Chapter 7 - THE PRICE OF KEEPING ADRIAN ALIVE
“Me?”
Adrian Blackwood stared at Daniel Mercer.
The security chief looked as though he hadn't slept in days.
“Yes.”
Adrian glanced at the black notebook.
“Charles Voss threatened me twenty years ago?”
Daniel nodded.
“Your father was preparing to expose him. Charles told Richard that if he went to the authorities, you would be next.”
Adrian slowly lowered the notebook.
“So my father died trying to protect me.”
Thomas stepped forward.
“Richard died because he refused to let Charles keep hurting innocent people.”
Margaret began crying quietly.
Adrian looked at her.
“And you kept Charles's money moving afterward.”
“I was trying to make sure you survived.”
“For twenty years?”
She pressed a hand to her heart.
“Charles controlled people I couldn't identify. I didn't know who to trust.”
Adrian studied her.
“You could have trusted your son.”
Margaret looked down.
“You were twenty-three. You had just buried your father.”
“I was old enough to hear the truth.”
Her tears fell onto her blue dress.
“I know.”
Nobody spoke.
Then Adrian turned toward Daniel.
“Why did you hide the ledger?”
Daniel looked at the floor.
“Because it implicated my father. And because I thought exposing it would destroy your mother.”
Adrian gave a small, humorless laugh.
“So everyone lied to protect someone.”
He looked at me.
“And Rachel's family paid the price.”
I couldn't find words.
My mother had spent nearly three decades living carefully.
Working long hours.
Raising me alone.
Now she was sick.
And the people who had caused so much suffering were standing in a room filled with expensive furniture, discussing secrets as though they were family heirlooms.
I looked at Daniel.
“You found evidence about my father's death.”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Eight years ago.”
I felt something inside me go still.
“Eight years.”
Daniel nodded.
“You could have told my mother.”
“I was afraid she'd be threatened again.”
“Did you ask her?”
He didn't answer.
“Did anyone ask her?”
Silence.
I looked around the room.
Margaret.
Thomas.
Henry.
Daniel.
Even Adrian.
All these powerful people had spent years deciding what Eleanor Bennett could handle.
Nobody had given her the truth.
I placed my father's wedding photograph on the desk.
“My mother doesn't need another protector who decides everything for her.”
Adrian looked at me.
“You're right.”
His answer surprised me.
He turned to Daniel.
“Find someone to take over security tonight.”
Daniel stiffened.
“Adrian—”
“Your access is suspended until we understand everything you've hidden.”
Daniel lowered his head.
“Yes, sir.”
Victor stepped forward.
“I'll handle it.”
Adrian nodded.
Then he turned toward Margaret.
“Mother, you will stay here until we're finished.”
She looked frightened.
“Adrian, please.”
“I'm not punishing you. I'm making sure nobody else can pressure you into silence.”
Thomas sat beside her.
For a moment, they looked like two exhausted people who had spent too many years carrying the same secret.
Adrian picked up the brass key.
“We need to open the box.”
Daniel shook his head.
“The bank won't give you access without authorization.”
Adrian studied the railway ticket.
“Then maybe the ticket explains who had it.”
Henry took the ticket from him.
He examined the faded printing.
“This isn't a passenger ticket.”
Adrian frowned.
“It says Albany.”
“Yes, but look at the back.”
Henry turned it over.
A small number had been stamped beneath the date.
“It's a baggage claim ticket.”
Thomas leaned forward.
“Richard had a trunk.”
“What trunk?”
“He kept old documents and photographs in a leather railway trunk. He used it when traveling between the city and the Hudson estate.”
Adrian looked at the ticket.
“Where did it go?”
Henry thought for a moment.
“Albany station had a private storage service back then.”
Daniel nodded.
“My father used that company.”
Adrian's eyes narrowed.
“Of course he did.”
Thomas looked at the ticket again.
“Richard must have arranged for someone to collect it.”
“Who?”
Henry swallowed.
“Samuel.”
I looked up.
“My father?”
“Samuel had a car. Richard trusted him to move anything important.”
Adrian stared at the ticket.
“But Samuel died before the fire.”
Henry shook his head.
“No. Samuel died eleven months before the fire. Richard may have kept the ticket because Samuel had already arranged the storage.”
I closed my eyes.
Another piece of my father's life.
Another secret he'd carried home without telling my mother.
Adrian looked at me.
“Rachel, I want to ask you something.”
I waited.
“Does your mother still have anything that belonged to Samuel? Old keys, letters, photographs?”
I thought about the wooden jewelry box.
The tiny gold bracelet.
And a brown leather wallet my mother kept wrapped in cloth.
“There might be something.”
Adrian nodded.
“I won't search your home. But I'd like to speak with her, if she agrees.”
I appreciated that.
More than I expected.
“My mother is at St. Catherine's Medical Center,” I said. “She's there for treatment this week.”
Adrian looked toward Victor.
“Arrange a car.”
But I shook my head.
“Not tonight.”
He frowned.
“Rachel—”
“She's resting. She's sick. I'm not waking her because your family finally decided to tell the truth.”
Adrian stopped.
Then nodded.
“Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” I agreed.
Vivienne had been silent throughout the conversation.
Now she stepped forward.
“Adrian, I can help with the storage company.”
He turned.
“How?”
“My uncle Martin kept copies of his correspondence with Charles. Some of it mentions Albany.”
Adrian looked skeptical.
“Why didn't you say that earlier?”
“Because I didn't understand what the letters meant.”
She swallowed.
“And because I was afraid you'd think I'd only agreed to marry you for access to those records.”
Adrian looked at her for a long moment.
“Did you?”
Vivienne's eyes filled.
“At first, I wanted answers. Then I fell in love with you. Both things are true.”
Adrian looked away.
“That doesn't make our engagement honest.”
“I know.”
For the first time, Vivienne didn't argue.
She removed her diamond ring.
Placed it carefully on the desk.
And stepped back.
“I won't ask you to forgive me tonight.”
Adrian said nothing.
Henry leaned toward me.
“Rachel.”
I turned.
He pointed toward the old camera.
“I need to show you something.”
He opened the camera's back carefully.
The last roll had already been developed.
But inside the leather case was a narrow pocket.
Henry pulled out a folded photograph.
It showed my father standing beside Richard Blackwood.
Both men were smiling.
Between them stood a little girl.
About three years old.
Dark hair.
A yellow dress.
My breath caught.
“That looks like me.”
Henry nodded.
“It is.”
I stared.
My father had supposedly died before I was old enough to remember him clearly.
But there I was.
Standing beside him.
Holding his hand.
The date beneath the photograph was unmistakable.
It had been taken six months after the date written on my father's death certificate.
I looked at Henry.
My voice trembled.
“Why is my father alive in this picture?”
Henry's face crumpled.
“Rachel, I wanted to tell you.”
I stepped backward.
“No.”
He reached toward me.
I pulled away.
“Don't.”
Adrian moved closer.
“Henry, explain.”
The elderly photographer stared at the picture.
May you like
Then he whispered the truth.
“Samuel Bennett didn't die in that highway accident. He survived—and he spent the next six months trying to bring the evidence home to his daughter.”
