Chapter 7
I met Peter Lang two days later.
My doctors hated the idea.
My father hated it more.
But Grace was stable, I was recovering, and Peter had refused to speak through lawyers.
So my father arranged for him to be transferred to a private room at the same hospital.
Police stood outside.
Marcus stood inside.
And my father stayed in the hallway because Peter refused to speak while he was present.
Peter looked nothing like the man I remembered.
He had once been handsome in a polished, expensive way.
Now his left eye was swollen shut.
His lip was split.
One arm was strapped against his chest.
He looked old.
Scared.
And guilty.
I sat across from him in a wheelchair.
“Where’s the journal?”
He nodded toward the bedside cabinet.
Marcus opened it.
Inside was a black leather notebook wrapped in a plastic evidence sleeve.
My mother’s initials were pressed into the cover.
E.G.C.
Elizabeth Grace Callahan.
My throat closed.
I reached for it.
Marcus stopped me.
“Police need the evidence sleeve intact.”
Peter laughed weakly.
“Richard still has people protecting you from everything.”
I looked at him.
“You’re lucky they’re here.”
His smile disappeared.
“I suppose I am.”
“Who attacked you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Daniel?”
“No.”
“You sound sure.”
“Daniel isn’t violent.”
I almost laughed.
“He left a six-year-old child alone in an airport garage and abandoned me while I was in premature labor.”
“That isn’t what I meant.”
“What did you mean?”
Peter looked at Marcus.
“Can he leave?”
“No.”
“This conversation was supposed to be private.”
“Marcus stays.”
Peter shrugged carefully.
“Then some things remain unsaid.”
I leaned forward.
“You manipulated my husband into meeting me.”
“Yes.”
The direct answer stunned me.
“You admit it?”
“There’s no point lying now.”
“Why?”
“Because I needed access to your family.”
“You already worked for my father.”
“I had access to Richard.”
“Not me.”
“No.”
“What did you want?”
Peter stared at the ceiling.
“To fix a mistake.”
“Stealing twelve million dollars?”
He looked at me.
“So he told you that.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
I had expected denial.
His honesty was almost more disturbing.
“Why?”
“Because your grandfather was stealing from other people.”
“What?”
“Thomas Delaney ran an investment pool for friends, business partners, employees.”
“My grandfather?”
“Yes.”
“He was wealthy.”
“So was Bernie Madoff.”
I flinched.
“Be careful.”
Peter nodded.
“Fair.”
“Explain.”
“Thomas used new investor money to cover losses from older investments.”
“A Ponzi scheme?”
“Not exactly. But close enough.”
“And you stole from him?”
“I moved money out of accounts I believed contained misappropriated funds.”
“To yourself?”
“At first, no.”
“At first?”
“I routed funds into protected accounts.”
“Why?”
“To preserve evidence.”
I stared at him.
“You expect me to believe you were some kind of whistleblower?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“Because eventually I took some.”
“How much?”
“Three million.”
Marcus shifted behind me.
I kept my eyes on Peter.
“And my mother discovered it.”
“Yes.”
“What did she do?”
“She confronted me.”
“Did you kill her?”
His face changed.
“No.”
“Did you arrange her accident?”
“No.”
“Did you know she was driving to Cape Cod that night?”
“Yes.”
My hands clenched.
“How?”
“She called me.”
“When?”
“An hour before the crash.”
“What did she say?”
Peter looked toward the journal.
“She told me she was leaving Richard.”
My chest tightened.
“Why?”
“Read the journal.”
“No. Tell me.”
“It’s her story. Not mine.”
“You forfeited the right to moral principles years ago.”
He closed his eyes.
“Your mother believed Richard knew about the missing money before she told him.”
I stared.
“My father said you convinced him she made the withdrawals.”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“To protect myself.”
“And he believed you.”
“Yes.”
“Then why would Mom think he already knew?”
“Because some of the money ended up inside Callahan-controlled investments.”
My mouth went dry.
“Did my father steal it?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s not good enough.”
“It’s the truth.”
I looked toward the door.
My father was standing on the other side.
I could almost feel him there.
“What does Daniel have to do with any of this?”
Peter sighed.
“Daniel’s father worked for Thomas Delaney.”
I froze.
“What?”
“Robert Mercer was an accountant.”
Daniel had told me his father was an insurance salesman who died when Daniel was a teenager.
“Daniel lied about his father?”
“Daniel lies about many things.”
“What happened to Robert?”
“After Thomas died, Robert discovered irregularities in the Delaney accounts.”
“Did he know you took money?”
“Yes.”
“What did he do?”
“He threatened to expose me.”
“And?”
“I paid him.”
My stomach turned.
“How much?”
“Half a million dollars.”
“For silence?”
“Yes.”
“Where is he now?”
“Dead.”
“How?”
“Heart attack. Twelve years ago.”
“Did Daniel know?”
“Not then.”
“When did he find out?”
“About eight years ago.”
The year before I met him.
Of course.
“What did he do?”
“He found me.”
“How?”
“Robert kept records.”
“And Daniel blackmailed you?”
Peter gave a weak smile.
“Daniel was more ambitious than his father.”
“What did he want?”
“Money.”
“How much?”
“At first? Fifty thousand.”
“And then?”
“More.”
“And eventually me.”
“Yes.”
The word cut.
I looked at the journal again.
“Whose idea was it for Daniel to meet me?”
“Mine.”
“Why?”
