Chapter 13: The Man Who Followed My Mother
I watched Nathan disappear into the elevator beside my grandmother.
For several seconds, I couldn't move.
My husband knew everything.
He knew about the investigation, the forged documents, the original DNA report, and the evidence connecting Margaret to my mother's death.
And now he knew we were getting closer to the truth.
I called Detective Mitchell immediately.
"Detective, Nathan just left the Brooks Holdings building with Margaret.""
"We're aware. Officers are attempting to locate him.""
"He's going to run.""
"We've already issued instructions to monitor his known addresses.""
I looked at my father.
He was standing near the hospital window, speaking to Richard.
"Detective, what about Richard Whitmore?""
"We've arranged an interview. He has agreed to provide a statement and surrender several financial records.""
"Can I speak to him?""
There was a pause.
"Not until we've completed the initial interview.""
I understood.
But waiting was becoming unbearable.
Two hours later, Dad and I entered the police station.
Richard Whitmore was sitting in a small interview room.
He looked nothing like the confident businessman Vanessa had described.
His expensive suit was wrinkled. His eyes were bloodshot, and his hands trembled whenever he reached for his glass of water.
Detective Mitchell introduced us.
"Mr. Whitmore has agreed to explain his involvement.""
Richard looked at me.
"Ms. Brooks, I'm sorry.""
I remained standing.
"Did you follow my mother?""
He nodded.
"Yes.""
My stomach tightened.
"Why?""
"Margaret hired me to recover financial documents your mother had taken from the company.""
"Recover them?""
"She said they were confidential business records. She told me your mother was planning to leak them to the press.""
"That doesn't explain why you followed her car.""
Richard looked down.
"Your mother refused to hand them over.""
Detective Mitchell placed a photograph on the table.
It showed a dark sedan on a wet road.
Richard nodded.
"That's my vehicle.""
I felt my throat close.
"What happened?""
He rubbed his face.
"Margaret called me that night. She said your mother was driving toward the police station. She told me to stop her before she reached it.""
My father stepped forward.
"Stop her how?""
"She didn't explain. I was supposed to retrieve the envelope.""
"And?""
Richard looked at me.
"I followed her onto the bridge.""
I gripped the edge of the table.
"Did you hit her car?""
He hesitated.
Then nodded.
"Yes.""
My father made a sound I had never heard from him before.
It was somewhere between a gasp and a growl.
"You killed my wife?""
Richard shook his head frantically.
"I didn't intend to kill her!""
"But you struck her vehicle!""
"Yes. I thought she'd stop. I thought she'd pull over.""
Detective Mitchell leaned forward.
"Mr. Whitmore, tell us exactly what happened.""
Richard swallowed.
"Her car spun. It hit the barrier. I stopped behind her, but she was still moving. I could see her trying to get out.""
I covered my mouth.
"And you left?""
He nodded.
"Margaret called me. She told me to leave immediately.""
My father grabbed the back of a chair.
"She ordered you to abandon her?""
"She said the police would find her. She said there was nothing I could do.""
I stared at him.
"My mother was alive?""
Richard began crying.
"Yes.""
The room went silent.
I felt something inside me break.
For fourteen years, I had imagined my mother dying instantly.
I had pictured a sudden accident, a moment of bad luck.
But she had survived the crash.
She had been trapped in her car.
And someone had driven away.
Detective Mitchell spoke carefully.
"Mr. Whitmore, do you have evidence supporting this account?""
Richard nodded.
He reached into his jacket and removed a small digital recorder.
"I recorded Margaret's instructions that night because I was afraid she would blame me if anything went wrong.""
He placed it on the table.
Detective Mitchell pressed play.
Margaret's voice filled the room.
"Richard, listen carefully. Get the envelope. I don't care how you do it. Your wife and I have invested too much to let Eleanor destroy everything.""
Richard's recorded voice answered.
"What if she goes to the police?""
Margaret responded coldly.
"Then make sure she doesn't arrive.""
The recording ended.
My father closed his eyes.
I looked at the detective.
"Is that enough?""
"It's significant evidence. We'll authenticate the recording and investigate the full circumstances.""
Richard lowered his head.
"I know I deserve prison.""
I stared at him.
"Why did you wait fourteen years?""
He wiped his face.
"Because Margaret paid me. She promised to protect my company. And because I was afraid.""
I leaned forward.
"My mother was afraid too. Did you ever think about that?""
He couldn't look at me.
Detective Mitchell collected the recorder.
Then she turned toward us.
"There's one more thing. Mr. Whitmore says the original documents your mother carried that night were never recovered.""
I frowned.
"Where are they?""
Richard hesitated.
"Margaret has them.""
Dad stood.
"Where?""
Richard looked at me.
"She keeps them in a private safe at the Whitmore estate.""
I felt my heart pound.
"What documents?""
Richard's answer changed everything.
"The documents proving who ordered your mother's death.""
Before we left the station, Detective Mitchell received an urgent call.
She listened for several seconds.
Then her expression hardened.
"Understood. We'll move immediately.""
She turned toward Dad.
"Margaret has just attempted to transfer the remaining company assets into an overseas holding account.""
Dad's face darkened.
"Can you stop it?""
"We've obtained emergency orders to freeze the identified accounts.""
Then she looked at me.
"There's another development.""
"What?""
"Nathan has contacted our office.""
I felt my stomach tighten.
"What does he want?""
The detective opened an email.
"He says he has evidence that Margaret manipulated him too.""
I stared at her.
"Is he offering to cooperate?""
She nodded.
"Yes. But he's made one condition.""
"What condition?""
May you like
Detective Mitchell looked directly at me.
"He wants to speak with you alone.""
