Chapter Thirteen Olivia's Secret
The rain returned before dawn.
Not the violent storm that had shaken the cellar a week earlier, but a slow, steady rain that blanketed Napa Valley in silence. Eleanor watched it fall through the library windows as Richard Halston's words echoed in her mind.
"She believes someone died because of him."
The sentence refused to leave her.
At exactly nine o'clock, David opened the front door.
"Mrs. Vale... she's here."
Eleanor rose.
A young woman stepped into the foyer, hesitating just inside the doorway.
She appeared to be in her early thirties, dressed simply in a navy blazer and dark slacks. Her blond hair was tied back neatly, but her hands trembled as she held a leather portfolio against her chest.
"I'm Olivia Mercer."
Eleanor extended her hand.
"Thank you for coming."
Olivia managed a weak smile.
"I almost turned around three times on the drive over."
"I imagine this isn't easy."
"No."
Her voice was barely above a whisper.
"It isn't."
They sat together in the library.
Richard joined them, along with Detective Sarah Collins, who had arrived minutes earlier.
A digital recorder rested on the coffee table.
Collins didn't switch it on immediately.
"This conversation is voluntary," she said gently.
"If you need to stop at any point, we stop."
Olivia nodded.
"I understand."
She took a slow breath.
"I worked for Julian for just under two years."
"As his personal assistant?" Collins asked.
"Yes."
"What were your responsibilities?"
"His schedule."
"Travel."
"Private correspondence."
"Financial appointments."
Olivia hesitated.
"And sometimes..."
She looked down.
"...cleaning up after him."
"What do you mean by 'cleaning up'?" Collins asked.
Olivia's fingers tightened around the portfolio.
"If he screamed at an employee..."
"I'd apologize."
"If he canceled meetings..."
"I made excuses."
"If he broke something..."
"I arranged replacements before anyone noticed."
She laughed bitterly.
"I told myself that was just part of the job."
Eleanor remained silent.
She wanted Olivia to continue without interruption.
"It changed last autumn."
"When?" Collins asked.
"The week before Mr. Arthur Vale died."
The room became perfectly still.
"I was organizing Julian's calendar."
"He received a call."
"Afterward..."
Olivia swallowed hard.
"...he threw his phone across the office."
"What was the call about?"
"I don't know."
"But I heard him say one sentence."
She looked directly at Eleanor.
"'If he changes the trust, everything belongs to her.'"
Eleanor felt the blood drain from her face.
Arthur.
The trust.
The argument on the security footage.
The pieces were beginning to fit.
"Did Julian mention Arthur directly?" Collins asked.
Olivia nodded.
"He said his father had lost confidence in him."
"What happened next?"
"He left immediately."
"What time?"
"A little after eight that evening."
"The same night Arthur collapsed."
Silence settled over the room.
Olivia reached into her portfolio.
"I brought something."
She removed a thin black notebook.
"My work journal."
"I kept notes because Julian changed plans constantly."
She handed it to Collins.
One page had been marked with a yellow tab.
October entries.
November entries.
Then...
November 18
8:05 p.m. – Julian leaves estate office. Extremely angry. Says, 'He's not taking this away from me.'
Collins carefully turned the page.
The next entry.
10:42 p.m. – Julian returns alone. Shirt sleeve torn. Refuses medical assistance after cutting hand.
Richard looked up sharply.
"Cutting his hand?"
Olivia nodded.
"He told me he'd broken a glass."
"But there was blood on his cuff."
Eleanor stared toward the rain outside.
She remembered the scratch on Julian's hand the night she found Clara in the cellar.
He always had an explanation.
Always something ordinary.
Always something believable.
Until enough explanations became impossible.
"There is something else," Olivia said quietly.
She reached into the portfolio once more.
This time she removed an envelope.
"I've kept this for nearly eight months."
"Why?" Collins asked.
"Because I was afraid."
She handed it across the table.
Inside was a folded letter.
The handwriting belonged unmistakably to Arthur Vale.
The first line read:
Richard, if anything happens to me before these revisions are signed, do not destroy them. Eleanor deserves the truth.
Richard stopped reading.
His voice caught.
"I never received this."
Olivia lowered her eyes.
"I know."
"Because Julian took it from your desk."
The room fell silent.
"How do you know that?" Collins asked.
"I saw him."
Olivia's answer came without hesitation.
"I walked into his office the next morning."
"He was reading the letter."
"What did he do?"
"He smiled."
She closed her eyes.
"Then he put it through the paper shredder."
No one spoke.
Finally Eleanor asked the question that had haunted her since Arthur's death.
"Did my husband know?"
Olivia looked at her with genuine sadness.
"I think he knew enough to be frightened."
The interview lasted another hour.
When it ended, Collins carefully packed every document into evidence bags.
As she stood to leave, she turned toward Eleanor.
"This changes our timeline."
"How?"
"It suggests Julian knew his father intended to remove him from control of the estate."
Richard nodded slowly.
"Which establishes motive."
Collins didn't disagree.
"But motive isn't proof."
"No."
She looked toward the envelope containing Arthur's letter.
"But it's getting closer."
That evening, Clara wandered onto the back porch just as Eleanor returned from walking the vineyard.
"You look exhausted."
"I am."
Clara noticed the expression on her face.
"Something happened."
Eleanor nodded.
"We're learning who Julian became."
Clara looked down.
"I already knew."
Eleanor gently took her hand.
"No."
"We're learning how many people he forced into silence."
Before Clara could answer, David hurried across the lawn.
His face was unusually pale.
"Mrs. Vale..."
"What is it?"
He stopped to catch his breath.
"The detectives searched Julian's storage unit."
"And?"
David looked from Eleanor to Clara.
"They found a locked fireproof safe."
Silence.
"What was inside?" Eleanor asked.
David swallowed.
"They haven't opened it yet."
He hesitated.
"But the label on the front..."
He looked directly at Eleanor.
"...says PRIVATE — ARTHUR VALE."
The wind swept through the vineyard, rustling thousands of leaves at once.
For the first time, Eleanor wondered whether Arthur had left behind more than a legacy.
May you like
Perhaps...
He had left behind the truth.
