Chapter 7 - Behind the Brass Plaque
Arthur had installed the plaque himself.
Eleanor remembered that afternoon clearly.
He had spent nearly three hours measuring the wall while insisting it was decorative.
She had accused him of turning a simple mounting job into an engineering project.
He had laughed.
“You’ll thank me one day.”
She never had.
Until now.
At two in the afternoon, Trent left the house.
He told Rachel he had a meeting.
He refused to say where.
Eleanor watched his vehicle disappear down the street.
“Now,” she said.
Rachel followed her into the foyer.
Eleanor climbed onto a small step stool.
The broken security camera still lay in a wastebasket where Trent had thrown it.
The brass plaque hung untouched.
Eleanor ran her fingers along the bottom edge.
Nothing.
Then she remembered Arthur’s habit of hiding screws beneath decorative caps.
She pressed one corner.
A small brass piece clicked outward.
Rachel whispered, “What is that?”
“A reason your father annoyed contractors.”
Eleanor twisted the cap.
A screw appeared.
Rachel retrieved a screwdriver.
Two minutes later, the plaque came away from the wall.
Behind it was the miniature camera.
And beside the camera was a rectangular panel.
Eleanor stared.
“I didn’t know about that.”
Rachel crouched.
“There’s a seam.”
Eleanor pressed the edge.
The panel opened.
Inside was a narrow cavity.
A black envelope sat within it.
On the front, Arthur’s handwriting.
For Eleanor.
Her knees weakened.
Rachel whispered, “Mom?”
Eleanor took out the envelope.
Arthur had been dead four years.
Seeing his handwriting felt like hearing his voice through a closed door.
She opened it.
Inside was a letter.
Eleanor,
If you found this because the camera needed repair, close the wall and complain about me being paranoid.
If you found this because someone is asking questions about the trust, keep reading.
Eleanor stopped.
Rachel moved closer.
“What does it say?”
Eleanor handed her the page.
Rachel read aloud quietly.
“There are things about the Whitmore sale I chose not to burden you with because the matter was resolved. If it becomes unresolved, Samuel knows the first half. Peter Vale knows the second.”
Rachel stopped.
Eleanor’s pulse pounded.
Peter Vale.
The missing accountant.
Rachel continued.
“Do not trust anyone who comes looking for Schedule C. Schedule C does not control inheritance. It identifies the location of something else.”
Rachel lowered the letter.
“What something else?”
Eleanor took it back.
There was more.
“I regret keeping this from you. At the time I believed secrecy protected you and Rachel. If I was wrong, forgive me.”
Below that:
The real record is where Rachel learned to count stars.
Eleanor stared at the sentence.
Rachel frowned.
“Count stars?”
Eleanor looked at her.
“You don’t remember?”
“No.”
“The attic.”
Rachel’s expression changed.
“When I was little?”
“Your father painted stars on the attic ceiling.”
Rachel slowly smiled.
“I forgot.”
“I didn’t.”
They looked toward the staircase.
Then the sound of a car door came from outside.
Rachel rushed to the window.
Her face drained.
“He’s back.”
“Too fast.”
“Hide it.”
Eleanor replaced the plaque.
Rachel shoved the letter into her sweater.
“No.”
“What?”
“If he searches you, he finds it.”
“Then where?”
Eleanor held out her hand.
Rachel returned the letter.
Eleanor folded it into the lining of the linen napkin box inside the console.
The front door opened.
Trent entered.
He was not alone.
A tall man in a gray suit followed him.
Eleanor stepped away from the wall.
Trent smiled.
“Perfect. You’re both here.”
The stranger looked around the foyer.
His eyes paused on the brass plaque.
Only briefly.
But Eleanor saw it.
“Who is this?” she asked.
“Daniel Mercer.”
Eleanor’s blood chilled.
The name Samuel had mentioned.
The man who had called asking about her estate.
Mercer extended his hand.
“Mrs. Whitmore.”
Eleanor ignored it.
“Why are you in my house?”
“I’m helping Trent and Rachel resolve a financial matter.”
Rachel stared at Trent.
“You hired a lawyer?”
Mercer answered.
“Consultant.”
Eleanor looked at him.
“You called Samuel Keene’s office.”
Mercer’s expression barely changed.
“That name sounds familiar.”
“Then you have a poor memory.”
Trent stepped in.
“Daniel is here because we need to talk about a family solution.”
“No.”
“You don’t know what it is.”
“I know enough.”
Mercer opened a leather folder.
“Mrs. Whitmore, your daughter and son-in-law are facing temporary liquidity difficulties.”
“Foreclosure is a colorful definition of temporary.”
Trent’s face darkened.
Mercer continued smoothly.
“They need approximately four hundred thousand dollars.”
Rachel stared.
“What?”
Trent looked at her.
“We discussed this.”
“No, we didn’t.”
Mercer placed a document on the console.
“The simplest solution would be a short-term loan secured against this residence.”
Eleanor almost laughed.
“My residence.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
Trent slammed his hand down.
“Mom.”
Eleanor looked at him.
“Do not call me that.”
His nostrils flared.
Mercer quietly closed the folder.
“There are alternatives.”
“I’m sure.”
“One involves reviewing Arthur Whitmore’s original corporate disposition.”
Eleanor kept her expression still.
But Mercer had confirmed everything.
He knew Arthur.
Or at least Arthur’s history.
“What does my husband’s company have to do with Trent losing our daughter’s house?”
Mercer smiled.
“Possibly nothing.”
“Then leave.”
Trent stepped closer.
“We’re not finished.”
“I am.”
Mercer looked toward the plaque again.
Eleanor noticed.
This time Rachel noticed too.
Mercer turned toward Trent.
“Maybe another day.”
Trent looked furious.
But Mercer’s tone had authority.
More authority than a consultant should have over his supposed client.
They left together.
Rachel locked the door behind them.
“Mom.”
“Yes?”
“He looked at the plaque.”
“I know.”
“You think he knows?”
“I think he knows about something.”
“The hidden compartment?”
“Possibly.”
Rachel touched the letter beneath the napkins.
“Then we need to get to the attic.”
Eleanor shook her head.
“Not yet.”
“Why?”
“Because Trent came back after less than twenty minutes with a man who already knew about my trust.”
“So?”
“So he didn’t go to a meeting.”
Eleanor walked to the window.
Trent and Mercer were talking beside the SUV.
“He went to get Mercer.”
Rachel joined her.
“Why?”
“Because he knew we found something.”
Rachel looked at her.
“How could he know?”
Eleanor slowly turned toward the tiny hidden lens in the plaque.
Then past it.
Toward the air-conditioning vent.
A faint blue light blinked behind the grille.
That light had not been there yesterday.
May you like
Someone else had installed a camera.
And unlike Arthur’s system, this one was aimed directly at Eleanor and Rachel.
