Chapter 7 - The First Person She Buried
Nathan listened to the recovered recording three times.
Each time, Eleanor's voice sounded colder.
There was no affection.
No hesitation.
No trace of the polished woman who appeared in charity advertisements holding smiling children.
There was only anger.
And beneath it, something worse.
Confidence.
Hannah spoke next.
"Are you threatening me?"
Eleanor laughed.
"You always make everything sound so dramatic."
"You just said you've buried someone."
"People die, Hannah."
"Who?"
"That's none of your business."
"Was it your husband?"
Nathan felt the blood drain from his face.
His father.
Charles Vale.
He had died of a heart attack when Nathan was fifteen.
At least that was what the family had always been told.
In the recording, Eleanor's voice sharpened.
"Be careful."
Hannah didn't back down.
"Charles was going to leave you."
A chair scraped against the floor.
"Where did you hear that?"
"I found his letters."
Silence.
Then Eleanor said:
"You think you understand marriage because you've been in one for four years?"
"I understand that threatening people isn't love."
"You know nothing about love."
Hannah's reply was quiet.
"I know Nathan deserves better than fear."
A sharp slap sounded.
Nathan flinched.
He had never heard his mother strike Hannah.
He had never imagined she would.
Hannah gasped.
Then said, "Don't touch me again."
Eleanor answered in a whisper.
"You should have stayed out of my family."
The recording ended.
Nathan sat motionless.
Detective Bennett stopped the playback.
"Mr. Vale?"
He didn't answer.
He was remembering his father.
A quiet man who loved old jazz records and built model airplanes.
Charles had smiled more often when Eleanor wasn't in the room.
Sometimes Nathan found him sitting alone in the garden.
On those afternoons, Charles would put down his book and ask Nathan about school.
He never seemed in a hurry.
Eleanor always was.
Nathan remembered the last time he saw his father alive.
Charles had hugged him longer than usual.
"Whatever happens, Nate, remember something."
"What?"
"Being kind doesn't make you weak."
Nathan had laughed.
"Mom says it does."
Charles had smiled sadly.
"Your mother and I disagree about a lot of things."
The next morning, Charles was dead.
Nathan hadn't questioned it.
Why would he?
He was fifteen.
And children believed the explanations adults gave them.
Now he was forty-one.
And the explanations were falling apart.
"Can you reopen my father's case?" he asked.
Bennett chose her words carefully.
"We can review the available evidence and determine whether there are grounds for further investigation."
Nathan nodded.
"Do that."
Claire looked at him.
"Nathan, keep your focus on Ivy."
"I am."
"Your mother may be trying to make you react in a way she can use against you."
He looked at the recorder.
"She threatened Hannah."
"Yes."
"And she nearly killed my daughter."
"We have strong concerns and evidence that needs to be tested. The criminal case must establish exactly who did what."
Nathan understood.
He hated it.
But he understood.
He needed to stay controlled.
His mother wanted him furious.
She wanted him shouting at reporters, threatening employees, and making decisions that looked unstable.
He wouldn't give her that.
At two that afternoon, Claire brought him another development.
A judge had scheduled an emergency hearing on Eleanor's guardianship petition.
Nathan's legal team had submitted the police report, the suspected tampering evidence, and Ivy's medical evaluation.
The court was notified of the active criminal investigation.
But Eleanor had hired a new attorney.
Victor Hale.
One of the most expensive litigators in the state.
He was known for winning high-profile family cases by turning every disagreement into a public spectacle.
Claire handed Nathan a copy of Victor's latest filing.
It contained a declaration from Eleanor.
She claimed that Nathan had fabricated the accusations because he was suffering from unresolved grief over Hannah's death.
She described the pool incident as a misunderstanding.
She accused Rosa and June of attempting to extort money from the family.
And she insisted she had never been alone with Ivy's vest.
Nathan read that last sentence twice.
"She's lying."
Claire nodded.
"The statement is signed under penalty of perjury."
"Good."
Claire looked surprised.
"Good?"
Nathan pointed to the paragraph.
"Because Ivy saw her."
"That testimony needs to be handled carefully."
"And Rosa found the holes."
"Yes."
"And there's evidence from the house."
"Yes."
Nathan put the document down.
"Then every lie gives us another place to look."
Before Claire could answer, her assistant knocked.
"There's a woman downstairs."
"Who?"
"She says her name is Marianne Cole."
Nathan was on his feet before the assistant finished speaking.
Marianne looked older than he remembered.
Her hair was short and gray.
A pale scar ran across her left cheek.
She wore a plain brown coat and carried a canvas bag.
When Nathan entered the conference room, she began crying.
"I'm sorry."
He stopped in front of her.
"Why did you disappear?"
She covered her mouth.
"Because I was afraid."
"Of my mother?"
Marianne nodded.
Nathan waited.
She took a shaky breath.
"She had my son."
Nathan stared at her.
"What?"
"Not physically. Not at first."
Marianne sat down.
"My son Daniel was nineteen. He'd been arrested for something stupid. A fight outside a bar."
Nathan remembered the boy vaguely.
"He was a good kid."
"He was."
Marianne wiped her eyes.
"Your mother knew the judge. She said she could make his case disappear."
"And in exchange?"
"I had to do what she asked."
Nathan sat opposite her.
"What did she ask?"
"At first, little things. Changing appointments. Moving files. Keeping visitors away."
"And then?"
Marianne looked toward the window.
"After Hannah found the foundation accounts, Eleanor told me to take Hannah's phone."
Nathan's jaw tightened.
"Did you?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because she said my son would go to prison if I refused."
Nathan stared at her.
Marianne continued.
"I took it from Hannah's purse during lunch. I gave it to Derek's predecessor, a man named Frank Doyle."
"What happened after that?"
"They copied her messages."
"And?"
"They found out she was meeting a reporter."
Nathan leaned forward.
"What reporter?"
"Elena Brooks."
He recognized the name.
An investigative journalist who had died in a highway collision the year after Hannah.
Nathan felt cold.
"Elena was investigating my mother?"
Marianne nodded.
"And Hannah was helping her."
Silence settled over the room.
"Did my mother order Hannah killed?" Nathan asked.
Marianne began trembling.
"I didn't hear her give that order."
"Then what do you know?"
"I heard a conversation at the lake house."
"Between whom?"
"Eleanor and Frank."
"What did they say?"
Marianne wiped her face again.
"Eleanor told Frank the lake would make everything easier."
Nathan looked at Claire.
Then back at Marianne.
"What else?"
"Frank asked what would happen if Hannah refused to go into the water."
Nathan gripped the edge of the table.
"And my mother?"
Marianne stared at him.
"She said Hannah wouldn't have a choice."
Nathan stood so abruptly that his chair struck the wall.
Claire rose.
"Nathan."
He walked away from the table.
His breathing came fast.
He wanted to scream.
He wanted to drive to his mother's house.
He wanted eight years back.
Marianne spoke through tears.
"There's something I never told anyone."
Nathan stopped.
"What?"
"The day Hannah died, she wasn't wearing the vest when she left the house."
He turned.
Marianne continued.
"She was going to meet Elena at the lakeside dock."
Nathan felt his pulse hammer.
"Then why was she wearing one when they found her?"
Marianne swallowed.
"Because someone put it on her afterward."
The room went silent.
Nathan looked at the photograph of the orange vest.
Three punctures.
The same detail from eight years ago.
But this time, he understood something he hadn't before.
The damaged vest might not have caused Hannah's death at all.
May you like
It might have been placed on her body to explain it.
And that meant the truth was even worse than he had imagined.
