Chapter 3 - 11:17
Claire’s hand tightened around the photograph.
“What does that mean?”
Malcolm glanced toward the watching guests.
“Not here.”
For once, Claire refused to protect him from embarrassment.
“You lied to me for twelve years. You can survive answering one question in public.”
Vivienne touched Claire’s arm.
“Claire, people are watching.”
Claire pulled away.
“They were watching when you humiliated me.”
Vivienne flinched.
Good, Claire thought.
Then immediately hated herself for thinking it.
Malcolm lowered his voice.
“Your mother was investigating something she did not understand.”
Adrian’s expression hardened.
“She understood it very well.”
Malcolm snapped toward him.
“You stay out of this.”
“You lost the right to say that when the same accounts became active again.”
Chase stepped forward.
“What accounts?”
No one answered him.
Claire looked back at the photograph.
Her mother appeared tired but determined.
Behind Margaret and Adrian stood another man.
Only part of his face was visible.
Claire had originally assumed he was a terminal employee.
Then Chase leaned closer.
His entire body changed.
“That’s my father.”
Claire looked at him.
“What?”
Chase took the photograph.
The man in the background was perhaps forty-five, with thick dark hair and a wool overcoat.
Gordon Landry.
Chase’s father.
One of the most successful commercial-property developers in Chicago.
The same Gordon Landry whose companies owned three warehouses Whitmore Freight currently leased.
Vivienne stared.
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
Chase handed the photograph back.
“No. But I’d like to know why Dad was there.”
Adrian answered.
“Because Margaret Whitmore had discovered freight contracts connected to Landry-controlled properties.”
Malcolm swore quietly.
Claire turned.
“You knew?”
“I knew your mother was asking questions.”
“How many lies are there?”
“Claire—”
“How many?”
Malcolm looked suddenly older.
“Enough that I wanted you and Vivienne nowhere near them.”
Vivienne gave a brittle laugh.
“Well, excellent job.”
Adrian’s gaze shifted toward Chase.
“Your father is here tonight.”
Chase blinked.
“No, he isn’t.”
“He arrived eleven minutes after I did.”
Across the ballroom, near the entrance, Gordon Landry had indeed appeared.
He was removing his coat.
When he looked up and saw Adrian, his expression barely changed.
Then he noticed the photograph in Claire’s hand.
That changed everything.
Gordon crossed the room.
Chase met him halfway.
“Dad.”
Gordon’s eyes remained on Claire.
“Interesting company you’re keeping.”
Claire lifted the photograph.
“Why were you with my mother three days before she died?”
Gordon studied the picture.
“Where did you get that?”
“Answer her,” Chase said.
Gordon looked at his son.
His surprise seemed genuine.
Then he sighed.
“Margaret came to me because Whitmore Freight needed money.”
Malcolm stepped forward.
“That’s not true.”
“It absolutely is.”
Gordon turned to Claire.
“Your mother was terrified the company would fail. Malcolm had expanded too quickly. She wanted financing he didn’t know about.”
Claire searched her father’s face.
Malcolm was furious.
But beneath the anger was something worse.
Fear.
Adrian said, “Margaret wasn’t asking Gordon for money.”
Gordon smiled.
“And you were such a reliable man in those days?”
The tension between them changed.
Personal.
Old.
Gordon looked at Claire.
“Your mother believed Adrian’s family was using Whitmore trucks for illegal cargo.”
Claire turned toward Adrian.
There it was.
The reversal came so quickly she almost felt dizzy.
“Is that true?”
Adrian didn’t answer immediately.
Gordon’s smile widened.
“Ask him what his father did for a living.”
“I know what newspapers say.”
“No. You know what newspapers were able to print.”
Adrian finally spoke.
“My father used Whitmore routes.”
Claire stared.
“For what?”
“Sometimes legitimate shipments.”
“And sometimes?”
Adrian’s face remained still.
“Not.”
Claire stepped back.
The photograph suddenly felt contaminated.
“You told me my mother trusted you.”
“She did.”
“You left out the part where your family may have been stealing from hers.”
“My father and I were not the same man.”
“That sounds convenient.”
“It was rarely convenient.”
Gordon reached toward the photograph.
Claire pulled it away.
“Margaret discovered discrepancies,” Gordon said. “Adrian convinced her he could help. Malcolm wanted her to stop before she got hurt.”
Claire looked at her father.
“Is that true?”
Malcolm hesitated.
That hesitation was enough.
Claire felt sick.
The ballroom had become unbearable.
She walked toward the coat check.
Vivienne followed.
“Claire.”
“Not now.”
“I’m trying to help.”
“You laughed.”
Vivienne stopped.
Claire turned.
“You laughed when Chase made me cry.”
Vivienne’s face changed.
“I know.”
The simple answer hurt more than an excuse would have.
Claire took Margaret’s old camel-colored coat from the attendant.
She had brought it because the blue gown was thin and December in Chicago was vicious.
Vivienne stared at the coat.
“You still wear that?”
“It was Mom’s.”
“I know.”
Claire slid one arm inside.
Something hard pressed against her wrist from within the lining.
She frowned.
The inner seam near the cuff had opened slightly.
Claire slipped two fingers inside.
Something narrow and stiff was caught between the lining and wool.
She pulled it free.
A faded freight ticket.
Whitmore North Yard.
December 14.
Gate 4.
11:17 P.M.
Her breath stopped.
“That’s impossible,” Vivienne whispered.
On the back, in Margaret’s handwriting, were two words.
MALCOLM KNOWS.
Claire slowly looked across the ballroom.
May you like
Their father stood between Adrian Vale and Gordon Landry.
And for the first time in twelve years, Claire wondered whether the most dangerous man in the room was not Adrian at all.
