Chapter 3 - The Contract in the Wheelchair
Simone forgot how to move.
The woman at the ballroom doors appeared to be in her late sixties.
Silver-blonde hair.
Gray wool coat.
No jewelry.
No expression except exhaustion.
Two security guards approached her.
Adrian lifted one hand.
They stopped.
Simone whispered, “Who are you?”
The woman’s eyes filled.
“My name is Margaret Vale.”
Theodore made a broken sound.
Simone turned.
“You know her.”
Margaret looked at him.
“He does.”
Vivienne’s face had become bloodless.
Preston grabbed her hand.
This time she let him.
Margaret stepped closer.
“I was your mother’s nurse.”
Simone’s knees weakened.
“My mother died of complications after surgery.”
“That’s what you were told.”
“By my father.”
Margaret looked at Theodore.
“And by people he trusted.”
Theodore shook his head.
“I saw the body.”
“No,” Margaret said. “You saw a closed casket.”
Simone looked at him.
He said nothing.
Her chest tightened.
“Dad?”
Theodore looked suddenly old.
“I was told the damage was too severe.”
Margaret’s jaw tightened.
“Elena was alive.”
“When?”
“For eleven months after the night she disappeared.”
The room tilted.
Simone reached for the back of a chair.
Adrian stepped closer but did not touch her.
She was grateful.
She needed to remain standing on her own.
“Eleven months.”
Margaret nodded.
“Where?”
“Bellamy House.”
Simone looked toward the photograph still on Theodore’s phone.
“Why?”
Margaret’s eyes moved across the crowd.
“Not here.”
Adrian spoke.
“We leave now.”
Theodore shook his head.
“I’m coming.”
His nurse protested.
“Mr. Bellamy—”
“I’m coming.”
Vivienne stepped backward.
“No.”
Simone looked at her.
“You’re coming too.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Yes, you are.”
“You don’t order me around.”
“No,” Simone said. “But if you stay here, you’ll spend the rest of the night wondering what Margaret tells me about you.”
That landed.
Vivienne stared.
Preston leaned toward her.
“We should go.”
She looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because we need to understand what’s happening.”
Adrian’s eyes narrowed.
Simone noticed.
He did not trust Preston.
Neither did she.
Twenty minutes later, the wedding had effectively ended.
Guests were told Theodore had suffered a medical episode.
Cars gathered at the front entrance.
Simone sat in the passenger seat of Adrian’s black sedan.
She had refused an ambulance.
Her shoulder hurt.
Her pride hurt more.
Adrian drove.
For several minutes, neither spoke.
Finally Simone said, “You shouldn’t have called me your future wife.”
“I know.”
She looked at him.
“That’s all?”
“What would you prefer?”
“An explanation.”
He kept his eyes on the road.
“I needed Vivienne to stop.”
“You could have said friend.”
“She would not have believed it.”
“She believes future wife?”
“She believes I don’t speak casually.”
Simone almost smiled.
Almost.
“You do realize I’m not marrying you.”
“I assumed there would be discussion first.”
She turned fully toward him.
Was that humor?
His face remained serious.
“Why me?”
“I told you.”
“My mother saved you.”
“Yes.”
“That doesn’t explain marriage.”
“No.”
“Then?”
He was silent for a long moment.
“When I was sixteen, my father was killed.”
Simone’s expression changed.
“I’m sorry.”
“His death triggered a war inside our family businesses. Men who believed a frightened teenager could be controlled came after me.”
“Elena hid you.”
“Your mother found me outside St. Catherine’s. I had been beaten. I wouldn’t give her my real name.”
“But she learned it.”
“She recognized my father from the news.”
“And she helped you anyway.”
“Yes.”
Simone looked out the window.
“That sounds like her.”
“She put me in a laundry cart and moved me through the service elevator. She called one man she trusted.”
“My father?”
“No.”
Simone turned.
“Who?”
Adrian’s jaw tightened.
“Someone named Gabriel Rourke.”
The name meant nothing to her.
“Who was he?”
“Your mother’s attorney.”
“I didn’t know she had an attorney.”
“You didn’t know she owned Bellamy House either.”
Fair.
Adrian continued.
“Rourke contacted my uncle. I was removed safely. Two days later, Elena visited me.”
“Why?”
“She made me promise something.”
Simone waited.
“If she ever asked for help, I was to help her daughter.”
Simone stared.
“She named me?”
“Yes.”
“How old was I?”
“Six.”
A strange pressure built behind her eyes.
Her mother had been arranging protection for her when she was six years old.
“Did she ever ask?”
