Chapter Thirteen Eleanor Ashcroft
Arthur did not tell anyone immediately.
He remained standing in the burned library, staring at the note his father had hidden decades earlier.
Never trust the widow in white.
For years he had believed the sentence referred to grief.
A warning wrapped in poetry.
Now he understood.
It had been literal.
Eleanor Ashcroft.
His mother's closest friend.
The woman who had attended every Christmas dinner.
Every birthday.
Every charity gala.
The woman who had kissed him on the forehead the day he married Margaret.
The woman he had called Aunt Eleanor as a child.
Detective Reeves arrived minutes later.
Arthur handed him the note without a word.
Reeves read it twice.
Then looked up.
"How long have you known her?"
"My entire life."
"When did you last see her?"
Arthur thought for a moment.
"Three weeks ago."
"The hospital."
"She came to visit after I was diagnosed with pneumonia."
Margaret's eyes widened.
"She visited you?"
Arthur nodded slowly.
"I thought she was being kind."
Reeves' expression hardened.
"Was she ever alone with you?"
Arthur searched his memory.
Then his face changed.
"Yes."
"About five minutes."
The detective exchanged a glance with Michael Donovan.
Five minutes.
Long enough to switch medication.
Long enough to plant doubt.
Long enough to do almost anything.
Michael immediately searched the visitor logs.
"Eleanor signed in at 2:14 p.m."
He scrolled farther.
"She signed out at 3:02."
Arthur frowned.
"She wasn't with me that long."
Michael nodded.
"Hospital security confirms she left your room after seven minutes."
"So where was she?"
No one answered.
Because no one knew.
Meanwhile, at the regional trauma center, Edward Hale had survived emergency surgery.
His condition remained critical.
Detective Reeves obtained permission to question him for exactly five minutes.
Edward's voice was barely audible.
"You found Eleanor."
"We know her name."
Edward closed his eyes.
"Too late."
"Tell me about her."
Edward drew a painful breath.
"She wasn't always like this."
"What changed?"
"Money."
"Power."
"And revenge."
Reeves frowned.
"Against Arthur?"
Edward shook his head weakly.
"No."
"Against..."
His voice faltered.
"...Charles."
Arthur's father.
Reeves leaned closer.
"Why?"
Edward looked toward the ceiling.
"Charles Wexler promised..."
"...to expose everyone."
"What happened?"
"He lost his nerve."
Edward coughed violently.
"Eleanor never forgave him."
"So she built the Black Phoenix?"
Edward slowly shook his head.
"No."
"She stole it."
Back at Bellweather House...
Lena couldn't stop thinking about one detail.
The motel.
When Detective Reeves found Camille, the bathroom window had still been moving.
Meaning Eleanor escaped only seconds before the police entered.
But how had she known they were coming?
Someone had warned her.
Someone inside the investigation.
Lena quietly walked into the security office.
Michael looked up.
"Everything all right?"
"I need to ask you something."
He nodded.
"When Detective Reeves left for the motel..."
"Who knew where he was going?"
Michael answered without hesitation.
"You."
"Arthur."
"Me."
"The police dispatcher."
"And..."
He stopped.
"And?"
"The district command center."
Lena frowned.
"How many people work there?"
"About thirty."
She slowly shook her head.
"No."
"It wasn't someone there."
Michael looked confused.
"Why not?"
"Because Eleanor left less than thirty seconds before Reeves opened the bathroom door."
She looked directly at him.
"Only someone receiving live updates could have warned her."
The room became silent.
Michael's expression slowly changed.
"You think..."
"...someone inside the police department."
Across the city...
Eleanor Ashcroft sat alone in a penthouse apartment overlooking the river.
She poured herself a glass of red wine.
On the table lay dozens of newspaper clippings.
Every article involved the Wexler family.
Some were more than thirty years old.
A knock came at the door.
Without looking up, she said,
"Come in."
A man entered.
Mid-fifties.
Impeccably dressed.
He carried a slim folder.
"It's done."
Eleanor nodded.
"Henry?"
"Dead."
"Richard?"
"Dead."
"Edward?"
The man hesitated.
"Still alive."
She sighed.
"That's unfortunate."
He placed the folder before her.
"Arthur has the ledger."
"I expected that."
"He also knows your name."
For the first time...
Eleanor smiled.
"Good."
The man looked surprised.
"You wanted him to know?"
"Of course."
"Why?"
She slowly turned toward the city lights.
"Because this was never about hiding."
"It was about timing."
Bellweather House received another unexpected visitor just before midnight.
This time...
It was an FBI agent.
Special Agent Claire Bennett.
She placed federal credentials on Arthur's desk.
"We need to speak privately."
Arthur nodded.
"What is this about?"
Claire opened a classified folder.
"Samuel Mercer."
Arthur's pulse quickened.
"You found him?"
"No."
"But we found something he mailed."
"When?"
"Nine years ago."
Arthur stared.
"Why wasn't I told?"
"Because it never reached its destination."
She slid a sealed evidence envelope across the desk.
"It was intercepted during an unrelated federal investigation."
Arthur carefully opened it.
Inside was a single photograph.
Samuel stood beside a little girl.
About eight years old.
Camille.
Both were smiling.
On the back, Samuel had written:
Arthur, if you ever receive this, you'll know I failed. Protect my daughter. She was never meant to carry my war.
Arthur closed his eyes.
He had spent twenty-two years believing Samuel abandoned Camille.
Instead...
Samuel had spent twenty-two years trying to save her.
Agent Bennett removed one final document.
"We also recovered this."
It was a fingerprint analysis.
One print belonged to Samuel.
The other...
Arthur frowned.
"Whose is this?"
Claire answered quietly.
"It matches a woman already in our database."
"Who?"
Claire looked directly at him.
"Eleanor Ashcroft."
Silence filled the room.
The FBI had just confirmed what had once seemed impossible.
Samuel and Eleanor had met.
Which meant one terrifying possibility remained.
Samuel hadn't been hiding from Eleanor.
May you like
At some point...
He had trusted her.
