Chapter 8
I stared at my father.
“You opened the safe.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To find the documents your mother refused to show me.”
Peter laughed from the bed.
“There it is.”
My father turned.
“Be quiet.”
“No,” I said.
He looked back at me.
“You don’t get to silence people anymore.”
Pain crossed his face.
I didn’t care.
“Did you remove the documents?”
“Yes.”
The answer destroyed something inside me.
Peter closed his eyes.
Marcus looked toward the floor.
I whispered, “You lied to me.”
“Yes.”
“Five minutes ago, you told me the evidence disappeared after Mom died.”
“It did.”
“You took it.”
“I took copies.”
“Where are they?”
“Gone.”
“How?”
“I burned them.”
I stared at him.
Peter laughed again.
“You should have been an actor, Richard.”
My father ignored him.
“Emily, listen to me.”
“No. You listen.”
I pointed toward my mother’s journal.
“She died believing you might have stolen from her.”
“I know.”
“And you burned evidence.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because the documents implicated someone.”
“You?”
“No.”
“Peter?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
My father hesitated.
I almost screamed.
“Stop protecting people!”
His eyes filled.
“Your grandmother.”
I froze.
“My grandmother?”
“Your mother’s mother.”
“Eleanor Delaney?”
“Yes.”
I remembered a stern woman who died when I was nineteen.
She had never liked my father.
She had barely tolerated me.
“What did she do?”
“She knew your grandfather’s investment business was collapsing.”
Peter opened his eyes.
My father continued.
“She helped move funds before his death.”
“To Callahan Holdings?”
“No. Into accounts she controlled.”
“Then why was Delaney money in your company?”
“Because Eleanor invested it there.”
My thoughts raced.
“Without Mom’s permission?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“She believed I could recover the losses.”
“Did you know whose money it was?”
“Not initially.”
“When did you find out?”
“The night I opened the safe.”
My mouth went dry.
“What was in there?”
“Copies of account records showing Eleanor had transferred money through Peter into one of my funds.”
Peter snapped, “I told you I didn’t authorize that transfer.”
My father turned toward him.
“You signed the documents.”
“They were forged.”
“You never proved it.”
“Neither did you.”
I shouted, “Enough!”
Both men went silent.
I looked at my father.
“Why burn the papers?”
“Because your mother intended to turn them over to federal investigators.”
“That sounds reasonable.”
“It would have sent your grandmother to prison.”
I stared.
“So?”
“She was seventy-one and dying of cancer.”
I had never known that.
“She begged me to protect her.”
“So you destroyed evidence.”
“Yes.”
“And Mom found out?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“I thought I was.”
That answer terrified me.
“What happened the day she died?”
My father pulled a chair closer.
“I confronted Eleanor that morning.”
“Where?”
“At her house.”
“What did she say?”
“She admitted moving the money.”
“And Peter?”
“She said Peter helped.”
Peter sat forward.
“She lied.”
My father’s jaw tightened.
“She had your signature.”
“Forged.”
I looked at Peter.
“You already admitted stealing three million.”
“Yes.”
“Why should anyone believe you?”
“You shouldn’t.”
At least he was consistent.
My father continued.
“Your mother called me that afternoon. She said Peter wanted to meet.”
“Did you tell her not to go?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I believed he was trying to manipulate her.”
“Were you following her?”
“No.”
“Was anyone?”
My father went silent.
I stared at him.
“Dad.”
“I asked Marcus’s predecessor to keep an eye on her.”
“You had her followed.”
“For protection.”
Peter scoffed.
My father ignored him.
“What happened?”
“The security man lost her in traffic.”
“Who was he?”
“Frank Wallace.”
“Where is he now?”
“Dead.”
Of course.
“When?”
“2011.”
I closed my eyes.
Every answer led to another dead person.
“Did he see the crash?”
“No.”
“Who arrived first?”
“Police.”
“And Margaret?”
“She disappeared before I could question her.”
Peter shook his head.
“You did question her.”
My father turned.
“What?”
Peter looked at me.
“Ask him about the hospital.”
I stared at my father.
“What hospital?”
He looked confused.
“Peter is lying.”
“Am I?”
Peter reached toward the bedside drawer.
Marcus immediately moved.
Peter stopped.
“Relax. There’s a phone in there.”
Marcus removed it and handed it over after checking.
Peter opened a photograph.
It showed a younger version of my father.
And Margaret Shaw.
They were standing outside a hospital room.
The timestamp was two days after my mother’s death.
My heart stopped.
“You saw her.”
My father stared at the photograph.
“Where did you get that?”
“Robert Mercer.”
Daniel’s father.
My father’s face tightened.
Peter continued.
“Robert followed you because he believed you were hiding something.”
I looked at my father.
“Did you speak to Margaret?”
“Yes.”
“You told me you never found her.”
“I said she disappeared two weeks later.”
“You made it sound like you never saw her after Mom died.”
My father rubbed his forehead.
“What did she tell you?” I demanded.
“She said she saw your mother arguing with someone before she left the house.”
“Who?”
“She wouldn’t tell me.”
“Why?”
“She was terrified.”
“Of you?”
My father’s eyes met mine.
“At that moment, yes.”
The honesty surprised me.
“Why?”
“Because she knew I burned the papers.”
“How?”
“She saw me.”
Everything clicked.
Margaret had seen him open the safe.
She had seen him remove evidence.
Then my mother died.
Of course she feared him.
“What did you do?”
“I begged her to tell police everything.”
Peter laughed.
“Not everything.”
My father turned angrily.
“You weren’t there.”
“Robert recorded part of the conversation.”
The room went silent.
“What?” I whispered.
Peter looked at his phone.
“Robert suspected all of you.”
“Do you have the recording?”
“Yes.”
“Play it.”
My father stepped forward.
