Chapter 7 - The Threat Andrew Hid
Rachel slapped him.
Not like Evelyn had.
Harder.
Andrew’s head snapped sideways.
He did not raise his hand.
He did not speak.
Rachel’s palm burned.
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
“You knew someone was photographing our children.”
“Yes.”
“And you said nothing.”
“I thought silence protected you.”
“You thought poverty protected us?”
“I was trying to make you look irrelevant.”
“To whom?”
“Jonathan.”
“No. You said you didn’t know who sent the pictures.”
“I don’t.”
“You just said Jonathan.”
“I assumed.”
Rachel stared at him.
“Then you forged my signature for him.”
Andrew looked away.
“There were documents I had to move.”
“Using my name.”
“Yes.”
“You committed fraud.”
“I know.”
“You destroyed my credit.”
“I didn’t know that part would happen.”
“You closed our account.”
“To keep it from being traced.”
“You let us lose the house.”
“That wasn’t supposed to happen.”
Rachel laughed.
“What exactly did you think would happen?”
Andrew finally shouted.
“I thought my father would help you!”
The apartment went silent.
Toby stood in the hallway.
Andrew saw him.
The boy’s face was expressionless.
“Buddy.”
Toby turned around and walked back into the bedroom.
Rachel lowered her voice.
“You thought Edward would secretly clean up your mess.”
Andrew covered his face.
“Yes.”
“You assumed your parents would rescue your children while you continued whatever this is.”
“I thought Mom would find out within weeks.”
“She believed your lies.”
“I didn’t expect that.”
Rachel stared at him.
“Because you’ve spent your entire life being rescued.”
Andrew looked at her.
That one hurt.
Good.
Rachel pointed toward the door.
“Leave.”
“I need to explain.”
“No.”
“Rachel, they are in danger.”
“They were already in danger.”
“I can fix it.”
“No. Your father is fixing it. Your mother is fixing it. An attorney is fixing it.”
“I know Carter Ridge better than they do.”
“Then tell us everything.”
Andrew looked toward the bedroom.
“Not here.”
Rachel shook her head.
“You don’t get to choose anymore.”
He reached into his jacket.
Rachel tensed.
He pulled out a key.
Old brass.
He put it on the table.
“What is that?”
“Arthur’s workshop.”
“Edward already has a key.”
“Not that door.”
Rachel stared.
“What door?”
“Under the workshop.”
Edward returned twenty minutes later.
Andrew was still there.
The two men faced each other.
Edward looked older than he had the day before.
Andrew looked younger.
Not in appearance.
In guilt.
Like a boy awaiting punishment.
Edward placed the brass key beside Arthur’s papers.
“Tell me.”
Andrew did.
Three years earlier, Jonathan Blackwell had contacted him using a private investigator.
The DNA test confirmed paternity.
Jonathan told Andrew that Arthur Carter and Charles Whitmore had hidden a classified engineering archive beneath Carter Ridge.
Not weapons.
Not gold.
Records.
Design records.
Contracts.
Testing documents from a government infrastructure program that had been quietly canceled in the late 1970s.
The program involved structural systems used in military shelters and underground facilities.
Charles Whitmore had allegedly falsified safety results.
Arthur discovered it.
Jonathan tried to expose them.
Then Jonathan disappeared.
“What happened to him?” Evelyn asked.
Andrew shook his head.
“He says Charles arranged an attack.”
Edward’s face hardened.
“And Arthur?”
“Jonathan says your father helped cover it up.”
Edward looked at Arthur’s note.
Maybe that explained the apology.
Andrew continued.
“Jonathan spent decades collecting evidence.”
“Why wait this long?” Melissa asked.
“He was sick.”
“With what?”
“Cancer.”
Evelyn closed her eyes.
Andrew looked at her.
“He said he wanted the truth released before he died.”
Rachel crossed her arms.
“That almost sounds noble.”
Andrew said nothing.
“Which means it isn’t.”
“He also wants the Carter Ridge trust dissolved.”
“There it is.”
“He believes the land belongs to Blackwell descendants.”
“You.”
“Yes.”
“And your children.”
Andrew looked at Toby’s bedroom.
“Yes.”
Rachel felt sick.
“So this entire thing is inheritance.”
“No.”
“What else?”
Andrew hesitated.
“Something happened six months ago.”
Edward leaned forward.
“What?”
“The excavation crew found a sealed chamber.”
Everyone went still.
“What was inside?”
“They never opened it.”
“Why?”
“Because Jonathan ordered me to obtain one more authorization.”
“Mine,” Rachel said.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Arthur structured the trust so a Carter spouse outside the direct bloodline must approve disturbance of protected Section 17.”
Rachel almost admired Arthur.
Dead for eighteen years, still blocking them.
“So you forged me.”
“Yes.”
“And they started digging anyway?”
“The permit only allows approach excavation. They cannot legally open the chamber.”
Edward gave him a cold look.
“You think people committing fraud care about legal boundaries?”
Andrew lowered his head.
“No.”
Melissa asked, “Where is Jonathan now?”
Andrew did not answer.
“Andrew.”
“I don’t know exactly.”
“You met him.”
“Twice.”
“Where?”
“First time in Baltimore. Second time at a private clinic.”
“When?”
“Five months ago.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“How sick?”
“Very.”
Rachel watched him carefully.
“Did he threaten the children?”
Andrew looked up.
“No.”
“Then who did?”
“I don’t know.”
Melissa leaned back.
“That matters.”
“Why?”
“Because if Jonathan wants your cooperation, threatening your children might be counterproductive.”
Edward understood immediately.
“Someone else.”
Melissa nodded.
“Someone who wants Andrew frightened enough to cooperate but doesn’t want Jonathan blamed directly.”
Rachel thought of Daniel Mercer.
“Mercer.”
Andrew’s face changed.
“What about him?”
“He came here demanding the receipt.”
Andrew looked alarmed.
“He came here?”
“Yes.”
“He wasn’t supposed to know where you lived.”
Rachel laughed.
“He sent pictures of us.”
“No.”
Andrew said it too quickly.
“Mercer works for Jonathan.”
“And?”
“He told me he was handling corporate matters.”
“Did you trust him?”
“No.”
Edward opened the Blackwell folder.
Arthur had listed names from decades earlier.
Near the bottom:
THOMAS MERCER.
Edward pointed.
“Relative?”
Andrew stared.
“I don’t know.”
Melissa searched.
Within minutes, she found it.
Daniel Mercer’s father.
Thomas Mercer.
Former Whitmore Industrial legal counsel.
The room went quiet.
Rachel whispered, “So Mercer isn’t Jonathan’s man.”
Edward nodded.
“Not only Jonathan’s.”
Andrew looked at the old file.
“Then whose?”
Edward turned one final page.
May you like
Arthur had handwritten a warning beneath Thomas Mercer’s name:
HE WILL WAIT LONGER THAN THE REST OF US.
