Chapter 4 - The Dead Man's Voice
Detective Ortiz took the cassette recorder into evidence.
Rachel hated watching it leave.
It felt like surrendering the only person who might finally explain everything.
But three hours later, Ortiz called them to the station.
The recording had been digitized.
Charles Whitmore's voice filled the interview room.
Weak.
Uneven.
Alive.
"If this machine is playing, I assume I am either dead or unable to speak for myself."
Adrian looked down.
Rachel took his hand.
Charles continued.
"I have made mistakes in my life. The worst was confusing peace with trust."
A long breath.
"Victoria knows I am investigating the Heritage Foundation."
Rachel looked toward Ortiz.
The detective was taking notes.
"Money has been transferred through entities I did not authorize. When I confronted her, she told me I was becoming confused."
Charles coughed.
"My physicians then began receiving instructions I never gave."
Adrian's grip tightened.
"I do not yet know whether Victoria intends to harm me. I know only that she intends to control what happens after I am gone."
The recording clicked.
Then Charles said something that changed everything.
"Richard Sloan came to me yesterday."
Rachel stared at the speaker.
"He admitted Victoria asked him to prepare a replacement codicil. He says he refused. I want to believe him."
Ortiz paused the audio.
"He didn't refuse."
"No," Rachel said.
"Or somebody made sure he couldn't."
They resumed.
"The amendment Victoria wants would require Adrian's future heir to be biologically verified. I rejected it."
Rachel shut her eyes.
There it was.
Absolute proof that the codicil was fraudulent.
Charles went on.
"She believes if Adrian has no qualifying heir before forty, the foundation can take control."
Adrian was thirty-nine.
His birthday was in nine weeks.
Rachel finally saw the entire shape of Victoria's plan.
Fake a DNA test.
Remove Lily.
Invalidate her as heir.
Wait until Adrian turned forty.
Then seize the trust.
Billions.
Not millions.
Billions.
But Charles wasn't finished.
"There is something else."
Static crackled.
"Eleanor discovered the first transfers years ago."
Adrian leaned forward.
His mother's name.
"She believed the money was moving through private charities. She confronted someone two days before her accident."
Adrian went completely still.
Rachel had always been told Eleanor died in a car accident caused by ice.
Charles's next words came slowly.
"I no longer believe Eleanor's death was an accident."
The room fell silent.
Adrian stood so abruptly his chair struck the wall.
"No."
Rachel reached for him.
He pulled away.
"No."
"Adrian—"
"No."
Ortiz stopped the recording.
Adrian stared through the glass wall.
"My mother died because her car went over a bridge."
"I know."
"I was nine."
Rachel said nothing.
"Victoria married my father fourteen months later."
Ortiz asked quietly, "Who investigated the accident?"
Adrian named a retired county detective.
Ortiz wrote it down.
Rachel felt the story expanding beneath them like a crack in ice.
A forged DNA report.
A forged codicil.
Stolen money.
Possibly manipulated medication.
Now a twenty-six-year-old death.
Victoria's crimes had not begun with Lily.
Lily had simply been the first victim who could still cry out.
That evening, the police found Richard Sloan.
Alive.
His SUV had been abandoned beside an industrial park.
He was discovered walking barefoot along a service road.
But Sloan refused to talk.
Rachel went to see him anyway.
He lay in a private hospital room under police protection.
A bruise darkened his cheek.
He looked twenty years older.
"Richard."
"Go away."
"Victoria did this?"
His eyes filled with fear.
"I said go away."
"Charles's recording names you."
Sloan flinched.
"The police know about the codicil."
Nothing.
"They know about the payment."
His face changed.
Rachel moved closer.
"Two hundred fifty thousand dollars."
Sloan whispered, "I never wanted any of this."
"Then help us."
"You don't understand her."
"I understand her very well."
"No."
He looked toward the door.
"You understand the woman who chained your daughter."
His voice lowered.
"I understand the woman who made three people disappear."
Rachel froze.
"Who?"
Sloan shook his head.
"Richard."
He began crying.
Not dramatically.
Silently.
Like a man whose body had finally become too tired to keep fear contained.
"Who disappeared?"
"Eleanor's mechanic."
Rachel felt sick.
"Who else?"
"Charles's night nurse."
"And the third?"
Sloan stared at her.
"The woman from St. Catherine's."
Rachel stopped breathing.
"The hospital where Lily was born?"
Sloan nodded once.
"She knows about the DNA sample."
"What's her name?"
Before Sloan could answer, alarms erupted in the hallway.
A nurse shouted.
The lights went out.
For three seconds, the room fell into complete darkness.
Then emergency lights flashed red.
Rachel heard the door open.
Footsteps.
She turned.
A figure in hospital scrubs disappeared around the corner.
Sloan began gasping.
Rachel ran to the bed.
"Richard?"
His IV line had been disconnected.
A syringe lay on the floor.
Rachel slammed the emergency button.
Doctors rushed inside.
She was pushed into the hallway.
Officer Bennett sprinted toward the stairwell.
Rachel stood against the wall, shaking.
Then Sloan's hand reached from the bed.
He was barely conscious.
His lips moved.
Rachel leaned closer.
"What?"
He whispered one name.
"Grace."
"Grace who?"
His eyes closed.
"Mercer."
Rachel knew that name.
Everybody in the Whitmore family did.
Grace Mercer had been Victoria's personal assistant for eighteen years.
May you like
And that morning—
Grace had vanished.
