Chapter 11 - THE OLD HOUSE
No investigator wanted me near the old Vale estate.
I agreed.
I was not interested in being reckless for drama.
Instead, Eleanor wore a wire.
That was the price of her cooperation.
She hated it.
I didn’t care.
The estate sat near the rocky Maine coastline where Alexandra’s car had disappeared twenty-nine years earlier.
At 11:58 p.m., Eleanor entered alone.
Agents surrounded the property.
I watched from a command vehicle half a mile away.
Audio crackled through headphones.
A door opened.
Victor Sloane’s voice.
“You look old.”
Eleanor answered.
“So do you.”
“Where is Emily?”
“Safe.”
“Wrong answer.”
“I want the rest of my money.”
“You’ve already been paid more than you deserved.”
“You promised five million.”
“You failed.”
Silence.
Then Sloane said something that made every agent in the vehicle look up.
“You were supposed to break her before the birthday.”
Eleanor’s voice shook.
“We tried.”
“You tried?”
“The guardianship petition was ready.”
“And now?”
“She pressed charges.”
“Because Charles lost control.”
I closed my eyes.
There it was.
Confirmation.
Sloane continued.
“Where is Greenstone?”
“With Emily.”
“And the pendant?”
“With her.”
A chair scraped.
“You should have destroyed that necklace twenty-nine years ago.”
“Alexandra told me never to.”
Sloane laughed.
“And suddenly you have principles?”
The next sentence erased all sound from the command vehicle.
“Marcus was right about you.”
Eleanor inhaled.
“What does Marcus know?”
“Everything.”
Agents exchanged looks.
Proof.
Not enough yet.
But close.
Eleanor pushed.
“Did Marcus order Nathan killed?”
Long pause.
Sloane laughed again.
“You always did ask questions above your pay grade.”
My hands curled into fists.
Then the audio erupted.
A door.
Running footsteps.
Sloane shouting.
“He’s wearing a vest!”
Agents moved.
The command vehicle doors opened.
I stayed inside as ordered.
Gunfire cracked in the distance.
Three shots.
Then silence.
Minutes felt like hours.
Ruiz’s voice finally came over the radio.
“Sloane in custody.”
I exhaled.
Then—
“Second suspect fleeing east.”
Second suspect?
Another voice.
“Vehicle approaching outer road.”
Headlights suddenly appeared through the windshield.
Coming directly toward us.
The driver accelerated.
An agent dragged me down as the vehicle slammed into the front barrier.
Metal screamed.
Airbags exploded inside the attacking SUV.
Agents swarmed it.
The driver was pulled out.
He was not Marcus.
He was one of Charles Whitmore’s former property managers.
Inside the vehicle was a bag.
Cash.
A passport.
And a handwritten extraction plan for Victor Sloane.
The authorization initials were:
M.V.
By dawn, Marcus Vale’s attorney had released a statement calling the allegations absurd.
At 8:12 a.m., Marcus convened an emergency Vale Meridian board meeting.
At 8:15, I received formal notice.
He intended to challenge my identity.
And he had one weapon left.
May you like
A signed document claiming that seventeen-year-old Emily Whitmore had permanently waived all claims to the Vale estate.
The signature looked exactly like mine.
