”
Bell spread another paper.
“But the inventory code matters.”
“Why?”
“Locker registered as document storage.”
“Size?”
“Small.”
“How small?”
“Enough for a file box.”
Sylvester and I exchanged a look.
Black Ledger.
Trust amendment.
Audit authorization.
Maybe Nathaniel had retrieved the originals.
Then took them to North Carolina.
And crashed.
“If the documents were in his car,” I said, “police would've found them.”
Bell shook his head.
“The vehicle burned.”
My chest tightened.
I remembered being told that.
Severe fire after impact.
Most personal items destroyed.
Convenient.
“Was anything recovered?”
“Wallet.”
“Watch.”
“Phone fragments.”
“Briefcase latch.”
I looked up.
“Briefcase?”
Bell nodded.
“No case itself.”
Sylvester leaned closer.
“So there was a briefcase.”
“Likely.”
I remembered Nathaniel leaving home.
He had carried one.
Dark brown leather.
A gift from me.
I hadn't thought about it in years.
“He had it that morning.”
Bell looked at me.
“You're sure?”
“Yes.”
“Describe it.”
I did.
Brass clasp.
Initials N.C. inside.
Bell wrote everything.
“Was it ever returned?”
“No.”
“Mentioned?”
“No.”
He nodded.
“That may be important.”
I laughed without humor.
“Everything is important now.”
Bell looked at me sympathetically.
Then removed another file.
“There's more.”
Of course.
“Nathaniel made one call at 6:47 PM.”
“To whom?”
Bell looked toward Sylvester.
“Marianne Vale.”
Sylvester stopped moving.
His sister.
I stared at him.
“You said she was in Paris.”
“Now.”
“Where was she three years ago?”
He didn't answer immediately.
“Sylvester.”
“North Carolina.”
My heart stopped.
“Why?”
“She had a house near Asheville.”
Silence.
Bell watched him.
“You omitted that.”
“I didn't know Nathaniel called her.”
“Did she know him?”
“Yes.”
“How well?”
Sylvester’s jaw tightened.
I understood before he spoke.
“Oh.”
He looked away.
“What?”
I demanded.
“They dated.”
“When?”
“Years before you.”
I nearly laughed.
Nathaniel’s life was apparently filled with entire chapters he never thought to mention.
“How serious?”
“Very.”
“Why did it end?”
“Family pressure.”
“Again.”
“Yes.”
Bell asked, “Did they remain in contact?”
Sylvester rubbed his temple.
“I thought not.”
“Thought?”
“They occasionally spoke.”
“About?”
“I don't know.”
I stared at him.
He noticed.
“I genuinely don't.”
Bell slid phone records across the table.
“They spoke nine times in Nathaniel’s final month.”
Sylvester went pale.
“Nine?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know?”
“No.”
I stood.
Suddenly I needed distance.
Nathaniel had hidden his fear from me.
His investigation.
His trust.
His meeting with Keene.
And apparently repeated conversations with an ex-girlfriend.
I felt stupid.
Not jealous.
Not exactly.
Just excluded from my own life.
Bell looked at me.
“Claire.”
“I’m fine.”
“You don't look fine.”
“I've been better.”
He waited.
I breathed.
“Continue.”
Bell nodded.
“The final call lasted forty-three seconds.”
“What did they say?”
“No recording.”
“Location?”
“Nathaniel near Black Mountain.”
“Marianne?”
Bell looked toward Sylvester.
“Her phone registered at her Asheville property.”
The room went quiet.
Nathaniel had been within an hour of Marianne Vale before he died.
Bell continued.
“Then Marianne’s phone went offline at 7:03 PM.”
“When back?”
“9:18.”
“After the crash.”
“Yes.”
Sylvester stood.
“I want her found.”
Bell nodded.
“So do we.”
“What if she is not in Paris?”
“We checked.”
“And?”
Bell opened another file.
“The woman who boarded Marianne Vale’s jet to Paris four days ago was not Marianne.”
Sylvester stared.
“What?”
“Facial comparison.”
“Hat.”
“Glasses.”
“Same height.”
“But not your sister.”
I felt the entire investigation tilt again.
“Where is she?”
“No idea.”
Bell replied.
“Her chief of staff claims she traveled privately afterward.”
“Security?”
“Records altered.”
“By whom?”
“Still tracing.”
Sylvester looked at Edmund.
Edmund was already making calls.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
Everyone looked at it.
Bell lifted one finger.
“Speaker.”
I answered.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Then a woman’s voice.
Quiet.
Breathless.
“Claire?”
I recognized it only because I had heard it at Nathaniel’s funeral.
Marianne Vale.
“Where are you?”
“Don't ask.”
Sylvester stepped closer.
“Marianne.”
She inhaled sharply.
“Sylvester?”
“Yes.”
“You shouldn't be with Claire.”
His face hardened.
“Why?”
“Because Graham knows.”
“Knows what?”
Silence.
Then Marianne spoke to me.
“Claire, Nathaniel didn't die because of the trust.”
I gripped the phone.
“Then why?”
“He died because he found out who was really funding Graham.”
Bell leaned closer.
“Who?”
Marianne began to answer.
A noise sounded behind her.
Door.
Footsteps.
Her breathing changed.
“Marianne?”
She whispered.
“Oh, God.”
Then shouted.
“Claire, find the briefcase.”
The line exploded with static.
A man’s voice.
A struggle.
Then silence.
The call ended.
I stared at the screen.
Sylvester’s face had gone white.
Agent Bell was already shouting orders.
I heard myself ask the only question that mattered.
“Where was Nathaniel’s briefcase after the crash?”
Nobody answered.
Then Edmund slowly lowered his phone.
“I know someone who might know.”
“Who?”
May you like
He looked at me.
“The paramedic who pronounced Nathaniel dead.”
