Chapter 6 - The Necklace in the Portrait
Margaret’s death changed the rules.
Until then, every threat had been hidden behind locked doors, sealed archives, and carefully controlled lies. Now Graham had shot a woman in front of four witnesses.
Adrian contacted a federal investigator he trusted, Agent Samuel Pierce. Pierce agreed to meet us away from the estate, but before we could leave, Victoria announced that the roads had been closed by the snowstorm.
No vehicle could pass through the main gates.
The estate became a prison.
Daniel refused to enter the manor.
He disappeared into the woods after giving me a small radio.
“Channel four,” he said. “Use it only when you’re alone.”
Adrian and I returned through the garden tunnel and concealed Margaret’s death until we could contact Pierce.
Victoria was waiting in the entrance hall.
She wore a dark green gown and held a glass of wine.
“You’ve been outside.”
“Walking,” Adrian said.
“In a blizzard?”
“I needed air.”
Victoria’s gaze moved to the blood on his sleeve.
“Whose blood is that?”
Before he could answer, one of the gala decorators entered carrying a broken glass vase. The distraction lasted only seconds, but it allowed me to step between mother and son.
“I cut my hand.”
I showed her a shallow scrape from the cottage window.
Victoria smiled.
“Of course.”
She did not believe me.
That night, Adrian searched his father’s former study while I examined the letters from House 17.
One passage mentioned a portrait.
The woman in blue still wears what Victoria stole.
The west gallery contained seventeen portraits of Ashford women.
Only one wore blue.
Eleanor Ashford, founder of the family foundation.
The portrait showed her dressed in a blue velvet gown with a diamond necklace around her throat.
The same necklace Victoria would later accuse me of stealing.
I removed the frame from the wall.
Behind it was a shallow compartment.
Inside lay a velvet pouch, but the pouch did not contain jewelry.
It contained a flash drive.
I inserted it into my laptop.
The drive held financial records dating back thirty years. They showed money transferred from Ashford hospitals into shell companies, then returned as charitable donations.
The foundation’s fortune had been built through fraud.
One account belonged to Clara Marlowe.
My mother.
According to the records, she had received six million dollars.
I stared at the screen in disbelief.
Adrian entered the room.
“What did you find?”
I showed him.
He read the account number.
“This could make it look like your mother helped them.”
“She didn’t.”
“How can you know?”
“Because we lived in a rented apartment. She worked two jobs. We never had money.”
“Then someone used her identity.”
A hidden file appeared when Adrian searched the drive’s metadata.
It contained a scanned passport.
The photograph was my mother.
The name was not.
It read Clara Ashford.
My mother had legally changed her surname for six months in 1997.
“Was she married to Charles?” I asked.
Adrian looked stunned.
Before he could answer, the gallery doors opened.
Victoria entered with Graham.
Graham had changed clothes. There was no blood visible on him.
“Step away from the computer,” he said.
Adrian moved in front of me.
“You’re finished, Graham.”
Victoria sighed.
“Don’t be dramatic.”
“He killed Margaret.”
A shadow crossed Victoria’s face.
“Margaret is visiting her sister.”
“We saw him shoot her.”
Victoria looked at Graham.
For the first time, genuine surprise appeared in her eyes.
“You told me she escaped.”
“She did.”
“You killed her without my permission?”
Graham’s hand moved toward his jacket.
Adrian lunged.
They crashed into a display table.
I grabbed the flash drive and ran toward the opposite door.
Victoria caught my wrist.
“You have no idea what your mother did.”
“She discovered what you did.”
“No. Clara created this.”
“She tried to expose you.”
Victoria tightened her grip.
“She married my husband.”
I stopped struggling.
“What?”
“For six months, while Charles and I were separated, your mother became Clara Ashford. She believed he loved her.”
Victoria’s eyes filled with old hatred.
“But Charles never loved anyone. He used her to move the money. Then he used you.”
“How?”
Victoria leaned closer.
“You are the reason no one can prove which son survived.”
Graham threw Adrian against the wall.
The flash drive slipped from my hand.
Victoria picked it up.
Then every light in the gallery switched off.
Daniel’s voice came through the radio in my pocket.
“Elena, get down.”
A gunshot shattered the portrait of Eleanor Ashford.
When the emergency lights turned on, Graham lay on the floor holding his shoulder.
Daniel stood in the doorway with his pistol raised.
Victoria looked from Daniel to Adrian.
For the first time, she saw both men together.
Her wineglass fell from her hand.
“Nathan,” she whispered.
May you like
Daniel’s expression hardened.
“Which one of us are you talking to?”