“I thought if he had a legitimate path into the Callahan family, he might stop blackmailing me.”
I stared at him.
“You used me as a payoff.”
“Yes.”
Marcus muttered something under his breath.
Peter ignored him.
“Daniel was supposed to meet you once. Maybe date you for a few months.”
“But he married me.”
“That wasn’t planned.”
“Was he paid to?”
“No.”
“Did he love me?”
Peter looked almost sympathetic.
“I don’t know.”
I hated him for that answer more than all the others.
“Why did you help him steal my trust?”
“Because by then he was threatening to expose everything.”
“Everything about you?”
“And your family.”
“What exactly?”
Peter looked toward the door again.
“That your father benefited from money your mother believed was stolen.”
I stared at him.
“Did he?”
“I can’t prove he knew.”
“But the money went into his company.”
“Indirectly.”
“How much?”
“About nine million.”
Nine million dollars.
Twenty-two years ago.
Invested through my father’s company.
“What would that be worth today?”
Peter’s expression said enough.
“How much?”
“Depending on how it compounded?”
He paused.
“More than two hundred million.”
My stomach dropped.
That was larger than my trust.
“Is that why you wanted my eighty-four million?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
“Daniel wanted it.”
“And you helped him.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Daniel threatened to release your mother’s journal.”
I laughed bitterly.
“So all of you have been using my dead mother as leverage.”
Peter didn’t answer.
I reached toward the journal.
“Give it to me.”
Marcus looked uncertain.
“Emily.”
“It belongs to my family.”
Peter nodded.
“Let her read it.”
Marcus handed me gloves.
Then carefully opened the evidence sleeve without removing the journal completely.
I turned the first page.
My mother’s handwriting.
I recognized it from birthday cards.
My vision blurred.
January 14, 2004.
Richard came home late again. Peter says the numbers are normal. I know they are not.
I swallowed.
I flipped forward.
February 3.
Twelve million dollars cannot vanish. Richard thinks I’m being dramatic. Peter thinks I’m stupid. They are both wrong.
Another page.
March 17.
I found the Delaney money inside a Callahan investment vehicle.
I stopped breathing.
I read the line again.
My hands shook.
Below it:
I asked Richard. He said he didn’t know how it got there.
I want to believe him.
But Peter has been lying to me.
Maybe Richard has too.
My throat closed.
I turned another page.
April 26.
I am taking Emily away for a while.
She is only twelve.
She should not have to live inside adult secrets.
Richard will hate me.
But I need distance.
Then another.
May 2.
Richard begged me not to leave.
He says he will fix everything.
I wish fixing money were the problem.
It isn’t.
The problem is trust.
I kept reading.
Then I reached the final written page.
The date.
May 8, 2004.
The day my mother died.
My heartbeat thundered.
I read slowly.
Peter called.
He says he has proof.
He says Richard knew.
I am driving to meet him.
If Peter is telling the truth, my marriage is over.
If Peter is lying, I will go home and apologize to my husband.
Either way, tonight ends this.
Below that was one final sentence.
If anything happens to me, find Margaret.
I looked up.
“Margaret Shaw.”
Peter’s face tightened.
“Yes.”
“My father said she disappeared.”
“She did.”
“You know where she is.”
Peter looked away.
I rolled closer.
“You know where she is.”
“Yes.”
Marcus immediately stepped forward.
“Where?”
Peter shook his head.
“I won’t tell Richard.”
“This isn’t about Richard,” I snapped. “This is about my mother.”
Peter stared at me.
Then he whispered, “Margaret didn’t disappear because she was afraid of me.”
“Then who?”
“She was afraid of Richard.”
I felt like he had slapped me.
“No.”
“I told you the journal would change things.”
“My father has spent twenty years searching for her.”
“Because he needs to know what she saw.”
“What did she see?”
Peter’s eyes filled with fear.
“The night before your mother died, Margaret saw Richard inside Elizabeth’s study.”
“That means nothing.”
“He was opening the safe.”
My stomach tightened.
“The safe where the evidence disappeared?”
“Yes.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
Peter leaned forward despite the pain.
“Emily, your mother told me she had copies of everything in that safe.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“And after she died?”
“Gone.”
“You think my father took them.”
“I know someone did.”
“That isn’t proof.”
“No.”
I looked toward the door.
My father.
The man who had rescued me.
Protected me.
Found an ambulance.
Saved Mason.
Stood beside my premature daughter’s incubator.
Peter spoke quietly.
“There’s only one person left who knows what happened.”
“Margaret.”
“Yes.”
“Where is she?”
He hesitated.
Then gave me an address.
Not in another country.
Not even another state.
A small town in Maine.
“Why didn’t my father find her?”
“Because she changed her name.”
“To what?”
“Margaret Ellis.”
I repeated it.
Marcus was already typing.
Peter leaned back.
“Don’t tell Richard until you speak to her.”
I looked at him.
“You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
“No.”
He closed his eyes.
“But if Margaret sees him first, she’ll run again.”
A knock came at the door.
My father entered before Marcus could stop him.
“That’s enough.”
Peter stiffened.
My father looked at me.
“Emily, you need to return to your room.”
I held the journal against my chest.
“Why did Mom write that you opened her safe the night before she died?”
My father stopped.
The room went completely silent.
Peter watched him.
Marcus watched him.
I watched the man I had spent my whole life believing could answer anything.
May you like
My father’s face slowly changed.
And then he said, “Because I did.”
