Chapter 4 - The Photograph in His Pocket
“Cole?”
I looked at my father.
“Vanessa Cole?”
Richard nodded slowly.
I called Grant.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Then Vanessa's number disappeared from our shared family account.
Grant's followed.
By sunrise, both were gone from the Whitaker house.
But they had left too quickly.
And frightened people make mistakes.
Richard's investigators found the first one before breakfast.
Grant's home office safe had been emptied.
Almost.
Behind a drawer was an envelope.
Inside were photographs of me taken seven years earlier.
Leaving Hale Meridian.
Entering a coffee shop.
Walking through Central Park.
One photograph showed me sitting alone outside a bookstore.
Grant had approached me there ten minutes later.
Our “accidental” first meeting.
My hands shook.
He had known.
Not merely who my family was.
Where I would be.
“When did these start?” I asked.
Richard examined the dates.
“Three weeks before you met him.”
My stomach turned.
Every memory changed at once.
His surprise when we discovered we liked the same author.
His insistence that fate had brought us together.
His modest background.
His sympathy about my “estranged father.”
Had any of it been real?
Maisie entered carrying her stuffed rabbit.
“Mommy?”
I shoved the photographs facedown.
She climbed into my lap.
“Are we staying here?”
“For a little while.”
“With Grandpa?”
I looked at her.
“How did you know he was Grandpa?”
“The park lady showed me pictures.”
“What pictures?”
“You and Grandpa.”
My father went still.
“What else did she tell you?”
“That Grandpa missed Mommy.”
“Did she tell you not to tell me?”
Maisie nodded.
“She said it was a surprise.”
Anger tightened my chest.
Nobody used my daughter for surprises.
Not even someone who thought they were helping.
Richard promised to locate Eleanor.
By noon, he had.
She was living in a small town two hours north.
We drove there without Maisie.
Eleanor opened the door before we knocked.
She looked older.
And exhausted.
When she saw me, she cried.
“Sloane.”
“Did you approach my daughter?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I was running out of time.”
She invited us inside.
Richard remained standing.
“You stole files.”
Eleanor shook her head.
“I copied them.”
“That's stealing.”
“I was trying to prove what happened.”
“To whom?”
“To Sloane.”
She disappeared into another room and returned with a folder.
Inside was a background report on Grant.
Or Gabriel.
Gabriel Cole had been born in Ohio.
Vanessa was his younger half-sister.
Both had changed parts of their identities after their mother married a wealthy businessman named Howard Whitaker.
Grant had taken his stepfather's surname.
Vanessa kept Cole.
That explained the names.
It didn't explain me.
Eleanor turned another page.
Seven years ago, Grant worked for a consulting firm bidding for a Hale Meridian contract.
The bid failed.
Two months later, he began following me.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because of your trust.”
I stared at her.
“What trust?”
Richard closed his eyes.
I looked at him.
“Dad?”
He sat down.
“Your mother created a separate trust before she died.”
“How much?”
“That isn't the important part.”
“How much?”
“Approximately eight hundred million dollars today.”
I couldn't speak.
“The trust transfers fully to you at thirty-five,” he continued. “But marriage and a biological child activate certain voting rights connected to your mother's shares.”
I felt sick.
Grant hadn't married a rich woman.
He had married a key.
“Did he know?”
Eleanor nodded.
“I believe so.”
“From you?”
Her face crumpled.
“No.”
“Then who?”
She looked toward Richard.
“Someone inside Hale Meridian.”
Richard's expression changed.
“Who?”
“I never had proof.”
“Give me the name.”
Eleanor hesitated.
Then the front window shattered.
Richard pulled me down.
Glass exploded across the floor.
His security detail rushed inside.
A black SUV accelerated away.
Nobody had fired a weapon.
A brick lay on the carpet.
Paper was wrapped around it.
Richard unfolded the message.
Three words.
STOP DIGGING, SLOANE.
On the reverse side was a photograph.
Maisie.
May you like
Taken that morning.
Inside Blackwood House.
