Chapter 8 - THE LAST CALL FROM WILLIAM CRAWFORD
Eleanor had never told anyone about William’s final phone call.
Not police.
Not lawyers.
Not even Malcolm.
Especially not Malcolm.
“He sounded terrified.”
Eleanor spoke slowly.
“That was not normal for your father.”
Claire listened without interrupting.
“He said he had found a payment.”
“What kind?”
“A payment made three days before you disappeared.”
“From whom?”
“He wouldn’t say on the phone.”
“He told me he had documents.”
“He was driving back from Milwaukee.”
Claire’s skin prickled.
“Wisconsin.”
“Yes.”
“Near St. Agnes.”
“Yes.”
Eleanor looked down at her hands.
“He never made it home.”
Claire already knew the rest.
William’s car went through a guardrail on Interstate 94.
Investigators blamed rain and excessive speed.
The documents were never found.
His briefcase was recovered empty.
Claire stared at her mother.
“Why didn’t you tell police?”
“I did tell them he was investigating you.”
“But not about the payment.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because two hours after I learned William was dead, someone called my private line.”
Claire felt cold.
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“What did they say?”
Eleanor’s voice dropped.
“They said if I kept digging, I would bury another person I loved.”
Claire could barely breathe.
“You stopped searching?”
Eleanor’s face twisted.
“I stopped searching publicly.”
“But I never stopped.”
Claire suddenly understood the private investigators.
The sealed files.
Eleanor’s cautious response to the bracelet.
She had not simply lost a daughter.
She had lived for decades believing someone was watching.
Naomi entered with a stack of documents.
“I have news.”
Claire looked up.
“Good or bad?”
“Both.”
Naomi placed the first document down.
“The refinancing papers Richard gave you were not refinancing papers.”
Claire had expected that.
“What were they?”
“A marital property acknowledgment.”
“If processed, you would have confirmed that certain assets purchased during your marriage belonged exclusively to Sterling Heritage Management.”
Claire stared.
“He tried to get me to sign away my rights.”
“Yes.”
“Did I?”
“Not successfully.”
Claire exhaled.
“The notarization is defective.”
“And one signature page was never completed.”
Richard had failed.
Barely.
Naomi placed another file down.
“This is more interesting.”
It was a bank transfer.
Fifty thousand dollars.
From Sterling Heritage Management.
To Crawford Advisory Group.
Claire frowned.
“What is Crawford Advisory Group?”
Eleanor answered.
“One of Malcolm’s private consulting entities.”
The room went silent.
“When?”
Claire asked.
“Yesterday morning.”
Claire stared at the transfer.
Richard had sent Malcolm money after the hotel incident.
“What was the memo?”
Naomi pointed.
“Strategic services.”
Claire laughed bitterly.
“Of course.”
Then her phone rang.
Unknown number.
Naomi motioned for her not to answer.
Claire did anyway.
“Hello?”
A woman spoke.
“Claire Sterling?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Helen Ward.”
Claire glanced at Eleanor.
“I worked at St. Agnes Children’s Home.”
Claire’s grip tightened.
“When?”
“From 1994 until 2003.”
Claire could hear the woman breathing.
“I saw your picture on television.”
Claire looked at Naomi.
The story had leaked.
“I remember you.”
Claire stopped moving.
Helen continued.
“And I remember the woman who came to see you every year.”
Claire’s heart hammered.
“What woman?”
“She never gave her real name.”
“She never signed the visitor book.”
“But she always wore the same perfume.”
Claire almost laughed at the strange detail.
Then Helen said something that wiped every thought from her mind.
“I saw that woman on television too.”
“Yesterday.”
“She was standing beside your husband.”
Claire whispered.
“Who?”
Helen answered.
“Diana Sterling.”
May you like
Richard’s mother had not merely recognized Claire years later.
She had visited Claire at the orphanage while Claire was still a child.
