Chapter 7 - The Man Who Faked His Own Murder
Christopher had believed he had reached the bottom of his family’s secrets.
He had been wrong.
Arthur Pierce sat completely still in his wheelchair.
Jonathan stood across from him.
Estelle looked as though she wanted the floor to open beneath her.
Christopher stepped toward his father.
“Is it true?”
Arthur said nothing.
“Did you poison yourself?”
Arthur’s left hand trembled.
Christopher stared.
“Answer me.”
“Yes.”
One word.
That was all.
Christopher laughed.
Then stopped because nothing about it was funny.
“You caused your own stroke?”
“I intended to cause symptoms.”
“You almost died.”
“Yes.”
“You staged a medical emergency.”
“Yes.”
“Then faked your death.”
Arthur looked at him.
“Yes.”
Christopher turned away.
He pressed both hands against his head.
Rachel had been murdered.
Estelle had hired men to follow her.
Daniel had taken money to silence her.
Jonathan had stolen hundreds of millions.
Juliette had tried to drown Emma.
And Arthur had faked his own death.
Christopher looked at them all.
“You’re insane.”
Estelle’s expression hardened.
“Christopher.”
“No.”
He pointed around the room.
“No one speaks to me like I’m the unreasonable one again.”
Silence.
He looked at Arthur.
“Why?”
Arthur breathed slowly.
“I needed Jonathan to believe I was gone.”
Jonathan laughed.
“You needed everyone to believe you were gone.”
Arthur ignored him.
Christopher continued.
“So you could investigate?”
“Yes.”
“You abandoned me for eleven years.”
Arthur’s expression shifted.
“I watched.”
Christopher stared.
“You watched?”
“From a distance.”
“You let me bury you.”
“I know.”
“You let me scatter ashes.”
“They were cedar.”
Christopher’s face twisted.
“Cedar?”
Arthur lowered his eyes.
Christopher stepped back.
“I mourned you.”
“I know.”
“I blamed myself.”
Arthur looked up.
Christopher’s voice cracked.
“Our last conversation was an argument.”
“I remember.”
“You told me Rachel was beneath this family.”
Arthur closed his eyes.
“I remember.”
“And then you died.”
Christopher swallowed.
“For eleven years, I thought the last thing I said to my father was that I hated him.”
Arthur’s eyes filled.
Christopher saw it.
He did not care.
“You let me believe that.”
“I had no choice.”
“There is always a choice.”
“Jonathan was watching you.”
“Then tell me.”
“I could not risk you knowing.”
“Why?”
“Because you loved me.”
Christopher laughed bitterly.
“What a terrible vulnerability.”
Arthur winced.
Christopher continued.
“You thought I’d reveal you were alive?”
“I thought you would behave differently.”
“I was your son.”
“Yes.”
“That was supposed to matter.”
“It mattered enough for me to stay hidden.”
“No.”
Christopher pointed toward Emma’s corridor.
“You all keep calling control protection.”
No one answered.
Christopher looked at Jonathan.
“And you?”
Jonathan smiled faintly.
“Me?”
“You knew Father staged his death.”
“Eventually.”
“How?”
“Because dead men should not move money.”
Arthur’s jaw tightened.
Jonathan continued.
“Six months after his funeral, a dormant Swiss account transferred twelve million dollars.”
Christopher looked at Arthur.
“To fund what?”
“My investigation.”
Jonathan laughed.
“To fund his bunker.”
Arthur glared.
Jonathan continued.
“He built an entire private intelligence network.”
Christopher stared at his father.
Arthur did not deny it.
“What did you find?”
Arthur looked toward Victoria.
“Close the doors.”
Christopher spoke.
“No.”
Arthur looked at him.
“No more secret rooms.”
Christopher walked to the main doors and pushed them wide open.
Household employees were gathered beyond the hall.
Corporate security stood near the staircase.
Christopher’s own men remained near the entrance.
Everyone could see.
“Whatever you say, you say where witnesses can hear.”
Estelle whispered.
“You’re humiliating this family.”
Christopher turned.
“You lost the right to care about humiliation when a seven-year-old went into the pool.”
Estelle looked away.
Arthur exhaled.
“Jonathan’s theft was only part of it.”
Jonathan’s smile disappeared.
Arthur continued.
“Pierce Foundation funds were used to bribe officials.”
Christopher looked at Jonathan.
“Judges?”
“Yes.”
“Police?”
“Yes.”
“Politicians?”
“Yes.”
Jonathan interrupted.
“You have no proof.”
Arthur looked toward Victoria.
