Chapter 3 - Key 317
I called the number back seventeen times.
Nothing.
Dad called twice from his phone.
Disconnected.
Daniel had the hotel security team trace it.
Prepaid number.
No registered owner.
Eleanor stood by the window, looking almost as shaken as I felt.
“That wasn't possible,” Dad whispered.
But he had heard it too.
My mother's voice.
Not a recording.
She had responded when I said her name.
I turned toward Eleanor.
“Where does the key go?”
“I don't know.”
“You've had it for fourteen months.”
“Seventeen.”
“Why?”
“Laura gave it to me three months before the accident.”
“The day that photograph was taken?”
“Yes.”
Eleanor looked at the brass key.
“She came to Mercer headquarters. She was terrified.”
“What did she say?”
“That somebody had reopened accounts my husband once used.”
“Who?”
“She wouldn't tell me.”
“Why trust you?”
A painful expression crossed Eleanor's face.
“Because I helped her.”
Daniel stared at his mother.
“You told me Dad's financial crimes were over before you discovered them.”
“I lied.”
“Apparently that's hereditary.”
She ignored him.
“Your mother and I spent months trying to determine who was moving money through the old companies.”
Dad looked furious.
“And you never contacted me?”
“Laura made me promise.”
Everyone had promised my mother something except me.
Eleanor handed me the key.
“She said if she couldn't finish what she started, this would.”
I examined it.
Dad spoke immediately.
“Safe-deposit box.”
Daniel nodded.
“Probably.”
Jenna searched nearby banks.
There were eleven.
Then Dad remembered something.
“Laura had an account at Commonwealth Trust.”
I looked at him.
“Mom had a bank account you didn't know about?”
“Apparently.”
Commonwealth Trust had a private vault.
The bank closed at five.
It was 4:12.
We left the reception through a service entrance.
I was still wearing the ruined wedding gown.
Jenna offered me clothes.
I refused.
Maybe stubbornness had taken over.
Maybe I wanted every person who saw me to understand that somebody had tried to stop me.
Dad, Daniel, and I drove to the bank.
Eleanor stayed behind.
She claimed she needed to handle the guests.
I didn't trust her.
But after the phone call, I didn't know whom to trust.
At Commonwealth Trust, the manager stared at my dress.
Dad handled the explanation.
We showed identification.
Box 317 was registered to Laura Bennett.
And me.
I had never known.
The manager escorted us underground.
He inserted the bank key.
I inserted mine.
The drawer opened.
Inside was a red leather folder.
A flash drive.
And a letter.
My name was written on the envelope.
CLAIRE.
My hands trembled.
I opened it.
My mother's handwriting filled three pages.
Claire,
If you're reading this, then I failed to tell you the truth myself.
Years ago, I discovered financial crimes connected to Mercer Holdings. I believed the matter ended when Charles Whitmore shut the operation down.
I was wrong.
Someone restarted it.
This person has access to the Whitmore companies and to information about our family.
I made one terrible mistake.
I told someone I trusted.
The next line had been underlined.
Do not assume the Whitmores are your only enemy.
I looked at Daniel.
He looked equally confused.
Dad read over my shoulder.
Then I reached the final paragraph.
The person responsible knows something about you that I never had the courage to explain. Robert does not know. If I survive this, I will tell you myself.
If I don't, the flash drive contains enough to begin.
Enough to begin.
Not enough to finish.
Mom had always been careful.
Even in a letter she thought I might read after her death, she hadn't written the secret.
Daniel inserted the flash drive into his laptop.
Password protected.
One hint appeared.
THE DAY CLAIRE CAME HOME.
“My birthday,” I said.
Dad typed it.
Incorrect.
I frowned.
“Maybe from the hospital?”
Dad became very still.
“What?”
“The day I came home after I was born.”
“No.”
His reaction was wrong.
“Dad?”
He stared at the screen.
Then typed a date.
October 17, 1998.
My birthday was October 12.
The drive unlocked.
I looked at him.
“What happened October seventeenth?”
Dad's eyes filled.
“The day your mother and I brought you home.”
“Five days after I was born?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He couldn't answer.
The flash drive opened.
There were financial records.
Photographs.
Audio files.
One video.
Daniel opened it.
Mom appeared on screen.
Alive.
She sat in a room I didn't recognize.
“If Claire is watching this, then something has gone wrong.”
My chest tightened.
“Mercer Holdings is being used again. I traced six transfers totaling more than twelve million dollars. The person responsible has access to Whitmore Group authorization codes.”
Daniel whispered, “That's impossible.”
Mom continued.
“I originally believed Eleanor was responsible. She isn't.”
Daniel and I exchanged a glance.
“I believed Daniel might know. He doesn't.”
Daniel closed his eyes.
Then Mom said:
“The person running Mercer is connected to Claire.”
Dad gripped the table.
“The proof is incomplete. I hid the final records separately because I discovered someone had been following me.”
The video distorted.
Then returned.
“If Robert is with you, I'm sorry.”
Dad whispered her name.
Mom looked directly into the camera.
“Robert, there is something I should have told you twenty-eight years ago.”
The video cut out.
“No.”
I clicked it again.
Same ending.
There were no additional videos.
We searched the financial records.
One name appeared repeatedly as an approving attorney.
R. Bennett.
I stared at Dad.
“That's you.”
“No.”
“Your initials.”
“I never worked for Mercer.”
Daniel enlarged the signature.
Dad looked horrified.
“That's my signature.”
“But?”
“I didn't sign it.”
Someone had forged my father's signature.
Then Daniel found a scanned authorization dated six weeks earlier.
The same transaction from the anonymous message.
$480,000.
Beneficiaries:
DANIEL WHITMORE.
CLAIRE BENNETT.
Authorization:
ROBERT BENNETT.
All three of us were being framed.
My phone vibrated.
A message.
YOU FOUND 317.
Another arrived.
NOW ASK ROBERT WHO BROUGHT YOU HOME.
I looked at Dad.
He had gone completely white.
“Dad?”
He backed away.
“Claire, your mother made me promise.”
“No more promises.”
“Please.”
“Who brought me home?”
His mouth opened.
May you like
Before he could answer, the vault door behind us clicked.
Someone was opening it from the other side.
