Chapter 4 - The Key in My Suitcase
The woman pulled me into Room 814 and shut the door.
“Who are you?”
“Rebecca Sloan.”
The name meant nothing.
Then she said, “I was Patricia's accountant.”
Everything changed.
Rebecca had worked for Patricia privately for four years.
She discovered payments routed through shell companies.
When she questioned them, Patricia fired her.
Robert later contacted her.
“He was building a case.”
“Against Patricia?”
“Against whoever was involved.”
“Daniel?”
Rebecca hesitated.
“He signed things.”
“That doesn't answer me.”
“I don't know whether he understood.”
The same answer everyone gave me.
Rebecca opened a folder.
Bank statements.
Invoices.
Copies of Daniel's signatures.
Then a photograph.
Patricia and Marissa outside a private bank.
“Why did you tell me Patricia couldn't know you're alive?”
“Because three months ago someone ran me off the road.”
My stomach tightened.
“Are you saying Patricia tried to kill you?”
“No. I'm saying someone frightened me badly enough that Robert paid for this room under another name.”
Robert had been protecting her.
Two days before he died.
“Then Robert died.”
Rebecca looked at me.
“How?”
“Heart attack.”
“Are you sure?”
The question landed like a stone.
Robert had collapsed in his study.
The medical examiner found no reason to suspect foul play.
He'd had heart problems.
Still, suspicion entered the room and refused to leave.
I remembered the elevator.
“Someone was coming.”
Rebecca checked the peephole.
“No one.”
My phone rang.
Patricia.
I answered.
“Where are you?”
“Shopping.”
“For what?”
“Socks.”
Silence.
“Come home.”
“Why?”
“Daniel needs you.”
I found him in the study.
He looked terrible.
Patricia wasn't there.
“What happened?”
He locked the door.
“Dad left another will.”
“I heard.”
Daniel stared.
“You heard?”
“Walls are thin when you're sleeping with laundry detergent.”
He winced.
He handed me a copy.
The new will did not transfer Robert's business shares directly to Daniel.
They went into a trust controlled by me.
Daniel would receive them only after an independent audit of Hale Development.
Robert had anticipated everything.
“Patricia is furious,” Daniel said.
“Why?”
“You know why.”
I waited.
Finally, he whispered, “Because of Blue Palm.”
The last wall cracked.
“How involved are you?”
“I signed authorizations.”
“Did you know money was being stolen?”
“No.”
“Don't lie to me.”
“I swear.”
“Why did you sign?”
“Patricia said they were tax structures.”
Millions of dollars.
My son had signed without reading.
I wanted to slap him.
Instead I asked, “Why did you let her put me in that room?”
His face crumpled.
Because cowardice is rarely dramatic.
Sometimes it's simply a person who keeps choosing the easier betrayal.
“I thought if I challenged her, she'd leave.”
“So you sacrificed me.”
He began crying.
I didn't comfort him.
Not yet.
“Daniel, loving someone does not require becoming spineless.”
He nodded.
“I know.”
“No. You're beginning to know.”
That evening, I moved the trust papers.
Patricia had searched my room.
I could tell.
My suitcase zipper was positioned differently.
So I removed everything valuable.
The Cancún deed.
Bank statements.
Robert's letter.
Only the C-17 key remained.
I needed to know what it opened.
The next morning Samuel accompanied me to the bank.
Box C-17 required two keys.
Mine.
And the bank's.
The clerk inserted both.
The lock clicked.
Inside was a black folder.
A flash drive.
A small velvet box.
And an envelope.
FOR ELEANOR ONLY.
I opened the envelope.
Robert's handwriting.
Ellie,
If you've reached this box, things are worse than I hoped.
There is something I never told you about Patricia.
Something I discovered too late.
Before she married Daniel, she used another name.
I stopped reading.
Samuel leaned closer.
I continued.
Robert had attached an investigative report.
Patricia Hale had once been Patricia Mercer.
Before that?
Patricia Voss.
Two identities.
Two marriages.
One bankruptcy.
And an accusation of financial fraud that had vanished when the primary witness withdrew.
The witness's name was Rebecca Sloan.
My skin prickled.
Rebecca hadn't told me everything.
Then I opened the velvet box.
Inside was a woman's gold wedding ring.
Not mine.
Engraved inside were two initials.
P.V.
And M.C.
Marissa Cole.
I stared at Samuel.
“What does this mean?”
He shook his head.
My phone buzzed.
A message from Rebecca.
DON'T TRUST THE REPORT. ROBERT DIDN'T KNOW THE WHOLE STORY.
Then another.
I NEED TO TELL YOU WHO PATRICIA REALLY MARRIED FIRST.
Before I could answer, a photograph arrived.
Patricia stood in a courthouse wedding dress.
A man beside her had his arm around her waist.
I enlarged the image.
My heart stopped.
May you like
I knew him.
And according to Daniel, that man had been dead for fifteen years.
