Chapter 17
None of us knew Charles had a first wife.
Even Victoria looked shocked.
“Her name is Evelyn Grant,” the investigator told us.
“She was married to Charles for seven years.”
“When?”
Claire asked.
The investigator looked at his notes.
“The divorce became final fourteen years ago.”
One year before Daniel died.
Victoria stared at the table.
“He told me he had never been married.”
Noah laughed bitterly.
“At least he lies to everyone.”
Evelyn lived in Connecticut.
Investigators had already located her.
She agreed to speak only after learning Victoria was cooperating.
That afternoon, we were allowed to hear part of her recorded interview.
Evelyn’s voice sounded tired.
She described Charles as brilliant, charming, controlling, and obsessed with winning.
During their marriage, he had nearly bankrupted them through risky investments.
Daniel Lawson had saved Charles’s business.
Then Charles became resentful of Daniel’s control.
Evelyn said she had once helped Charles alter company records.
Not medical records.
Financial ones.
That explained her line.
What we did to Daniel.
She had helped Charles hide unauthorized transactions years before Daniel died.
The phrase sounded murderous out of context.
It wasn’t.
At least not yet.
Claire exhaled slowly.
“So Mom didn’t kill Dad.”
Victoria looked at her.
“I didn’t.”
Claire didn’t apologize for suspecting her.
I didn’t think she should.
Then Evelyn revealed something else.
Charles had approached her again after Daniel’s death.
He asked her to sign a statement saying Daniel had been mentally unstable.
She refused.
Two months later, her house was burglarized.
Nothing valuable was taken.
Only old business files.
The same pattern as Claire’s apartment.
My skin crawled.
Charles had been doing this for years.
The investigation expanded.
The medical evidence remained troubling, but investigators still lacked proof that Charles changed Daniel’s medication.
The fake prescription had been sent by fax.
The number belonged to an office building demolished years ago.
Then Grace Dalton remembered one thing.
The man who picked up the altered prescription the first time.
Not Victoria.
A man.
Tall.
Gray suit.
A scar near his right eyebrow.
Claire immediately looked at Noah.
“No.”
I knew that expression.
“You recognize him?”
Noah whispered, “George.”
“Who is George?”
“Charles’s driver.”
Victoria went pale.
“George Bennett.”
He had worked for Charles for twenty years.
Investigators searched.
George had retired three years earlier.
Current address unknown.
Bank records found him.
Florida.
He lived in a small house outside Tampa.
The moment detectives contacted him, he asked for a lawyer.
That told everyone enough to keep digging.
Meanwhile, the foundation crisis shifted.
Our bank released part of the frozen funds after auditors confirmed the six hundred thousand had not gone to any account I controlled.
The board formally cleared me of direct misconduct.
News outlets that had called me corrupt started using phrases like “wrongly implicated.”
I should have felt vindicated.
Instead I felt tired.
At our staff meeting, everyone applauded when Martin announced the accounts were reopening.
I hated the applause.
“Save it.”
The room quieted.
“We’re not finished.”
I looked around.
“We nearly collapsed because too much authority was concentrated in too few hands.”
Rachel nodded.
“So we change that.”
We created dual authorization for large transfers.
External quarterly audits.
Employee whistleblower protection.
No donor could receive operational control.
Ever.
I wanted the organization stronger because someone had tried to break it.
After the meeting, Maria approached.
“You finally learned something.”
I smiled.
“What?”
“Rich people need rules too.”
I laughed.
“My mother used to say that.”
“I know.”
That evening, Claire and I finally went home.
Our home.
Not the office.
Not a courtroom.
Not Victoria’s apartment.
We had barely spent ten minutes there in a week.
Claire stood in the kitchen.
“I forgot what this room looked like.”
I smiled.
“You want food?”
“No.”
“Tea?”
“No.”
“Wine?”
She looked at me.
We both laughed.
It felt strange.
Good strange.
Then she touched my cheek where the bruise had faded.
“This started with a glass of wine.”
“No.”
She looked confused.
“It started years before we met.”
I pulled her closer.
“The wine just made everyone stop hiding.”
She rested her forehead against mine.
“Are you still sure you want to marry me?”
I frowned.
“Why would you ask that?”
“Look at my family.”
“I’m looking at you.”
“My mother slapped you.”
“You didn’t.”
“My stepfather tried to steal your foundation.”
“You didn’t.”
“My family may spend the next decade in court.”
“I’m not marrying your court calendar.”
She smiled weakly.
Then her expression became serious.
“What if I become like her?”
“You won’t.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you ask that question.”
She cried quietly.
I kissed her forehead.
For a few hours, we allowed ourselves to be normal.
Then at midnight, my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I almost ignored it.
Something made me answer.
“James Carter?”
“Yes.”
The man on the line sounded old.
“My name is George Bennett.”
I sat up.
Claire did too.
“I was told you’re looking for me.”
I put the phone on speaker.
George continued.
“I’m tired of running.”
My heart started pounding.
“Then talk to the police.”
“I will.”
“But?”
He breathed heavily.
“But there’s something Claire Lawson deserves to hear first.”
May you like
Claire stared at the phone.
George said, “Your father knew he was going to die.”
