Chapter 4
We reached the hospital just after two in the morning.
Victoria had been admitted under police protection.
The same woman who had slapped me hours earlier was now lying behind a guarded door with a concussion and bruises along one side of her face.
I should have been angry at her.
Part of me still was.
But when I saw her through the glass, she looked small.
Scared.
Human.
Not the cruel woman from the ballroom.
My father spoke quietly with the detective.
Adrian stayed near the elevator.
I sat in the waiting area holding my mother’s letter inside my purse.
Every few seconds, I touched the bag just to make sure it was still there.
My entire childhood had changed in one night.
My mother hadn’t simply died.
She had been afraid.
She had named Madeline.
And somehow my father had hidden part of that from me.
A nurse stepped into the hallway.
“Ms. Harrington is awake.”
The detective moved toward her.
I stood.
He looked at me.
“Family only for now.”
Victoria’s voice came weakly from inside.
“Let her in.”
Everyone turned.
The nurse hesitated.
Victoria spoke again.
“Emma.”
I looked at the detective.
He stepped aside.
I entered alone.
Victoria’s eyes were swollen.
A bandage covered her forehead.
When she saw me, she looked away.
“I suppose this is karma.”
I didn’t answer.
She gave a bitter laugh, then winced.
“You can say it.”
“Say what?”
“That I deserved it.”
“No one deserves to be attacked.”
Her eyes moved back to me.
“That’s generous considering what I did to you.”
“I’m not here to forgive you.”
“I know.”
“Tell me what happened.”
Her fingers tightened around the blanket.
“I went home after security escorted me out.”
“Were you alone?”
“My driver dropped me off.”
“Then?”
“I received a call.”
“From Madeline?”
Victoria nodded.
“She asked if we could meet.”
“Why?”
“She said she wanted to explain.”
“Explain opening your bracelet?”
“Yes.”
I moved closer.
“What did she say?”
Victoria swallowed.
“She said it was supposed to be harmless.”
I stared at her.
“Harmless?”
“She said you needed to be embarrassed.”
My stomach tightened.
“Why?”
“She wouldn’t tell me.”
“Did she admit sending the message about me stealing?”
Victoria closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
The confirmation landed like a punch.
“She said she knew I’d react.”
“You mean she knew you’d accuse me.”
Victoria’s face twisted with shame.
“Yes.”
“And she knew you’d do it publicly.”
“Yes.”
I folded my arms tightly.
“What was supposed to happen after that?”
“She thought you’d leave.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s what she claimed.”
I leaned closer.
“You believe her?”
“No.”
“Neither do I.”
Victoria looked toward the door.
“She was frightened.”
“Madeline?”
“Yes.”
“That doesn’t sound like her.”
“It didn’t look like her either.”
“What do you mean?”
“She kept checking behind me.”
My heartbeat changed.
“Was she followed?”
“I don’t know.”
“What happened in the garage?”
Victoria’s breath became uneven.
“We were arguing.”
“You and Madeline?”
“Yes.”
“She told me I had ruined everything by slapping you.”
I almost laughed.
“Apparently the wine was acceptable.”
Victoria looked ashamed.
“She said she only wanted you publicly embarrassed enough that your father would question your judgment.”
I frowned.
“My judgment?”
“She wanted it to look like you had created a scandal.”
“But why?”
“I asked the same thing.”
“And?”
“She said your father had to stop trusting you.”
A chill moved through me.
“Why?”
“She said because you were standing between her and something she had waited twenty years to get.”
My mouth went dry.
“What?”
“She wouldn’t say.”
I thought about my mother’s letter.
I believe she wants the family itself.
“Then what happened?”
Victoria looked terrified now.
“A car entered the garage.”
“What kind?”
“Black sedan.”
Adrian had said Madeline left the hotel in a black sedan.
“Madeline panicked.”
“Why?”
“She grabbed my arm and told me to leave.”
“Did you?”
“I tried.”
Her voice broke.
“A man got out.”
“What man?”
“I couldn’t see his face clearly. He wore a dark cap.”
“What did he do?”
“He said something to Madeline.”
“What?”
Victoria stared at me.
“He said, ‘You were told not to involve the daughter.’”
My skin went cold.
“The daughter?”
“You.”
I sat down slowly.
“What did Madeline say?”
“She told him she had no choice.”
“Then?”
“He hit her.”
My head snapped up.
“He hit Madeline?”
“Yes.”
“Where is she?”
“I don’t know.”
Victoria started trembling.
“I tried to run.”
“The man attacked you?”
“Yes.”
“Did Madeline help him?”
Victoria looked at me.
“No.”
That answer surprised me.
“She tried to stop him.”
I stared at her.
“She tried to protect you?”
“She screamed at him.”
Victoria’s eyes filled with tears.
“She said, ‘This was never the deal.’”
The room went silent.
I didn’t know what to think anymore.
Madeline had framed me.
That was certain.
But someone else was controlling her.
Or threatening her.
Maybe both.
“What happened after you were hit?”
“I remember falling.”
