Chapter 6 - Sarah Carter’s Last Night
Mrs. Whitmore was lying on a stretcher near the garden entrance.
Her silver hair was damp with rain.
Blood darkened the bandage above her temple.
When she saw Emma, she reached out.
“Come here.”
Emma took her hand.
Mrs. Whitmore gripped hard.
“Not him.”
Her eyes moved toward Adrian.
Adrian stopped.
Emma looked back at him.
He nodded once.
“I’ll stay here.”
Emma followed the paramedics into the sitting room.
Mrs. Whitmore refused transport until she spoke.
“You’re stubborn,” Emma whispered.
The older woman smiled faintly.
“So was your mother.”
Emma’s throat tightened.
“You knew her.”
“For years.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I promised her.”
“Sarah?”
“Yes.”
“What happened to her?”
Mrs. Whitmore closed her eyes.
“I need you to understand something first.”
Emma waited.
“Your mother loved Arthur.”
Emma looked away.
“I know.”
“No.”
Mrs. Whitmore squeezed her hand.
“You know the ugly parts.”
“The secrecy.”
“The affair.”
“The promises.”
“You don’t know what happened at the end.”
Emma forced herself to look back.
Mrs. Whitmore continued.
“When Sarah became pregnant, she tried to leave him.”
Emma frowned.
“Why?”
“She discovered Eleanor was alive.”
Emma stared.
“When?”
“Before anyone else outside the family knew.”
“How?”
“I told her.”
Emma pulled her hand away.
“You?”
Mrs. Whitmore nodded.
“I had been assigned to Eleanor after the incident outside Sarah’s building.”
“The knife.”
“Yes.”
“Why would you tell my mother?”
“Because Arthur was lying to both women.”
Emma sat back.
The truth seemed endlessly layered.
No clean villain.
No clean victim.
Only people hiding damage until it became lethal.
Mrs. Whitmore spoke quietly.
“Arthur told Sarah Eleanor had died.”
Emma closed her eyes.
“Of course he did.”
“When Sarah discovered the truth, she ended the relationship.”
“And Lucy?”
“Arthur begged to remain in her life.”
Emma stared.
“Did my mother allow it?”
“Eventually.”
“Why?”
“Because Lucy loved him.”
That hurt.
Emma had been fourteen when Lucy was born.
Old enough to remember Arthur visiting under excuses.
Mr. Vale from Mom’s old job.
Uncle Arthur.
Family friend.
Never father.
Mrs. Whitmore continued.
“Arthur paid medical bills when Sarah became ill.”
Emma nodded.
“He helped us.”
“But Sarah would never let him move you.”
“Move us?”
“He wanted to put both girls in a private home under protection.”
“From Eleanor?”
“Partly.”
Emma leaned forward.
“Partly?”
Mrs. Whitmore glanced toward the doorway.
Adrian remained far enough away not to hear.
“From Richard Bellamy.”
Emma frowned.
“Why?”
“Because Sarah discovered something.”
“The money.”
“More than money.”
Mrs. Whitmore took a shaky breath.
“Sarah worked for Arthur.”
“She had access to calendars, meetings, contracts.”
“Yes.”
“She found payments to a private medical company.”
Emma waited.
“North Lake Behavioral Research.”
The name meant nothing.
Mrs. Whitmore continued.
“It was controlled indirectly by Bellamy Capital.”
Emma’s skin prickled.
“What did it do?”
“Officially?”
Mrs. Whitmore’s face tightened.
“Clinical research.”
“And unofficially?”
“Arthur believed they were testing unapproved psychiatric drugs on private patients.”
Emma went cold.
“Eleanor.”
“Yes.”
Adrian must have heard his mother’s name.
He stepped closer.
Mrs. Whitmore looked at him.
Then sighed.
“You should hear this too.”
He entered.
Emma didn’t object.
Mrs. Whitmore continued.
“Eleanor’s treatment became more aggressive after Arthur committed her.”
Adrian’s jaw tightened.
“Medication?”
“Yes.”
“Did he know?”
“At first, he approved it.”
Adrian closed his eyes.
“Later?”
“He began to suspect her condition was being made worse.”
“Why?”
“To keep her institutionalized.”
Emma whispered, “So Arthur could keep her hidden.”
Mrs. Whitmore nodded.
“And Richard’s company could keep receiving money.”
Adrian looked toward the hall where Richard stood under guard.
“How much?”
“Millions over eight years.”
Emma understood the financial transfers differently now.
Some were not theft.
They were payments.
Arthur hiding Eleanor.
Richard profiting from the secret.
And somebody else had been manipulating the accounts.
Mrs. Whitmore continued.
“Sarah found the invoices.”
“What did she do?”
“She confronted Arthur.”
Emma could imagine her mother.
Quiet until pushed.
Then fearless.
“He promised to shut it down.”
“Did he?”
“He tried.”
“And?”
“Richard threatened him.”
Adrian frowned.
“With what?”
“Exposure.”
Emma looked at Adrian.
If the world learned Arthur Vale had hidden his living wife in a private psychiatric institution while publicly declaring her dead, the company would have exploded.
Mrs. Whitmore said, “Arthur backed down.”
Emma’s chest hurt.
“And Sarah?”
“She copied records.”
Emma stared.
“Where are they?”
“I don’t know.”
“You knew she copied them?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t anyone tell police?”
Mrs. Whitmore gave a sad smile.
“Because by then, police were already part of the problem.”
“Detective Pike.”
“Yes.”
Adrian’s eyes hardened.
“Bellamy paid him?”
“I never proved it.”
Emma said, “But Arthur knew.”
“Eventually.”
Mrs. Whitmore closed her eyes.
