Chapter 8 - Someone Else Was Watching
Rachel reached for the vent.
Eleanor stopped her.
“No.”
“There’s a camera.”
“I know.”
“We have to remove it.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because right now, whoever installed it believes we haven’t noticed.”
Rachel stared at the tiny blue light.
“Trent?”
“Probably.”
“Probably?”
“Mercer could have done it.”
“When?”
Eleanor thought.
“Trent searched the basement this morning.”
Rachel understood.
“He could have installed cameras around the house.”
“Yes.”
“How many?”
“We assume everywhere.”
Rachel looked terrified.
“What do we do?”
“We become boring.”
“What?”
“We argue about groceries. We watch television. We complain about your husband leaving wet towels on the floor.”
“Mom.”
“And when we need to talk privately, we go somewhere he cannot hear.”
“Where?”
Eleanor looked toward the backyard.
“Outside.”
“He watched the garden gate.”
“Then farther.”
An hour later, Eleanor told Trent by text that she needed groceries.
He replied almost immediately.
I’ll come.
She expected that.
She wrote:
I need Rachel to help me carry things.
No response.
Then:
Fine.
At the supermarket, Eleanor and Rachel filled a cart with items they did not need.
They spoke about food until they reached the frozen aisle, where compressors hummed loudly.
Eleanor leaned toward Rachel.
“We need to reach Samuel.”
“How?”
“Public phone.”
“Those still exist?”
“Not many.”
Eleanor smiled.
“I’m old. We know where obsolete things hide.”
Twenty minutes later, they found one beside a bus terminal.
Samuel answered.
Eleanor told him about Mercer.
Silence.
Then Samuel asked, “Describe him.”
She did.
Samuel swore.
Eleanor had known him for twenty-seven years.
She had heard him swear twice.
“Who is he?”
“Daniel Mercer was involved in Arthur’s sale.”
Eleanor’s stomach tightened.
“In what capacity?”
“Risk consultant.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means when the company sale uncovered irregular transfers, Mercer was hired to investigate.”
“By Arthur?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t Arthur tell me?”
Samuel sighed.
“Because Arthur believed the matter had been resolved.”
“Apparently everyone believed hiding things from me was a form of protection.”
“Eleanor.”
“Save it.”
Rachel stood beside her.
“What did Mercer investigate?”
Samuel lowered his voice.
“One of Arthur’s minority partners was moving money through shell companies.”
“Who?”
“I can’t discuss this over the phone.”
“You’re going to.”
“Eleanor.”
“My daughter’s husband punched me in my home while a man connected to Arthur’s old investigation is asking about my trust.”
Samuel went silent.
Then:
“Charles Holloway.”
Rachel grabbed Eleanor’s arm.
Trent’s last name.
Eleanor stared at her.
“Who is Charles Holloway?”
“Trent’s father.”
Rachel went completely still.
Samuel continued.
“He was a minority investor in Whitmore Industrial.”
Eleanor could barely process the words.
“I never met him.”
“Arthur made sure you didn’t.”
“Why?”
“Because Charles Holloway was accused of diverting company money.”
“How much?”
“At the time, around two million.”
Rachel whispered, “Dad knew Trent’s father?”
Eleanor repeated the question.
Samuel answered.
“Yes.”
“Did Trent know?”
“I have no idea.”
“Peter Vale?”
“Junior auditor on the investigation.”
Everything connected.
The photograph.
Arthur.
Peter.
Mercer.
The trust.
Trent.
Eleanor gripped the receiver.
“What happened to Charles?”
“No criminal charges.”
“Why?”
“The money was returned.”
“By whom?”
“That’s complicated.”
“Make it simple.”
“We never determined exactly.”
Eleanor closed her eyes.
“And Schedule C?”
Samuel went silent.
“Samuel.”
“I don’t know.”
“Arthur wrote that you know the first half and Peter knows the second.”
Another silence.
“You found the letter.”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Behind the plaque.”
Samuel exhaled.
“So Arthur really did it.”
“What?”
“He told me once that if the past returned, you’d know where to look.”
“You could have told me.”
“He made me promise.”
“He’s dead.”
“The promise wasn’t.”
Eleanor nearly hung up.
Instead she said, “We’re going to the attic.”
“No.”
“You have lost your authority to tell me no.”
“Eleanor, listen. If Schedule C still exists, there are people who may do more than punch you to obtain it.”
“Trent?”
“I don’t know.”
“Mercer?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then what do you know?”
“That Peter Vale contacted me four months ago.”
Rachel sucked in a breath.
“Before he disappeared?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“He believed someone had restarted the old network of shell companies.”
“Garrison Equity?”
“One of them.”
“Did he name Trent?”
“No.”
“Did he name Mercer?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
Samuel hesitated.
“Peter said the person behind it had access to Arthur’s original records.”
Eleanor frowned.
“Who has that?”
“You.”
“No. Arthur’s corporate archives went to storage after the sale.”
“No, Eleanor.”
“What?”
“Arthur kept one set.”
“Where?”
“That’s what Schedule C identifies.”
Eleanor looked at Rachel.
The real record is where Rachel learned to count stars.
The attic.
Samuel said, “Do not go up there alone.”
Eleanor almost laughed.
“Samuel, I have spent the last thirty-six hours discovering my dead husband hid an investigation inside my house, my son-in-law is financially ruined, my daughter stole evidence from him, and someone installed a camera in my air vent.”
A pause.
“Fair point.”
“Meet us tonight.”
“Where?”
“The house.”
“That is a terrible idea.”
“It’s also where the attic is.”
Eleanor hung up.
Rachel stared at her.
“Tonight?”
“Yes.”
“What if Trent is there?”
“We’ll deal with it.”
“How?”
Eleanor picked up the grocery bags.
“I haven’t decided.”
They returned home at 5:18.
Trent was sitting in the foyer.
The six suitcases were lined neatly against the wall.
He had placed Eleanor’s phone on the console.
Beside it sat the hidden camera from the air vent.
Rachel froze.
Trent smiled.
“You ladies have a nice shopping trip?”
Eleanor looked at the camera.
“Very.”
He leaned back.
“Good.”
Then he pointed upstairs.
“Because I found something in the attic.”
Eleanor’s heart stopped.
“What?”
May you like
Trent smiled wider.
“I think we should all go see it together.”