“Emily.”
“Don’t.”
“Context matters.”
“Then let me hear it.”
Peter tapped the screen.
Static filled the room.
Then my father’s younger voice.
Margaret, listen to me. If you tell police about the files, Eleanor goes to prison.
A woman’s voice.
I don’t care about Eleanor! Elizabeth is dead!
My father:
I know.
Margaret:
She was scared of you.
My father:
She was angry with me.
Margaret:
She said you would do anything to protect the Callahan name.
Then silence.
A rustle.
My father again:
Did you see who she met?
Margaret:
Yes.
My father:
Tell me.
Margaret:
No.
My father:
Margaret—
Margaret:
Stay away from me.
The recording ended.
I felt numb.
My father looked devastated.
“I never threatened her.”
“But she believed you might.”
“Yes.”
“Why did she disappear?”
“I don’t know.”
Peter said, “She ran because someone tried to break into her apartment.”
My father turned.
“I never knew that.”
“No. Because she didn’t tell you.”
“Who tried to break in?”
Peter looked at me.
“Robert believed it was Frank Wallace.”
My father’s former security man.
My father shook his head.
“No.”
“Robert photographed Frank outside Margaret’s apartment.”
“Show me.”
Peter did.
Another old photograph.
A man I vaguely remembered from childhood standing beside a dark sedan.
My father stared.
“I didn’t send him.”
Peter smiled bitterly.
“Maybe someone else did.”
“Who?”
Peter’s smile disappeared.
“Eleanor.”
My grandmother.
I felt sick.
“Why?”
“Because Margaret knew Eleanor had been at the Callahan house the night before Elizabeth died.”
My father went pale.
“What?”
Peter stared at him.
“You didn’t know.”
“No.”
For the first time, I believed him immediately.
“What was my grandmother doing there?” I asked.
“Arguing with your mother.”
“About the money?”
“Yes.”
“Did Margaret see it?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“Elizabeth threatened to expose Eleanor.”
My throat tightened.
“And Eleanor?”
“She told Elizabeth she would destroy the family first.”
My father stood completely still.
Peter continued.
“Margaret believed Eleanor followed Elizabeth when she left.”
My heart began pounding.
“Did she?”
“I don’t know.”
“But Margaret does.”
“Yes.”
I looked at Marcus.
“Did you find the address?”
“Yes.”
“Is Margaret there?”
He hesitated.
“Someone matching her age and description owns the property.”
My father looked at me.
“Emily, if she has hidden for twenty-two years—”
“I’m going.”
“You had surgery two days ago.”
“Then you’re driving.”
“No.”
I stared at him.
He sighed.
“I mean you shouldn’t go yet.”
“Why?”
“Because someone attacked Peter yesterday.”
I looked at Peter.
My father continued.
“If Margaret has been hiding because she knows something, whoever attacked Peter may know about her too.”
Peter’s expression tightened.
My father looked at Marcus.
“Send a team.”
“No,” Peter said immediately.
My father turned.
“If six black SUVs arrive, she’ll run.”
“He’s right,” I said.
My father frowned.
I hated agreeing with Peter.
But I understood fear now.
Margaret had spent two decades hiding.
She would not open the door for armed strangers sent by Richard Callahan.
“I’ll call her.”
Peter shook his head.
“She changes numbers constantly.”
“Then how did you know where she is?”
“I paid an investigator.”
“When?”
“Five years ago.”
“Why?”
“Because Daniel found Robert’s records.”
I stared at him.
“Daniel knows where Margaret is?”
Peter’s silence was enough.
My father immediately called Marcus.
“Check Daniel’s known vehicles, cards, toll records. Everything northbound.”
Marcus typed quickly.
A minute later, his phone rang.
He answered.
His face changed.
“Sir.”
“What?”
“We have Daniel’s rental car.”
“Where?”
“A toll camera in New Hampshire.”
My blood went cold.
“When?”
“Forty minutes ago.”
My father looked at Peter.
Then at me.
Daniel was heading north.
Toward Maine.
Toward Margaret.
“How far is he from her?” I asked.
Marcus calculated.
“Maybe ninety minutes.”
I pushed my wheelchair backward.
“Get the car.”
My father stepped in front of me.
“Emily.”
“If Daniel reaches her first—”
“We’ll call police.”
“And tell them what? My cheating husband might want to ask an old housekeeper about a twenty-two-year-old car accident?”
My father had no answer.
I looked at Marcus.
“Get the car.”
He glanced at my father.
Then back at me.
For the first time in my life, one of my father’s employees ignored him.
“Yes, ma’am.”
My father muttered something under his breath.
Then grabbed his coat.
“You are impossible.”
I looked at him.
“You raised me.”
Despite everything, he almost smiled.
We left Peter with police protection.
Three hours later, we crossed into Maine.
My body hurt with every bump.
My father kept asking if I needed to stop.
I kept saying no.
Grace remained at the hospital under the care of the NICU staff.
Leaving her felt like tearing out part of my body.
But if my mother had left me one final truth, I needed it.
Marcus sat in the front.
His phone buzzed.
He looked down.
Then turned toward us.
“We have a problem.”
“What?”
“The local officer we asked to check Margaret’s house just arrived.”
“And?”
“The front door is open.”
My heart stopped.
“Is she there?”
“They’re entering now.”
Seconds dragged.
Marcus listened to the officer through an earpiece.
Then his expression changed.
“Margaret isn’t inside.”
My father cursed.
“What about Daniel?”
“No sign.”
“Was there a struggle?”
Marcus waited.
Then nodded.
“Broken lamp. Chair overturned.”
I closed my eyes.
We were too late.
Then Marcus raised one finger.
The officer was saying something else.
“What?” my father demanded.
May you like
Marcus looked at us.
“They found blood.”
