NOW YOU’LL DIE WITH HER

Daniel and Emma returned to Bellweather Villa on Thursday morning.

Margaret was attending a board meeting in Boston. Most of the household employees had been given the day off, but Marcus Hale, the security director, remained at the property.

Marcus had worked for Richard for nineteen years. He was a broad-shouldered man in his late forties who spoke rarely and observed everything.

When Daniel asked him to deactivate the alarm outside Richard’s study, Marcus did not appear surprised.

“Your mother instructed me to report anyone who entered that room,” he said.

“Will you?”

Marcus looked toward Emma.

“Mrs. Whitmore reports directly to the board. I worked for Mr. Whitmore.”

“That isn’t an answer.”

“It is the safest answer I can give.”

Marcus entered a code into the security panel and walked away.

Richard’s study smelled of old paper and cedar. Sunlight entered through narrow windows overlooking the sea. Books remained exactly where Richard had left them. A pair of reading glasses sat beside a closed notebook.

Nothing appeared disturbed.

Emma began with the desk.

Daniel searched the shelves.

They found tax files, property contracts and letters from former employees, but nothing connected to the ledger.

After nearly an hour, Emma noticed that one framed photograph on the wall was slightly crooked.

It showed Richard and Daniel beside the unfinished Bellweather swimming pool. Daniel was eighteen in the photograph, smiling at the camera while Richard pointed toward the workers behind them.

Emma removed the frame.

A small metal compartment had been cut into the wall.

Inside was a flash drive and a folded architectural plan.

Daniel opened the plan across the desk.

It showed the pool’s original construction. The stone statue was positioned at the deepest point. A maintenance compartment was built into its base, connected to an emergency release mechanism.

Emma examined the notes.

“The chain wasn’t designed for cleaning equipment,” she said.

“What was it designed for?”

“Underwater performances.”

Daniel frowned.

“My father hosted charity events here. One year they had dancers in the pool.”

“The chain used breakaway restraints so performers could appear secured and release themselves from inside the statue.”

“Why would my mother keep it installed?”

“She may not know it has an emergency lever.”

Daniel looked at the photograph again.

“My father designed the system.”

Emma inserted the flash drive into Richard’s old computer.

It requested a password.

Daniel tried several family dates. None worked.

Emma studied the photograph. Richard’s hand was pointing toward a small compass symbol on the statue’s construction plan.

“North,” she said.

Daniel entered NORTH.

The drive opened.

There were six folders.

The first contained copies of transfers from Whitmore Holdings to North Coast Environmental Planning. The second held contracts signed by Margaret. The third contained emails between Charles and an unknown person discussing “reclassification” of foundation donations.

The fourth folder was labelled TRUST.

Inside was a video.

Richard appeared on the screen, seated in the same study. He looked tired but alert.

“If Daniel is watching this,” he began, “then I failed to correct what Margaret has done.”

Daniel moved closer to the computer.

Richard explained that Margaret had redirected money from the company and family foundation into private accounts. When he discovered the transfers, she claimed Charles had made accounting mistakes.

Richard did not believe her.

He created a revised trust that removed Margaret from financial control and appointed three independent trustees. The majority of voting rights would remain protected until Daniel’s first child reached adulthood.

The arrangement prevented Margaret from selling the medical division or transferring the foundation’s assets.

“I intended to announce the changes after the annual board meeting,” Richard said. “Margaret learned about them before I could.”

The video ended abruptly.

Daniel sat in silence.

Emma opened the next file.

It contained a scanned copy of the revised trust.

The final folder was named ACCIDENT.

Inside were photographs of Richard’s car taken one day before his death. A mechanic’s report identified damage to a brake sensor and electronic control system.

There was also a voice recording.

Richard’s voice filled the study.

“If something happens to me, it was not an accident.”

Daniel turned away from the screen.

Emma reached for him, but he raised a hand.

“I need a minute.”

She watched him walk toward the window.

His shoulders were rigid. His breathing was controlled, but she knew the control would not last.

“You were right,” he said quietly.

“I wish I wasn’t.”

“My mother told me he was confused. She said he blamed everyone because he was afraid of losing control of the company.”

“Richard was afraid of losing control. Just not for the reason she gave you.”