Chapter 9 - The Attic Door
Eleanor refused to show fear.
She removed her coat.
Placed her handbag on the console.
Then looked at Trent as though he had announced he had discovered a leaking pipe.
“What did you find?”
“Come upstairs.”
“No.”
His smile faded.
“Why not?”
“Because you don’t order me around.”
Rachel whispered, “Mom.”
Trent stood.
“Fine.”
He picked up a small wooden box.
Eleanor recognized it immediately.
Arthur’s.
For thirty-five years, Arthur had kept cufflinks in it.
After he died, Eleanor had searched for the box and assumed it had been thrown away.
Trent held it up.
“This look familiar?”
Eleanor’s stomach tightened.
“Where?”
“Attic.”
Rachel looked at her.
Eleanor nodded once.
Yes.
It mattered.
Trent opened the box.
Empty.
“Disappointing,” he said.
“What did you expect?”
“You tell me.”
Eleanor took the box.
Inside the lid, Arthur had carved tiny stars.
Seven of them.
Rachel saw them.
Her eyes widened.
Trent noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
He grabbed the box back.
“Rachel.”
She forced a shrug.
“I remember it from when I was little.”
“Why stars?”
Rachel answered too quickly.
“Dad liked astronomy.”
Trent stared.
Eleanor interrupted.
“He did.”
Arthur hated astronomy.
He could barely identify the moon.
But Trent didn’t know that.
He looked suspicious, but the lie survived.
Then Eleanor saw something else.
One carved star was darker than the others.
Not carved.
A hole.
Tiny.
She understood.
The box itself was a key.
Or perhaps a guide.
Trent tossed it onto the console.
“Nothing useful.”
Eleanor resisted the urge to grab it.
“What were you looking for?”
He walked closer.
“Documents.”
“What documents?”
“You know.”
“Apparently I don’t.”
“Schedule C.”
Rachel looked at him sharply.
Trent realized his mistake.
Too late.
Eleanor smiled.
“Interesting.”
“What?”
“You never saw that name on the fake trust page.”
Trent’s face hardened.
Rachel whispered, “Fake?”
Eleanor looked at her.
“The page he planted.”
Trent laughed.
“You’ve lost your mind.”
“Then tell me how you know Schedule C.”
He moved toward Eleanor.
Rachel stepped between them.
This time she did not retreat.
“Answer her.”
Trent stared at his wife.
Rachel’s hands trembled, but she stayed where she was.
“Move.”
“No.”
A long silence.
Then Trent smiled.
“Daniel told me.”
“Why does Daniel know?”
“He handles financial matters.”
“For who?”
“For me.”
“Since when?”
“None of your business.”
“I’m your wife.”
“That never stopped you from stealing from my office.”
The words landed heavily.
Rachel froze.
Eleanor saw Trent realize he had finally said it aloud.
He continued.
“You thought I didn’t know?”
Rachel’s face went pale.
“What do you think I took?”
“The drive.”
Eleanor’s heart pounded.
Trent knew.
Rachel said nothing.
He laughed.
“You don’t even know what’s on it.”
“Then why do you want it back?”
“Because it belongs to my company.”
“Your company is bankrupt.”
Trent’s smile disappeared.
“Careful.”
“No.”
Rachel’s voice shook but grew louder.
“I have been careful for four years.”
Trent stared.
“I have checked your mood before speaking. I have apologized for spending my own money. I have stopped seeing friends because you hated them. I quit my job because you said married women who respected their husbands didn’t need separate careers.”
Eleanor’s throat tightened.
Rachel continued.
“I have been careful every day since I married you.”
“Rachel.”
“No.”
Trent took a step.
Rachel held her ground.
“You hit my mother.”
“She provoked me.”
Rachel laughed through tears.
“There. That. You always do that.”
“Do what?”
“Make everybody else responsible for what you do.”
His jaw tightened.
“You’re emotional.”
“I’m finally not.”
Eleanor moved beside her daughter.
Trent looked at both women.
For the first time, he was outnumbered and knew it.
Then the doorbell rang.
Nobody moved.
It rang again.
Trent frowned.
“Who is that?”
Eleanor answered honestly.
“I don’t know.”
She opened the door.
Samuel stood outside.
Alone.
Eleanor looked past him.
“Where’s Agent Marlow?”
Samuel’s eyes flickered.
“Not here.”
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
He stepped inside.
Trent stared.
“Who are you?”
“Samuel Keene.”
Recognition moved across Trent’s face.
Eleanor saw it.
Samuel saw it too.
Trent smiled.
“I’ve heard about you.”
Samuel removed his coat.
“I’m sure.”
Eleanor closed the door.
“Samuel, why are you alone?”
He looked at the three of them.
“We need to talk.”
Trent folded his arms.
“About what?”
Samuel looked directly at Eleanor.
“Peter Vale.”
Rachel grabbed the console.
Samuel continued.
“He’s alive.”
The room went silent.
Eleanor stared.
“Where?”
“We don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
“He contacted Agent Marlow forty minutes ago.”
Rachel whispered, “How?”
“A recorded message.”
“What did he say?”
Samuel looked toward Trent.
Trent’s face had gone strangely blank.
Samuel noticed.
“So did you, apparently.”
Trent smiled.
“I don’t know who Peter Vale is.”
Eleanor said quietly, “Interesting.”
“What?”
“You didn’t ask who.”
Trent turned toward her.
“You said his name before.”
“No.”
Rachel whispered, “She didn’t.”
Trent looked between them.
Samuel reached into his coat.
Trent tensed.
But Samuel only removed a phone.
He pressed play.
A man’s tired voice filled the foyer.
“If you’re hearing this, they found the Whitmore archive.”
Static.
Then:
“Do not let Trent Holloway reach Schedule C.”
Rachel covered her mouth.
The recording continued.
“He isn’t working alone.”
More static.
Then the final sentence.
“And whatever you do, do not trust Daniel Mercer.”
The message ended.
Everyone looked at Trent.
He had stopped pretending to smile.
Then from outside came the sound of tires sliding to a sudden stop.
Headlights swept across the foyer windows.
Samuel turned toward the door.
Eleanor looked through the glass.
A gray sedan sat in the driveway.
May you like
Daniel Mercer stepped out.
And in his hand was a gun.
