Chapter 4 - THE KEY BENEATH THE LIBRARY
Claire left the hospital against medical advice the following morning.
Ethan found her waiting inside his car.
Her ribs were wrapped.
Her face was pale.
But her eyes were steady.
“You should not be here.”
“Neither should your father.”
He almost argued.
Then he placed the brass key in her hand.
“Show me the room.”
The Whitmore estate was surrounded by police and reporters.
Eleanor had returned before sunrise.
She stood on the front steps with her attorney.
“You will not enter my home with that woman,” she said.
Ethan continued walking.
“This is my home too.”
“Not after what you did last night.”
“What did I do?”
“You allowed police to humiliate your mother.”
Claire stopped beside him.
“No.”
“She humiliated herself.”
Eleanor’s gaze moved to Claire’s bandaged ribs.
“You always did enjoy looking like a victim.”
Ethan turned.
“Say one more word to her.”
His mother smiled.
“There you are.”
“Exactly like your father when he became unreasonable.”
Two detectives escorted Eleanor away from the entrance while Ethan and Claire entered the estate.
The grand library occupied the oldest section of the house.
Richard had spent most evenings there.
After his death, Eleanor locked it for a year.
When it reopened, several shelves had been replaced.
Claire walked toward the fireplace.
“Your father said the keyhole was hidden behind something Alexander Hamilton never wrote.”
Ethan looked across the shelves.
A framed letter supposedly written by Hamilton hung above the desk.
His father had always called it the family treasure.
Claire lifted the frame.
Behind it was a brass plate.
The key fit perfectly.
A section of the bookcase released with a quiet click.
Cold air moved from the darkness beyond.
Ethan turned on his phone light.
A narrow stairway led beneath the library.
The room below smelled like dust and old paper.
Metal cabinets lined the walls.
A film projector stood in the center.
On the far side, a portrait of Richard Whitmore had been cut from its frame.
Claire found a switch.
The ceiling lights flickered on.
Dozens of labeled boxes became visible.
FOUNDATION TRANSFERS.
SAINT AURELIA.
ELEANOR.
BOARD MEMBERS.
OLIVIA.
Ethan went directly to his sister’s box.
Inside was a passport under another name.
A plane ticket to Montreal.
And a photograph taken after the date of Olivia’s death.
She was alive.
Claire opened another file.
It contained the original audit records clearing her of theft.
The transfer had been authorized from Eleanor’s private terminal.
Ethan stared at Claire.
“You were innocent.”
“Yes.”
“I let you disappear.”
“You believed what she gave you.”
“I wanted to believe it.”
The honesty surprised them both.
Believing Claire guilty had been easier than admitting his family could be corrupt.
Ethan looked toward the projector.
A reel had already been loaded.
The label read.
FOR MY SON.
He switched it on.
Richard appeared against a white wall.
His face was bruised.
His voice was weak.
“If you are watching this, Eleanor has either lost control or decided I am no longer useful.”
Ethan stepped closer.
Richard continued.
“The crash was ordered by three people.”
“My wife was one.”
“The second was Victor Lang, chairman of the Whitmore board.”
“The third person is someone Ethan trusts more than either of them.”
The film jumped.
A shadow moved behind Richard.
Then the screen went black.
A voice spoke from the stairway.
“I told you never to open this room.”
May you like
Ethan turned.
His godfather, Victor Lang, stood above them holding a gun.
