Chapter 12 - The Last Thing Natalie Hid)
Sloane's disappearance lasted four days.
During those four days, Jackson barely left Caleb.
Police officers rotated outside.
Hannah slept in the guest room.
Jackson's mother stayed nearby.
The house that once represented safety had become a guarded fortress.
On the fourth morning, Hannah found Jackson in the living room staring at the security camera.
"You hate that thing now."
Jackson nodded.
"I keep wondering how many times she stood under it while I trusted her."
Hannah sat on the sofa.
"You couldn't know."
"Natalie knew."
"Not everything."
"Enough."
Jackson looked at his wedding ring.
"I was in New York the night before she died."
"You were working."
"I should have been here."
Hannah's answer was immediate.
"If you had been here, maybe there would have been two people in that car the next morning."
Jackson looked at her.
She continued.
"The person responsible for Natalie's death is the person who caused it."
Jackson said nothing.
Caleb crawled into the room carrying the wooden toy Sloane had kicked away.
He handed it to Jackson.
Jackson smiled despite everything.
Then Caleb crawled toward the family photographs on the low shelf.
One photograph showed Natalie holding him as a newborn.
Caleb touched the glass.
"Mama."
Jackson stopped breathing.
Hannah looked away, giving him privacy.
Jackson picked up the photograph.
"Yeah."
His voice broke.
"Mama."
That afternoon, Margaret called.
She had been reviewing Natalie's personal foundation records.
"I found something strange."
Jackson drove to her office with police protection.
Margaret handed him a copy of a bank statement.
Natalie had rented a safe-deposit box two weeks before she died.
"Why?"
"I don't know."
"Did she leave instructions?"
"No."
"Is it still active?"
"Yes."
They obtained access through the estate.
Inside the box was a flash drive.
Nothing else.
The drive contained copies of foundation financial records.
Natalie had preserved everything.
Transfers.
Approvals.
Account access logs.
Emails.
Sloane's shell companies.
And a document titled In Case I Cannot Finish This.
Jackson opened it.
Natalie had written a summary of her investigation.
Sloane had stolen from the foundation.
Natalie believed she had forged signatures.
Natalie suspected Sloane had manipulated members of the board through private information.
She feared Sloane would try to gain control of Caleb's trust if exposed.
But the final paragraph surprised Jackson.
Sloane is dangerous when cornered, but she is not fearless.
There is one thing she fears more than prison.
Exposure.
She has spent her entire life controlling what people see.
If she believes the truth will become public, she will try to destroy the evidence herself.
Jackson read the paragraph twice.
Margaret looked at him.
"What?"
Jackson stood.
"I know how to make her come back."
Police initially refused.
Then Detective Ortiz listened.
Sloane was hiding because she believed the most dangerous evidence had already been seized.
But she did not know about the safe-deposit box.
Jackson proposed leaking information that Natalie's original evidence had been returned to the Reed house.
Ortiz shook her head.
"Too dangerous."
"The house will be empty."
"Sloane may not believe that."
"Then make it believable."
Two days later, a short statement appeared through Jackson's attorney.
Newly recovered documents belonging to Natalie Reed had been transferred to the family residence pending review.
Nothing specified what the documents contained.
Nothing mentioned Sloane.
But if Natalie had understood her, it would be enough.
At 11:52 that night, a motion detector activated near the Reed property.
A woman in dark clothing moved along the rear fence.
Sloane.
Police watched from unmarked vehicles.
She entered through a basement window she had apparently known how to unlock.
The house looked empty.
It was not.
Jackson was not inside.
Neither was Hannah.
Neither was Caleb.
Only police officers hidden beyond the main rooms.
Sloane moved toward Jackson's study.
She opened drawers.
Cabinets.
The safe.
Empty.
Then the lights came on.
"Police. Don't move."
Sloane froze.
For one second, she looked toward the front door.
Then the side hallway.
Then the window.
Every exit was covered.
Detective Ortiz stepped forward.
"Sloane Whitaker, put your hands where I can see them."
Sloane slowly raised her hands.
Even then, she smiled.
"You have no idea what you're doing."
Ortiz approached.
"No."
May you like
She placed the handcuffs around Sloane's wrists.
"I think we've finally figured it out."
