Chapter 5 - The Room at the End of the Hall
“Avery!”
I hit the bedroom door with my shoulder.
No answer.
Sophie stood crying in the hallway.
“Elena!”
She ran up behind me.
“Where’s Avery?”
“In there!”
“Was anyone with her?”
Sophie shook her head violently.
“She went to get Bunny.”
I tried the handle again.
Locked.
“Avery!”
A small voice answered.
“Daddy?”
Relief nearly dropped me to my knees.
“Open the door.”
“I can’t.”
“Step away from it.”
Elena grabbed Sophie and moved back.
I hit the door.
Once.
Twice.
The frame cracked.
Third time, the latch tore loose.
I entered.
Avery stood beside the bed.
Alone.
Terrified.
I crossed the room and grabbed her.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Did someone touch you?”
“No.”
“Who locked the door?”
“I don’t know.”
Elena checked the bathroom.
Empty.
Closet.
Empty.
Windows.
Locked.
Thomas entered behind us.
“There’s no one here.”
I looked at the door.
The lock was a simple thumb-turn.
Avery couldn’t have locked it from the hallway.
Someone had been inside.
Or the lock had been manipulated.
Security arrived.
I gave orders quickly.
Search every room.
Check staff.
Lock exterior exits.
Call police.
No more secrecy.
No more preserving appearances.
Avery clung to my shirt.
I felt her heartbeat.
Fast.
Real.
Fragile.
“Daddy?”
“Yes?”
“Are you staying now?”
I shut my eyes.
“Yes.”
“Even if work calls?”
“Yes.”
“What if Chicago calls?”
I almost smiled.
“Chicago can survive.”
She leaned into me.
Elena watched.
Something softened in her expression.
Then vanished when her phone rang.
She checked the screen.
“Unknown.”
“Speaker.”
She answered.
“Hello?”
A man’s voice.
“Put Adrian on.”
Every person in the room froze.
I took the phone.
“Who is this?”
“You know.”
Peter.
My uncle.
I had heard that voice my entire life.
At birthdays.
Business dinners.
Funerals.
“Where are you?”
“Not important.”
“You were in my house Thursday.”
“Was I?”
“You brought food.”
He laughed softly.
“You finally learned what your daughter is allergic to?”
The cruelty of it cleared my mind.
Some anger burns.
Mine became ice.
“If you intended to hurt Avery—”
“I intended nothing.”
“You threatened my children.”
“No. I warned you.”
“About what?”
“Your mother.”
Mother stepped into the doorway.
Her face drained.
Peter continued.
“Margaret will tell you I’m the villain because she always needs one.”
“Did you forge Claire’s signature?”
“No.”
“Did you reactivate Norbridge?”
“No.”
“Did you steal money?”
A pause.
“Yes.”
Mother covered her mouth.
Peter continued.
“Years ago.”
“How much?”
“Enough.”
“From my daughters?”
“From the family office.”
“You used their medical records.”
“I used reimbursements. Nobody lost care.”
“Avery nearly died Friday.”
“That wasn’t me.”
“Then who?”
Silence.
“Peter.”
“Ask your mother why Claire stopped trusting her.”
Mother shouted toward the phone.
“You coward!”
Peter laughed.
“There she is.”
“Where are you?”
“Far enough.”
I tightened my grip.
“Why the note?”
“What note?”
“Under Avery’s pillow.”
Silence.
A different silence.
“I didn’t leave a note.”
“The text to Elena?”
“What text?”
I looked at Thomas.
His expression mirrored mine.
There was someone else.
Peter said, “Adrian, listen carefully. I stole money. I lied. I covered it. But I never touched those girls.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“Because I loved Claire.”
Mother scoffed.
Peter’s voice hardened.
“And she was the only one in that family who knew exactly who Margaret was.”
The line went dead.
Police arrived twelve minutes later.
Detective Naomi Brooks took control quickly.
She separated everyone.
Security footage was collected.
Staff were interviewed.
No unidentified person appeared entering the house.
That meant whoever had taken the photograph was either already inside or knew how to access the cameras.
Daniel arrived from the office.
When I saw him, I nearly punched him.
Not because I believed he was involved.
Because he knew more than I did.
“You should’ve told me.”
“I tried.”
Those words again.
“I’m your employer.”
“You were my friend before that.”
“Then you should’ve forced me to listen.”
He stared at me.
“I called you seventeen times the week Claire died.”
My anger evaporated.
Daniel lowered his voice.
“You didn’t answer anyone.”
“I was at the hospital.”
“After.”
I remembered almost nothing of that week.
“You went straight back to work.”
“I had to.”
“No, Adrian. You chose to.”
The truth felt cruel.
He continued.
“Everyone around you learned the same rule. If it wasn’t business, don’t interrupt Adrian.”
I looked through the glass toward Avery and Sophie.
Elena sat between them.
“You should have interrupted me anyway.”
“I know.”
That answer surprised me.
Daniel sighed.
“I should have.”
For once, there was no excuse.
I respected him more for it.
Detective Brooks approached.
“We found something.”
She led us downstairs.
Security had isolated footage from Thursday.
At 8:17 p.m., Peter’s car entered.
He stayed thirty-four minutes.
Mother admitted meeting him in the library.
He wanted money.
She refused.
At 8:49, he left.
At 9:03, another vehicle appeared.
A catering van.
No scheduled delivery.
A man in uniform entered through the service door carrying two boxes.
“Elena?”
She stared at the screen.
“I never saw him.”
“Who signed?”
Detective Brooks enlarged the image.
The man himself wrote P.H.
Peter’s initials.
A deliberate frame.
“Can you see his face?”
“No.”
Hat.
Mask.
Head down.
He spent six minutes inside.
Then left.
“What did he bring?”
“One box appears to match the bakery packaging from Friday.”
My stomach twisted.
“Find him.”
“We’re working on it.”
Daniel leaned closer to the monitor.
“Pause.”
The image stopped.
“What?”
“His wrist.”
The delivery man’s sleeve had pulled up.
A watch.
Silver.
Distinctive black face.
Daniel looked at me.
“I’ve seen that watch.”
“Where?”
“At your office.”
I stared.
“Who?”
He hesitated.
“Martin Cole.”
My CFO.
My closest executive after Daniel.
Martin had worked for me eleven years.
He knew my travel schedule.
He knew my house.
He knew the family office.
He had access to reimbursements.
And he had been in Friday’s acquisition meeting with me while Avery was taken to the hospital.
“No.”
Daniel said nothing.
I called Martin.
No answer.
Again.
Voicemail.
Detective Brooks asked, “Where would he be now?”
“Office.”
Daniel shook his head.
“He left an hour ago.”
“For where?”
“He didn’t say.”
My phone chimed.
An email.
From Martin.
Subject line:
CLAIRE KNEW.
There was one attachment.
An audio file.
I pressed play.
Claire’s voice filled the room.
Weak.
Tired.
But unmistakably hers.
“If you’re hearing this, Adrian finally started asking questions.”
I stopped breathing.
Claire continued.
“And if Martin Cole is still working for him, then my daughters are not safe.”
The recording cut off.
A second file appeared beneath it.
Password protected.
The hint contained two words.
OUR ANNIVERSARY.
I entered the date.
The file opened.
Inside was a single photograph of Martin standing beside Claire’s hospital bed.
May you like
And on the back, written in Claire’s handwriting:
HE KNOWS WHAT MARGARET DID.
