CHAP 3 — THE GODFATHER
Graham Barrett was gone.
His champagne glass still sat on the table beside place card number twelve.
His coat remained in the cloakroom.
His driver was waiting outside.
But Graham himself had vanished.
Conrad stared at the empty chair.
Thirty-two years.
That was how long they had known each other.
They had met at Wharton.
Built Sterling Global together.
Survived recessions, investigations, lawsuits, hostile takeovers and the catastrophic merger that nearly destroyed the company.
Graham had stood beside Conrad at Madeleine’s funeral.
He had carried Oliver’s tiny coffin.
Conrad suddenly felt sick.
Detective Ortiz approached.
“We have officers checking the grounds.”
“There are tunnels.”
“We know.”
“No. You know there’s one corridor. You don’t know this property.”
He looked at Hannah.
“She might.”
Hannah hesitated.
“My mother left me something.”
“Tonight seems like a good night to tell me.”
“When she died, I received a box. Old photographs. Keys. A notebook.”
“Where is it?”
“My apartment.”
Ortiz nodded to another officer.
“Take her.”
Hannah shook her head.
“I’m not leaving Oliver.”
Conrad looked toward his son.
The boy sat wrapped in a blanket, staring at the recorder.
He hadn’t let it go.
Conrad understood.
“Hannah stays.”
He asked his driver to retrieve the box instead.
Then he approached Oliver.
“Buddy?”
Oliver looked up.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Did I do something bad?”
Conrad’s chest tightened.
“No.”
“Vivian said if I made noise, people would get hurt.”
“You did nothing wrong.”
“She said you stopped looking for me.”
Conrad closed his eyes.
“I never stopped loving you.”
“That’s not what I said.”
The boy’s words hit harder than an accusation.
Conrad sat beside him.
“No,” he admitted. “I stopped looking because I believed what they told me.”
Oliver stared at his shoes.
“That’s different.”
“Yes.”
Conrad did not defend himself.
He had learned something during the last hour.
His son did not need excuses.
He needed truth.
“I should have asked more questions.”
Oliver nodded.
“Mom always did.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“You remember Mom?”
“Of course.”
“What happened the night of the accident?”
Oliver’s fingers tightened around the recorder.
“We weren’t going home.”
Conrad leaned closer.
“Where were you going?”
“To see you.”
Conrad froze.
Madeleine had supposedly been driving Oliver to her sister’s house in Connecticut.
“Why were you coming to see me?”
“Mom said she found something.”
“What?”
“She said Uncle Graham was stealing.”
Conrad stopped breathing.
Oliver continued.
“Mom was angry. She was talking on the phone. Then a black car followed us.”
Conrad’s eyes moved toward Ortiz.
She was listening.
“Did you see the driver?”
“No.”
“What happened?”
“Mom told me to get down.”
Oliver’s voice became smaller.
“Then the car hit us.”
Conrad remembered the police report.
Madeleine lost control on wet pavement.
No other vehicle involved.
Oliver rubbed his wrist.
“When I woke up, Vivian was there.”
“At the hospital?”
He nodded.
“Mom too?”
Oliver looked at him.
“Mom was awake.”
Every sound disappeared from Conrad’s mind.
The official report said Madeleine died instantly.
“Are you sure?”
“She told me to run.”
Conrad felt the room turn cold.
“Oliver.”
“She said, ‘Find your dad.’ Then Vivian came in.”
“What happened next?”
“I got sleepy.”
Sedatives.
Conrad looked toward the hidden medical supplies.
“When did you wake up again?”
“In a different room.”
“Where?”
Oliver shook his head.
“There were no windows.”
“And your mother?”
“I never saw her again.”
Conrad stood so quickly the chair fell backward.
Madeleine had not died at the crash scene.
Someone had lied.
Maybe about everything.
Ortiz stopped him.
“Conrad, slow down.”
“Don’t tell me to slow down.”
“Then listen. If this is a conspiracy involving hospital staff, corporate officers and household security, you cannot start calling people. Every call tells them what we know.”
Conrad hated that she was right.
Oliver tugged his sleeve.
“Dad?”
Conrad crouched.
“What?”
“The recorder has a red part.”
“What red part?”
Oliver turned the device over.
Underneath the battery cover was a microSD card.
Conrad stared at it.
“How did you get this recorder?”
“I found it.”
“Where?”
“In the wall.”
Conrad blinked.
“It was already there?”
Oliver nodded.
“With a note.”
“What did the note say?”
Oliver looked toward the destroyed corridor.
“For Oliver.”
Conrad’s skin prickled.
May you like
“Who wrote it?”
“My mom.”
