Chapter 6 - The Second Apartment
Margaret stared at my phone.
“Ask him where it is.”
I did.
Noah hesitated.
“Daniel has it.”
I looked at Margaret.
“When did you give it to him?”
“At the hospital.”
My stomach tightened.
Daniel had left our house fifteen minutes earlier.
I called.
No answer.
Again.
No answer.
Margaret grabbed her coat.
“We need to find him.”
I laughed without humor.
“You still think I should trust you?”
“No.”
She met my eyes.
“But I think you should trust your instincts.”
We drove to Daniel’s office.
Empty.
Apartment 417.
Empty.
Then Margaret remembered another property.
A small apartment in Milwaukee.
Claire’s old address.
We called Claire.
She had never told Daniel she still owned it.
But Daniel knew.
Two hours later we were driving north.
Snow streaked across the windshield.
Margaret finally spoke.
“I loved Richard once.”
I said nothing.
“I need you to know that.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s easy to imagine women stay with men like him because they’re weak.”
I glanced at her.
“He wasn’t cruel at first. He was charming. Generous. He made every problem disappear.”
“Until he became the problem.”
“Yes.”
She looked out the window.
“By the time I understood him, Daniel was a child. Stephen was supposedly dead. I had nowhere I believed was safe.”
“Why didn’t you leave later?”
“Fear becomes habit.”
That sentence stayed with me.
We reached Milwaukee after dark.
Claire’s old building stood above a closed bakery.
The apartment door was unlocked.
Inside, Daniel sat at a table.
The flash drive lay before him.
“You followed me.”
I stepped inside.
“You stole evidence from a child.”
“I was protecting him.”
“Everyone in your family uses that word.”
Daniel looked ashamed.
“I watched the video.”
“And?”
He turned his laptop.
My father appeared on screen.
Young.
Nervous.
Alive.
I stopped breathing.
“If you’re watching this,” he said, “Richard has probably done what he threatened.”
My knees weakened.
Daniel pulled out a chair.
I sat.
My father continued.
He described fraudulent transfers.
Forged ownership papers.
Money diverted from Carter Development.
Then he said something unexpected.
“Stephen Whitmore helped me collect the evidence.”
Margaret gasped.
My father looked directly into the camera.
“If anything happens to Stephen, Richard did it.”
The video ended.
Silence.
I stared at the black screen.
“Why did you run?”
I asked Daniel.
“I didn’t.”
“You took the drive.”
“Because there’s another file.”
He clicked.
A document opened.
A trust agreement.
My name appeared.
EMILY CARTER.
Beneficiary.
I stared.
“What is this?”
Daniel swallowed.
“The missing twenty percent.”
Margaret moved closer.
Daniel continued.
“Your father transferred his interest into a trust before Richard could steal it.”
“So?”
“So with accumulated value…”
He looked at me.
“…you may own more of Whitmore Development than I do.”
I laughed because the alternative was screaming.
“My husband secretly meets his former fiancée, her son gets kidnapped by your supposedly dead uncle, and now I own part of your company?”
Daniel rubbed his face.
“There’s more.”
“Of course there is.”
“The trust activates under one condition.”
“What condition?”
He turned the screen.
I read the clause.
My blood ran cold.
The beneficiary would receive voting control if evidence established that Richard Whitmore had unlawfully deprived Thomas Carter of his ownership.
The video established exactly that.
Margaret whispered, “Richard knew.”
Daniel nodded.
“That’s why he wanted Emily.”
I turned.
“What?”
Daniel looked horrified by his own words.
“My father introduced us.”
I remembered.
A charity dinner.
Richard had insisted Daniel attend.
I had been invited through work.
Daniel and I met beside the bar.
I had always called it fate.
Now Daniel was telling me it might have been arranged.
“Did you know?”
“No.”
“Before we married?”
“No.”
“After?”
Daniel looked away.
My heart stopped.
“When did you find out?”
“Three years ago.”
Milwaukee.
The conference.
Claire.
Everything connected.
“And you stayed married to me knowing I might control your company?”
Daniel stood.
“Emily, I loved you before I knew.”
“But after you knew, you hid it.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I was afraid you’d ask exactly what you’re asking now.”
“Whether you married me for money?”
“I didn’t.”
I wanted to believe him.
That was the worst part.
I still loved him enough to want to believe him.
A knock came at the door.
Three slow knocks.
Daniel went still.
Nobody knew we were here.
Margaret whispered, “Don’t open it.”
Another knock.
Then a man’s voice came through the door.
“Maggie.”
May you like
Margaret turned white.
Her dead brother was standing outside.
