Chapter 19 - The Missing Forty-Seven Minutes
Samuel demanded an attorney.
Daniel almost laughed.
“You are an attorney.”
“I want one who isn’t standing inside a conspiracy investigation.”
Marlow did not arrest him.
Not yet.
Access to Arthur’s server was suspicious.
It was not proof.
The digital recorder revealed something more useful.
Every camera Arthur installed had been backed up remotely.
Not continuously.
Only when its motion sensors detected unusual activity.
The system contained seven years of fragments.
Thousands of clips.
Rachel watched technicians begin recovering them.
At 10:42 that morning, Marlow received another result.
The vehicle used in the attack had been abandoned fifteen miles away.
Inside investigators found smoke canisters, gloves and a burner phone.
The phone contained one outgoing call.
Forty-seven minutes before the attack.
To a private security company called Crane Strategic Services.
Daniel recognized the name.
“They handled Whitmore Industrial’s executive security.”
Samuel looked up.
“Twenty years ago.”
Marlow studied him.
“Who hired them?”
“Arthur.”
“Who was the contact?”
Samuel hesitated.
“Me.”
Nathan laughed without humor.
Samuel snapped, “That proves nothing.”
Eleanor agreed.
“No.”
Everyone looked at her.
She continued.
“But your fear does.”
Samuel stood.
“I have protected this family for thirty years.”
Eleanor looked directly at him.
“Then stop protecting me and start telling me the truth.”
The recovered footage began populating the screen.
One clip showed Arthur entering the attic seven years earlier.
Another showed Peter Vale.
Another showed Daniel.
Then a date appeared from twelve days before Arthur died.
Eleanor stopped breathing.
Samuel entered the attic alone.
He remained forty-seven minutes.
When he left, he carried a blue archive box.
Samuel stared at the screen.
Daniel whispered, “What was in that box?”
Samuel said nothing.
Marlow leaned forward.
“Mr. Prescott?”
Finally Samuel answered.
“Copies.”
“Of what?”
“The Holloway investigation.”
“Why did you remove them?”
“Arthur asked me to.”
Eleanor shook her head.
“No.”
Samuel turned toward her.
“You weren’t there.”
“I know my husband.”
“You’ve spent two days discovering you didn’t.”
The sentence hurt.
Because it was partly true.
Before Eleanor could answer, Nathan’s phone rang.
Unknown number.
He answered.
A weak voice spoke.
“Nathan?”
Nathan stood.
“Peter?”
Everyone froze.
Peter breathed heavily.
“Is Rachel there?”
“Yes.”
“Put me on speaker.”
Nathan did.
Rachel approached.
“Peter?”
“I need you to listen carefully.”
“Where are you?”
“No time.”
“Peter—”
“Samuel took the wrong box.”
Samuel’s expression vanished.
Peter continued.
May you like
“The real archive never left the house.”
Then the line went dead.
