Chapter 8 - The Brother Who Stole More Than Money|
Adrian Cole did not shout when he learned that his younger brother had fled the country.
He didn't throw his phone.
He didn't threaten anyone.
He simply stood beside the interview room window and stared at the city.
That frightened me more than anger would have.
For five years, I'd watched Adrian handle emergencies with a composure that bordered on unnatural.
When a warehouse burned down, he coordinated the response before the fire department finished extinguishing the flames.
When a business partner betrayed him, he settled the dispute without raising his voice.
And when a violent rival threatened one of his employees, he made certain the employee and her family were protected.
But this was different.
Thomas wasn't an enemy.
He was Adrian's brother.
The last living member of his immediate family.
At least, that was what I'd always believed.
"How long have you suspected him?" I asked.
Adrian didn't turn.
"Suspected him of what?"
"Being involved in Oakbridge."
He remained silent.
I stepped closer.
"Adrian."
He finally looked at me.
"Since my father's funeral."
My stomach tightened.
"How long ago was that?"
"Eleven years."
I stared.
"Eleven years?"
He nodded.
"And you never confronted him?"
"I did."
"What happened?"
Adrian looked toward the window again.
"He told me I was becoming paranoid."
I waited.
"He said our father had left behind complicated financial arrangements and that I should concentrate on the businesses I understood."
I frowned.
"Meaning?"
"The hotels, restaurants, and legitimate shipping operations."
"And Thomas handled everything else?"
"Yes."
I stared at him.
"Then he had access to the old records."
Adrian nodded.
"And to people who worked for our father."
"Like Robert Mercer?"
"Exactly."
I folded my arms.
"Why would he want my grandmother's documents?"
Adrian looked at me.
"Because whatever she discovered could connect him to crimes that were never prosecuted."
"But he would have been young when Blackwater exploded."
"Twenty-three."
I swallowed.
Old enough to know.
Old enough to participate.
Old enough to spend twenty-five years hiding the truth.
Detective Hayes entered the room carrying a folder.
"We have an update."
Adrian turned.
"Thomas?"
"His plane landed in Zurich."
"Can you bring him back?"
"We're coordinating with federal authorities."
She looked at me.
"But there's something else you should know."
My stomach tightened.
"About my father?"
She nodded.
"We've identified the man in the photograph."
I gripped the edge of the table.
"Is it Daniel Bennett?"
"We believe so."
My heart hammered.
"Where is he?"
Hayes hesitated.
"That's what we're trying to determine."
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
Another answer that created more questions.
The detective continued.
"We found records showing that Daniel Bennett entered a private medical facility in Vermont under the name David Bell."
I stared.
"A hospital?"
"More specifically, a long-term rehabilitation center."
"Why?"
"We don't know yet."
Adrian stepped forward.
"Is he still there?"
"No."
My hope faltered.
Hayes opened the folder.
"He was discharged six months ago."
I looked at her.
"Where did he go?"
"According to the records, a man named Robert Mercer signed the discharge paperwork."
The room went silent.
I felt a cold sensation spread through my chest.
Robert Mercer.
Again.
The man who had disappeared after Blackwater.
The man who had contacted Vanessa.
The man who had apparently taken my father from a medical facility.
"Was my father a patient there for twenty-five years?" I whispered.
Hayes shook her head.
"Not continuously."
She turned a page.
"The records indicate multiple admissions over the past decade."
"What was wrong with him?"
She hesitated.
"Some medical information is still being verified."
I stared at her.
"Please."
Her expression softened.
"The available records mention a traumatic brain injury and periods of significant memory impairment."
My knees weakened.
Adrian pulled out a chair.
I sat.
For years, I had imagined my father deliberately staying away.
Now I was learning that he might not even have remembered how to find me.
I pressed my hands against my face.
Helen sat beside me.
"Sweetheart."
I shook my head.
"Don't tell me everything will be okay."
She fell silent.
I looked at Detective Hayes.
"Can you find him?"
"We're working on it."
"How long?"
"I can't promise a timeline."
I nodded.
It wasn't the answer I wanted.
But it was honest.
And after twenty-five years of lies, honesty mattered.
That evening, Adrian returned to the mansion with me.
Vanessa remained in police custody while investigators examined the evidence against her.
Robert Mercer had retained an attorney and refused further questioning.
Thomas was overseas.
And my father's location remained unknown.
The mansion felt different when we entered.
The employees were quieter.
Not frightened in the same way as before.
Thoughtful.
Several looked at my hair.
Then quickly looked away.
I went straight to the staff dining room.
Helen followed.
"Nora, you should rest."
"I need to eat."
She blinked.
I opened the refrigerator.
For years, I had prepared meals for people who forgot to prepare their own.
Now I made myself a sandwich.
Turkey.
Lettuce.
Mustard.
Exactly the way Grandma used to make them.
Helen watched.
"Can I help?"
I looked at her.
"You can sit with me."
Her eyes filled.
She sat.
We ate quietly.
After a while, she said, "I never told you why Eleanor chose the Cole estate."
I looked up.
"I thought she wanted you to keep an eye on me."
"She did."
"But?"
Helen folded her napkin.
"She also believed something important was hidden here."
I stared.
"What?"
"Your father's original employment records."
I frowned.
"My father worked for Adrian's family?"