“No.”
“Until now?”
Adrian shook his head.
“She died before she could.”
“Apparently she didn’t.”
“Not immediately.”
They drove in silence.
Behind them traveled Theodore and his nurse.
A second vehicle carried Margaret.
Vivienne and Preston followed in a third.
One hour later, they reached Bellamy House.
The iron gates stood open.
No lights burned outside.
Simone stepped from the car.
The building looked exactly like the photograph.
Three stories.
Brick.
White columns.
Dark windows.
Adrian took a flashlight from the trunk.
Theodore arrived.
His wheelchair rolled onto the gravel.
The nurse checked the brake twice.
Nobody missed the gesture.
Margaret walked toward the entrance.
“I haven’t been here in eighteen years.”
Theodore looked at her.
“Why now?”
She turned.
“Because someone called me this morning.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“They knew about the wedding?”
“Yes.”
“They told me Simone would finally be ready to hear the truth.”
Simone frowned.
“Ready?”
Margaret looked at Theodore.
“After he confessed.”
Theodore stared.
“I didn’t confess anything.”
“Then someone expected you to.”
Simone unlocked the front door with the brass key.
It opened.
Inside smelled of dust and old wood.
Adrian entered first.
The beam of his flashlight moved over sheet-covered furniture.
Family portraits.
An old staircase.
Theodore stopped.
“I remember this.”
Simone looked at him.
“You said you sold it.”
“I did.”
“To whom?”
He hesitated.
“A holding company.”
“What company?”
He didn’t answer.
Adrian said, “Bellamy Heritage Trust?”
Theodore looked at him.
“How do you know that name?”
Adrian reached into his coat.
He removed a folded document.
“Because your lawyer gave this to my father.”
Theodore’s eyes widened.
“What is it?”
“A copy of a trust agreement.”
Simone took it.
At the top:
BELLAMY HERITAGE TRUST
Primary beneficiary:
ELENA MARQUEZ BELLAMY.
Successor beneficiary:
SIMONE ELENA BELLAMY.
Simone stopped breathing.
“What?”
Theodore whispered, “I never saw that.”
Margaret laughed without humor.
“You signed it.”
He looked at the signature.
His face changed.
“That’s not mine.”
Vivienne entered behind them.
“What are you talking about?”
Simone held up the paper.
“I apparently own this house.”
Vivienne stared.
“No.”
“According to this, yes.”
“No.”
Her voice cracked.
Preston placed a hand on her back.
She shrugged him off.
“My mother said—”
She stopped.
Simone stepped closer.
“What did your mother say?”
Vivienne shook her head.
“Nothing.”
“Vivienne.”
“Nothing!”
Adrian’s flashlight moved toward the staircase.
“Room Three.”
They climbed.
Theodore used the old service lift with his nurse.
At the top, Margaret led them down a hallway.
Three doors.
Room One.
Room Two.
Room Three.
Simone inserted the brass key.
It turned.
The room contained filing cabinets.
Dozens.
A desk.
A tape recorder.
And one chair facing the window.
Simone walked inside.
On the desk lay a document.
Fresh paper.
Not dusty.
Someone had been there recently.
She picked it up.
A transfer contract.
Dated six months earlier.
It transferred the Bellamy Heritage Trust assets to a company called Hale Consolidated Holdings.
Preston’s last name.
Simone turned slowly.
Preston stood in the doorway.
Vivienne beside him.
Theodore stared at the contract.
“I never approved this.”
Preston smiled.
“You didn’t have to.”
Vivienne looked at him.
“What?”
He turned toward her.
“For once, darling, don’t talk.”
She stepped back.
Simone’s blood went cold.
Adrian moved between Preston and the room.
Preston lifted both hands.
“Relax.”
“Who signed this?” Simone asked.
Preston looked at her.
“You did.”
She stared.
“I have never seen it.”
He pointed.
Her signature appeared on the final page.
SIMONE BELLAMY.
Perfect.
Adrian looked at the notarization.
Then at Preston.
“You forged her signature.”
“Prove it.”
The lights went out.
Vivienne screamed.
A door slammed downstairs.
Then came the unmistakable sound of the front entrance locking from the outside.
Adrian switched on his flashlight.
The filing cabinets stood open.
One drawer was empty.
On the floor lay a single folder.
He picked it up.
A label had been written across the front.
ELENA BELLAMY — FINAL TESTIMONY.
Simone reached for it.
May you like
Before she could open it, a voice came from the darkness behind the wall.
“Don’t read that unless you’re ready to learn why your mother disappeared.”