“Anything else?”
“One thing.”
“What?”
Victoria closed her eyes.
“The man called Madeline by another name.”
I leaned forward.
“What name?”
She whispered it.
“Rachel.”
My father entered the room twenty seconds later after I called him.
When I repeated the name, every trace of color disappeared from his face.
“You know it.”
He looked at the floor.
“Dad.”
He didn’t answer.
I grabbed his arm.
“Who is Rachel?”
He looked at Victoria.
Then toward the detective.
“Everyone out.”
The detective frowned.
“Mr. Whitmore—”
“Now.”
“I’m not leaving,” I said.
He looked at me.
“I know.”
Eventually, only the three of us remained.
My father closed the door.
“Twenty-three years ago, before Madeline Cross worked for the Hartwell Trust, there was a woman named Rachel Mercer.”
“And?”
“She worked inside Whitmore Global.”
“What did she do?”
“Corporate accounting.”
My stomach tightened.
“What happened to her?”
“She disappeared.”
Victoria whispered, “Disappeared?”
My father nodded.
“After millions of dollars went missing.”
I stared at him.
“You think Madeline is Rachel?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you have a photograph?”
“Yes.”
“Show me.”
He hesitated.
“Dad.”
He opened his phone.
Scrolled.
Then held the screen toward me.
The photograph was grainy.
Old employee badge.
Shorter hair.
Younger face.
But the eyes were unmistakable.
Madeline.
My father’s fiancée had once been a woman named Rachel Mercer.
A woman accused of stealing from my father’s company.
“What happened to the missing money?”
“It was never recovered.”
“Was she charged?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because she vanished before investigators could question her.”
I stared at him.
“And twenty years later you got engaged to her without recognizing her?”
His face tightened.
“She had changed.”
“Not that much.”
“I knew her as a junior employee. There were thousands.”
“That’s convenient.”
“Emma.”
“No. You don’t get to be offended.”
Victoria looked uncomfortable.
My father ignored her.
“When I met Madeline again, I had no reason to connect her to Rachel Mercer.”
“Until tonight?”
“Until the name.”
I looked at the old photograph again.
“Mom knew.”
He nodded slowly.
“Your mother was the one who discovered the accounting irregularities.”
That sentence hit harder than anything else.
“What?”
“She found evidence someone was moving money through the foundation.”
“Rachel?”
“We believed so.”
“And then Mom died.”
His eyes closed.
“Yes.”
I stepped backward.
“You thought they were connected.”
“I wondered.”
“You wondered?”
“I investigated.”
“Privately?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“Nothing.”
I laughed in disbelief.
“The richest man in the city couldn’t find one former employee?”
“She disappeared completely.”
“Maybe because she had help.”
My father looked at me.
“That possibility occurred to me.”
“From who?”
“I never knew.”
Victoria suddenly spoke.
“The man in the garage.”
We both turned.
She swallowed.
“If Madeline was Rachel and someone helped her disappear twenty years ago…”
She looked frightened.
“…maybe he came back.”
My father’s phone rang.
Adrian.
He answered immediately.
“Yes?”
He listened.
His face hardened.
“Send it to me.”
He ended the call.
“What?” I asked.
He looked at me.
“Police found Madeline’s car.”
“Where?”
“Abandoned near the river.”
“Any sign of her?”
“No.”
My father’s phone buzzed.
A photograph arrived.
He opened it.
The driver’s door of the black sedan stood open.
The windshield was cracked.
There was blood on the seat.
And across the dashboard, someone had written a message in red lipstick.
Charles showed me.
Three words.
STOP DIGGING, EMMA.
Victoria started crying.
I didn’t.
I stared at the message until my fear became something else.
Anger.
Whoever was behind this knew my name.
Knew where I lived.
Knew about my mother.
And thought threatening me would make me stop.
I looked at my father.
“I want every file you have from twenty-three years ago.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Emma, this is exactly what they’re warning you not to do.”
“Then they’re scared of what I might find.”
“You could get killed.”
“So could Madeline.”
He stared at me.
Hours ago, I would have enjoyed hearing that Madeline was in trouble.
Now I didn’t know whether she was a villain, a victim, or both.
But I knew one thing.
My mother had died with a secret.
And someone had spent more than twenty years making sure it stayed buried.
I looked directly at my father.
“If Mom was murdered because of this, I’m not stopping.”
His face crumpled slightly.
“Your mother would tell you to walk away.”
I reached into my purse.
Pulled out her letter.
“No.”
I held it up.
“She told me not to trust anyone who called her death an accident.”
Then the hospital room door opened.
Adrian entered without knocking.
His face was grim.
“Charles.”
“What now?”
“We identified the shell corporation that owns the sedan.”
My father frowned.
“Who owns it?”
Adrian looked at me.
“Not Madeline.”
“Then who?”
He placed a document on the table.
I looked down.
The owner’s name was familiar.
Very familiar.
Because I had seen him sitting beside my father at family dinners for most of my life.
May you like
Thomas Whitmore.
My father’s younger brother.