Helen nodded.
"Not as a fisherman."
I set down my sandwich.
"What did he do?"
"He was a marine engineer."
I blinked.
My father had always been good with machines.
I remembered him fixing our refrigerator.
Repairing the neighbor's boat.
Building a wooden toy chest for my birthday.
But an engineer?
"Why didn't Grandma tell me?"
"She wanted you to remember him as your father, not as part of Blackwater."
I looked down.
Helen continued.
"Daniel was hired to inspect the terminal's safety systems."
My heart pounded.
"And?"
"He discovered that someone had ordered critical equipment disabled."
I stared at her.
"Before the explosion?"
She nodded.
"He refused to approve the inspection."
I felt sick.
"Then someone forged his signature."
Helen's eyes widened.
"How did you know?"
I thought about the fake envelope.
The false death certificates.
The hidden insurance records.
"Because that's what these people do."
I looked at her.
"They make lies look official."
Helen nodded slowly.
I stood.
"Where are the employment records?"
"Adrian's archives."
I walked toward the door.
Helen hurried after me.
"Nora, it's late."
"I've spent twenty-five years waiting."
My voice trembled.
"I'm not waiting another night."
Adrian was in his study when I arrived.
He looked up.
"Nora?"
"I need access to the old employment archives."
He studied me.
"Why?"
I explained what Helen had said.
His expression darkened.
Then he picked up his phone.
"Marcus, open the basement records room."
Within fifteen minutes, we were standing beneath the mansion.
The archive occupied a temperature-controlled room filled with metal shelves.
Boxes stretched from floor to ceiling.
Every box had a label.
Every label had a date.
I almost smiled.
At least someone in the Cole family appreciated organization.
Marcus located the Blackwater records.
There were six boxes.
Adrian opened the first.
Inside were payroll documents, inspection reports, and correspondence.
I searched for my father's name.
Daniel Bennett.
Daniel Bennett.
Daniel Bennett.
Then I found it.
A personnel file.
My father's photograph was attached to the front.
He looked younger than I remembered.
His hair was dark.
His smile was serious.
I opened the folder.
Inside was an employment contract.
A salary agreement.
Several inspection reports.
And a termination notice.
I read the final page.
My stomach tightened.
"Adrian."
He looked up.
I held out the document.
"Look at the date."
He read it.
October 13, 1999.
One day before the explosion.
My father had been fired for refusing to certify the terminal's safety systems.
Adrian's expression hardened.
"Who signed it?"
I pointed.
Thomas Cole.
The signature was unmistakable.
Adrian stared at the page.
Then he turned toward Marcus.
"Get this copied for the investigators."
Marcus nodded.
I continued searching.
At the bottom of the folder, I found a second document.
A handwritten memo.
It contained a single sentence.
If Bennett refuses to cooperate, use the child.
My breath stopped.
I stared at the words.
The child.
Me.
I had been five years old.
Five.
I looked at Adrian.
His face changed when he saw the memo.
For a moment, he seemed unable to speak.
Then he whispered, "Thomas."
I stepped backward.
My father hadn't disappeared because he didn't love me.
He had disappeared because someone had threatened me.
And the man who had signed that threat had eaten dinner in the same mansion where I'd worked for five years.
I felt suddenly ill.
Adrian reached toward me.
"Nora."
I shook my head.
"I need to sit down."
He pulled out a chair.
I sat.
Then I noticed something on the back of the memo.
A handwritten number.
The same number appeared on several other documents.
It wasn't a phone number.
It wasn't an account number.
It was a file reference.
BW-17.
I looked at the boxes.
"Where's file seventeen?"
Marcus checked the inventory.
His expression changed.
"It's missing."
Adrian straightened.
"Missing?"
Marcus nodded.
"The archive register shows it was removed last month."
"By whom?"
Marcus turned the ledger toward us.
The signature belonged to Vanessa Whitmore.
I stared.
Vanessa had been searching the archives long before she cut my hair.
Long before Adrian returned from Chicago.
Long before I knew my grandmother had hidden anything.
Then Marcus's phone vibrated.
He read the message.
His face went pale.
"Sir."
Adrian looked at him.
"What now?"
Marcus swallowed.
"The federal investigators have found a second photograph of Daniel Bennett."
My heart hammered.
"Where?"
Marcus looked at me.
"It was taken yesterday."
I stood.
"Yesterday?"
He nodded.
"At a hospital in New York."
My breath caught.
"Which hospital?"
Marcus hesitated.
Then he said, "St. Catherine's Medical Center."
I stared at him.
That hospital was only fifteen minutes from the mansion.
My father had been nearby.
Not three months ago.
Not six months ago.
Yesterday.
I grabbed my coat.
"Take me there."
Adrian reached for his keys.
But before we reached the door, Marcus spoke again.
"There's one more thing."
We turned.
He looked at the photograph on his phone.
"Daniel wasn't alone."
My stomach tightened.
"Who was with him?"
Marcus enlarged the image.
Beside my father stood a woman wearing a hospital visitor badge.
She had silver hair.
A familiar face.
And a pale blue cardigan.
I stared at the screen.
My heart seemed to stop.
Because the woman standing beside my father looked exactly like my grandmother.
May you like
Eleanor Bennett.
The woman I'd buried three years earlier.
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