“Your mother was diagnosed with leukemia six months later.”
Emma nodded.
“She declined quickly.”
“Not at first.”
Emma frowned.
“What?”
“Sarah responded well to treatment.”
Emma stared.
“No.”
“She did.”
“The doctors told us—”
“The doctors told you what they were told to tell you.”
Emma’s pulse accelerated.
“Who changed her treatment?”
Mrs. Whitmore looked at Adrian.
“Dr. Harlan.”
Adrian’s face went white.
“My mother’s psychiatrist treated Sarah?”
“Not directly.”
“How?”
“He consulted with the private hospital.”
Emma’s mouth went dry.
Mrs. Whitmore continued.
“Sarah was in pain.”
“She received medication.”
“What kind?”
“Sedatives.”
Emma remembered.
Her mother sleeping longer.
Speaking more slowly.
Confusion.
Hallucinations during the final week.
They had said the cancer had spread.
“What was in them?”
Mrs. Whitmore’s eyes filled.
“I don’t know.”
Emma’s voice broke.
“You said she didn’t die from cancer.”
Mrs. Whitmore nodded.
“Her cancer would eventually have killed her.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“No.”
The older woman’s hand trembled.
“She died from respiratory failure after an overdose.”
Emma’s vision blurred.
“Accidental?”
Mrs. Whitmore cried.
“I don’t believe so.”
Emma stood so quickly the chair tipped backward.
Adrian caught it.
Emma backed away.
“No.”
Mrs. Whitmore tried to sit higher.
“Emma—”
“You knew?”
“I suspected.”
“For seven years?”
“I had no proof.”
“You had enough to tell me!”
“You were eighteen.”
“My mother was dead!”
“And Lucy was three!”
Emma stopped.
Mrs. Whitmore’s voice broke.
“Sarah made me promise.”
Emma stared.
“What?”
“She knew she was being watched.”
“By whom?”
“She didn’t know.”
“She told me if anything happened, I was to keep you away from the Vales.”
Emma laughed bitterly.
“That worked well.”
Mrs. Whitmore’s tears slid into her hair.
“I failed.”
Emma looked away.
Adrian remained silent.
Mrs. Whitmore whispered, “Sarah gave me something before she died.”
Emma turned.
“What?”
“A recording.”
Adrian’s head lifted.
“Where is it?”
“I hid it.”
“Where?”
Mrs. Whitmore looked at Emma.
“Inside the house.”
Emma almost screamed.
“Why does everyone hide things inside this house?”
A weak smile crossed Mrs. Whitmore’s face.
“Because Arthur built more hiding places than rooms.”
Adrian almost smiled.
Almost.
“Where?”
“The old nursery.”
Adrian frowned.
“My nursery?”
“Yes.”
“Nothing’s been kept there for years.”
“That’s why Sarah chose it.”
Emma stared.
“My mother was in this house?”
Mrs. Whitmore nodded.
“The night before she died.”
Another secret.
Emma sat again.
“What did she come here for?”
“To confront Eleanor.”
Adrian went completely still.
“Eleanor was here?”
“For one night.”
“When?”
“Three years before Arthur died.”
Emma struggled to follow.
Eleanor had been hidden in the facility.
Sarah had discovered her.
The two women had met.
“What happened?”
Mrs. Whitmore’s expression softened.
“Something Arthur never expected.”
“What?”
“They talked.”
Emma frowned.
“That’s all?”
“For six hours.”
Adrian stared.
“The woman who attacked Sarah later sat with her for six hours?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because by then Eleanor understood she had been manipulated.”
Mrs. Whitmore looked at Adrian.
“She had flashes of clarity.”
“Between medications.”
“Yes.”
“And Sarah?”
“She came to hate Arthur less than she hated the system surrounding him.”
Emma understood.
Two women.
Both lied to.
Both controlled.
Both protecting children.
Mrs. Whitmore continued.
“Eleanor gave Sarah the necklace.”
Emma stopped breathing.
“The pendant.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“She said it belonged to the daughter who had lost the most.”
Emma looked at the photograph.
Lucy.
Adrian lowered his head.
Mrs. Whitmore whispered, “Eleanor knew Lucy was Arthur’s child.”
Emma felt tears spill despite herself.
“And she gave her the necklace.”
“Yes.”
Adrian sat down.
For the first time all night, his face softened.
“My mother gave it willingly.”
“She did.”
Emma remembered Adrian saying the pendant had vanished before Eleanor’s funeral.
But the funeral had been false.
Of course it had vanished.
Eleanor herself had taken it.
Mrs. Whitmore continued.
“Sarah recorded their conversation.”
Emma’s heart jumped.
“Why?”
“Protection.”
“Against Arthur?”
“Against everyone.”
Adrian stood.
“Where in the nursery?”
“Old window seat.”
Mrs. Whitmore described a loose panel.
Adrian called Marcus.
“Go.”
Emma grabbed his sleeve.
“I’m coming.”
He looked down.
“So am I.”
Mrs. Whitmore caught Emma’s wrist.
“One more thing.”
Emma turned.
The older woman’s eyes were terrified.
“The recording contains Eleanor naming the person who arranged the medication.”
“Richard?”
Mrs. Whitmore shook her head.
“No.”
“Vanessa?”
“No.”
“Dr. Harlan?”
Again, no.
Emma frowned.
“Then who?”
Mrs. Whitmore looked at Adrian.
“Someone Arthur trusted more than any of them.”
Adrian’s expression tightened.
“Who?”
Before she could answer, the lights died.
The entire Vale estate went black.
May you like
A woman screamed upstairs.
Then three gunshots cracked through the darkness.