“There are forty-eight boxes beneath this house.”
Jonathan went still.
Arthur smiled.
“Originals.”
Christopher watched his uncle.
There.
Fear.
Arthur continued.
“Rachel discovered six of the shell companies.”
Jonathan’s face tightened.
“She was nosy.”
“She was doing her job.”
“She accessed records she had no right to access.”
“She found you stealing.”
Jonathan shrugged.
“From whom?”
Arthur stared.
Jonathan continued.
“Do you think Pierce money has ever been clean?”
Christopher looked between them.
Jonathan smiled.
“Ask him where our grandfather got the steel contracts during the war.”
Arthur said nothing.
“Ask Estelle how we acquired the Westbridge property.”
Estelle snapped.
“That has nothing to do with Emma.”
“Everything has to do with Emma.”
Jonathan pointed toward Christopher.
“Your son wants morality now because he’s frightened.”
Christopher stared.
Jonathan continued.
“But he slept comfortably in houses bought with the same money.”
Christopher stepped closer.
“Then expose all of it.”
Everyone turned.
Jonathan frowned.
Christopher repeated.
“Everything.”
Estelle shook her head.
“You do not understand.”
“I understand enough.”
Christopher looked at Arthur.
“Turn over the records.”
Arthur hesitated.
Christopher’s jaw tightened.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“You don’t want justice.”
Arthur’s face hardened.
“You want leverage.”
No answer.
Christopher laughed.
“You hid for eleven years building leverage.”
Arthur spoke.
“Leverage keeps people alive.”
“Did it keep Rachel alive?”
Arthur flinched.
Christopher turned to Estelle.
“Did silence keep her alive?”
Nothing.
He looked at Jonathan.
“Did money keep her alive?”
Jonathan’s expression turned cold.
Christopher continued.
“I’m done.”
He looked at Victoria.
“Call federal authorities.”
Jonathan laughed.
“On what line?”
Victoria held up her phone.
“This one.”
Jonathan’s eyes narrowed.
Victoria smiled.
“I arrived through the north service road.”
“I brought a satellite handset.”
Jonathan’s expression changed.
Arthur leaned forward.
“Victoria.”
She looked at him.
“Do not call yet.”
Christopher stared at his father.
“Why?”
Arthur’s voice became urgent.
“Because Jonathan did not come here merely for Emma.”
Jonathan smiled.
Christopher felt dread.
“What does he want?”
Arthur looked toward the underground floor beneath them.
“The records.”
Jonathan’s smile widened.
Christopher turned toward the corporate security officers.
Some of them were shifting position.
Gideon appeared at the hall entrance.
His eyes met Christopher’s.
Something was wrong.
Gideon mouthed two words.
Fire alarm.
A second later sirens began screaming.
Employees looked around.
Smoke appeared near the rear staircase.
Christopher understood.
“Records room.”
Arthur shouted.
“No!”
Everyone moved at once.
Christopher pointed toward Yvette.
“Emma!”
Yvette ran toward the garden room.
Gideon drew his weapon.
Corporate security officers began blocking corridors.
Jonathan stepped backward.
Christopher grabbed his jacket.
“You started the fire.”
Jonathan smiled.
“Prove it.”
A blast shook the floor.
Windows rattled.
Smoke poured from a service hallway.
Arthur shouted something Christopher could not hear.
Christopher looked toward the west wing.
“Emma!”
He ran.
Yvette reached the garden room first.
She opened the door.
Empty.
The window stood open.
A small bracelet lay on the carpet.
Emma’s.
Christopher picked it up.
His hands began shaking.
Yvette looked out the window.
A rope hung from the balcony railing.
Christopher’s security alarm screamed.
Gideon arrived.
“What happened?”
“She’s gone.”
Gideon looked toward the grounds.
Then at the bracelet.
He froze.
“What?”
Christopher grabbed his arm.
“What?”
Gideon pointed at the tiny silver charm.
A black mark had been drawn on the underside.
Three lines inside a circle.
Christopher frowned.
Gideon looked terrified.
“I know that symbol.”
“From where?”
“The men who killed Rachel.”
Christopher stared.
Smoke rolled through the corridor behind them.
Gideon’s voice dropped.
“They have Emma.”
And then Christopher’s phone rang.
Unknown number.
He answered.
A distorted voice spoke.
“Bring Rachel Monroe’s original files to the old boathouse.”
Christopher said nothing.
The voice continued.
“Come alone.”
Christopher looked at Gideon.
The caller whispered.
“Or this time, Mr. Pierce, your daughter stays underwater.”
May you like
The call ended.
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