Chapter 5
I read my father’s letter three times.
Then a fourth.
The words never changed.
Nathaniel,
If you are reading this, Adrian has finally come for what he believes I stole from him.
He has reasons to hate me.
Some of them are justified.
But do not confuse my guilt with his entitlement to destroy you.
Adrian believes Whitmore Hospitality belongs equally to him.
Legally, it does not.
Morally, the answer is more complicated.
I made mistakes that wounded two families.
I cannot repair those mistakes from the grave.
But I can protect you from paying for them with your life.
If Adrian approaches you, do not meet him alone.
Do not give him control of the company.
And above all, do not trust anyone he sends into your life.
My hands stopped moving.
Anyone he sends into your life.
Isabella.
The letter had been written eleven years earlier.
Which meant Dad had feared Adrian long before I ever met her.
I kept reading.
The final paragraph was worse.
There is evidence stored with Daniel Mercer regarding financial crimes Adrian committed using one of my former subsidiaries. I chose not to expose him because I believed shame and time might change him.
If he threatens you, that evidence must be released.
I pray you never have to use it.
Dad
I turned toward Daniel.
He had arrived at the penthouse ten minutes earlier.
“You knew?”
His face was gray.
“I knew there was a sealed file.”
“That is not what I asked.”
“I knew Charles had concerns about Adrian.”
“You knew I had a brother?”
“Yes.”
The answer hurt more than I expected.
“So everyone knew except me.”
“Not everyone.”
“My mother knew. You knew. My father knew.”
“Nathaniel—”
“And apparently Isabella knew.”
Daniel removed his glasses.
“Your father made me promise.”
“My father is dead.”
“Yes.”
“So when exactly were you planning to stop protecting his secrets?”
Daniel didn’t answer.
Marcus stood near the doorway, silent.
Police had already photographed the safe and collected the flash drive.
Adrian was gone.
No one knew how he had escaped the building.
I folded the letter.
“Open the sealed file.”
Daniel looked at Mom.
She had convinced the doctors to discharge her after several hours of observation despite my objections.
Now she sat on my sofa wrapped in one of my coats.
“Nathaniel,” Daniel said, “that file can destroy a man.”
“He tried to destroy me first.”
“We don’t know Adrian was involved in what happened to Evelyn.”
“His former employee tried to drown my mother.”
“Allegedly.”
I moved toward him.
Daniel immediately raised a hand.
“That was legal language, not doubt.”
“Then open it.”
He exhaled.
“I can access it from my office.”
“Do it tonight.”
A voice came from behind us.
“You won’t have to.”
Everyone turned.
Isabella stood in the open doorway.
Two officers moved instantly.
“Ma’am, stop.”
She raised both hands.
“I came voluntarily.”
I stared at her.
She had changed clothes.
Black trousers.
White blouse.
No jewelry.
No purse.
She looked less like my fiancée than she ever had.
One officer asked, “Are you Isabella Bianchi?”
“Yes.”
“We need to speak with you about an incident involving Evelyn Whitmore.”
“I know.”
“Then turn around.”
“Nathaniel.”
I didn’t respond.
She looked directly at me.
“Adrian is going to kill me.”
The room went silent.
An officer stepped closer.
“Turn around, ma’am.”
“Please.”
Her voice cracked.
“I’ll cooperate. I’ll tell you everything. But if you put me in a holding cell and he finds out where I am, I’m dead.”
I felt nothing.
Or I told myself I felt nothing.
“You should’ve thought about consequences before you pushed my mother into a jacuzzi.”
Isabella looked at Mom.
For the first time, shame crossed her face.
“I didn’t mean for her to drown.”
Mom stood.
“You stepped on my robe.”
“I was trying to scare you.”
“You watched me choke.”
“I panicked.”
“You locked the door.”
Isabella started crying.
Mom’s voice remained steady.
“You disabled the camera before you touched me.”
Isabella had no answer.
The officer took her wrists.
She didn’t resist.
As he began reading her rights, Isabella shouted, “Adrian planned the entire relationship!”
I closed my eyes.
There it was.
Confirmation.
The officer stopped long enough to look at me.
Isabella kept talking.
“He chose the fundraiser.”
I said nothing.
“He knew where you would be standing.”
Nothing.
“He told me what dress to wear because blue was your mother’s favorite color and he said men notice women who remind them of home.”
That one hurt.
Because I remembered calling Mom the morning after I met Isabella.
You would like her.
She wore that blue you love.
I had thought it was coincidence.
Every memory was becoming contaminated.
“He gave me information about you,” Isabella said.
“Your favorite restaurants. The books you read. The fact that you hated people being late. Your father’s old hotel in Vermont. Everything.”
“Stop.”
“You need to know.”
“I said stop.”
“You fell in love with me.”
I looked at her.
“Apparently that was the assignment.”
Her face crumpled.
“It became real.”
I laughed.
“You forged my signature.”
“I did.”
“You stole from me.”
“Yes.”
“You lied to me for three years.”
“Yes.”
“You tried to hurt my mother.”
She looked down.
“Yes.”
“And you expect me to believe the love was the honest part?”
Tears rolled down her cheeks.
“I know how it sounds.”
“It sounds insane.”
“It was supposed to last six months.”
Mom stared at her.
“What was?”
“The relationship.”
Isabella swallowed.
“I was supposed to get access to Nathaniel’s financial files. Adrian wanted evidence about the trust and corporate voting structures.”
“And then?” I asked.
“Then I was supposed to leave.”
“But you stayed.”
She looked at me.
“I fell in love with you.”
“No.”
“I did.”
“You stayed because the trust matured.”
Her silence was enough.
The officer guided her toward the door.
She twisted around.
“Adrian changed the plan!”
“What plan?”
“He stopped caring about the company.”
I stared at her.
“Then what does he want?”
She looked terrified.
“He wants you blamed for his death.”
Nobody moved.
“What?”
“He’s been moving money through accounts connected to your company.”
Daniel’s face changed.
“What accounts?”
“Subsidiaries. Vendor accounts. Development funds.”
“How much?”
“More than twenty million.”
Daniel swore.
Isabella kept talking quickly.
“He told me once he finished, he’d disappear. Everyone would think you had stolen the money.”
“Why would anyone think that?”
“Because the authorizations have your signature.”
I almost laughed again.
“My forged signature.”
“Yes.”
“How many?”
“I don’t know.”
“Isabella.”
“Dozens.”
Daniel grabbed his phone.
Isabella called after him.
“It might be too late.”
He stopped.
“What does that mean?”
“Adrian triggered the first transfer tonight.”
“How much?”
“Seven million.”
“To where?”
“I don’t know.”
The officer moved her again.
She resisted just enough to turn toward me.
“There’s one more thing.”
I stared at her.
“If Adrian came here tonight, he wasn’t looking for your father’s letter.”
“What was he looking for?”
“Something Charles hid.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“What?”
She hesitated.
Then she said, “A recording.”
My mother went pale.
Isabella saw it.
“So you know.”
I looked at Mom.
“What recording?”
She shook her head.
“Not here.”
“Mom.”
“Please.”
I had reached the end of my patience.
“What recording?”
Mom looked at the police.
Then at Daniel.
Finally at me.
“Your father recorded Adrian confessing to something.”
“What?”
She whispered, “Setting the fire.”
I knew immediately which fire.
Whitmore Bay Hotel.
Eleven years ago.
May you like
The fire that killed three employees.
The fire my father died trying to escape.
