Chapter 10 - The Funeral Guest
The official death record for Thomas Foster remained valid.
He had been pronounced dead after his vehicle went over an embankment.
The body was badly burned.
Identification had been made through dental records.
But the dental records were submitted by a private clinic later investigated for insurance fraud.
A federal database contained a sealed notation showing that a man using Thomas Foster’s identity had entered a confidential cooperation agreement months before the crash.
The details were restricted.
Detective Ruiz could not access them without higher authorization.
“If Thomas survived,” I said, “whose body was in the car?”
“We do not know.”
“And why use my photograph?”
Marcus suggested the photograph might have been used to create a decoy identity file.
Or someone wanted Thomas’s documents to point back to me if discovered.
Either way, Daniel had kept the passport hidden.
He knew more than he had admitted.
The question became whether he was running from the police or toward someone who could protect him.
Helen studied Margaret’s letter again.
One of the people involved attended my funeral.
“She meant her funeral,” Helen said.
I thought through the crowd.
Neighbors.
Former coworkers.
Relatives.
Church members.
Daniel’s friends.
Bank employees who knew Margaret.
A state senator named Robert Vance had attended.
Margaret once volunteered for his early campaigns.
I remembered being surprised when he appeared.
He stayed only fifteen minutes, spoke privately with Elaine, and left before the service ended.
Helen searched the original Whitmore trust documents.
One trustee’s name appeared repeatedly.
Robert Vance.
Before entering politics, he had been an attorney at the bank where George Whitmore worked.
Marcus called his office.
The senator’s staff said he was traveling.
His schedule showed no public events for the week.
Then Elaine called me from the hospital.
“I remembered something,” she said.
“What?”
“The night Thomas crashed, Robert was at the cabin.”
“Senator Vance?”
“He was not a senator then.”
“What was he doing?”
“Trying to convince Margaret to destroy the ledger.”
“Did she?”
“No.”
“Did Robert know Thomas survived?”
Elaine began breathing rapidly.
“I never saw Thomas after the crash.”
“That is not what I asked.”
“I do not know.”
“Elaine.”
“Robert handled everything. He told me the body had been identified. He told me never to question it.”
“Why did you obey him?”
“Because he had copies of documents with my signature.”
“You were afraid of prison.”
“Yes.”
“And now?”
“I am more afraid of what Daniel found.”
She told me Daniel had visited her six months after Margaret’s death.
He carried a letter from Margaret describing an account linked to Hollow Creek.
Daniel believed the account contained millions.
Elaine warned him that the money was evidence, not an inheritance.
He refused to listen.
“He said you had wasted your life living carefully,” Elaine told me. “He said he would not die in a small house counting pension checks.”
My house was not small.
My life had not been wasted.
But Daniel had measured both against the wealth he believed was hidden from him.
“Did you introduce him to Connor?”
“No. Robert did.”
The connection sharpened.
Connor Vale was not only Daniel’s friend.
He was the property agent who controlled Hollow Creek.
And Senator Vance had brought them together.
Helen sent the information to Marcus.
Within an hour, federal investigators joined the case.
By evening, news had leaked.
A local television station reported that Senator Vance’s former law firm was connected to a historic property-fraud investigation.
No names were officially confirmed.
Still, reporters gathered outside my house.
My private humiliation became public speculation.
One headline read:
Retired Father Accuses Son in Mysterious Pension Dispute
Another read:
Family Feud May Expose Decades-Old Financial Network
Daniel remained missing.
At nine that night, a courier delivered a package.
There was no return address.
Inside was a video cassette.
A note taped to it read:
Arthur deserves to know what Margaret chose.
I no longer owned a cassette player.
The police found one through the evidence department.
Detective Ruiz, Marcus, Helen, and I watched the tape in my living room.
The image shook.
A date appeared.
The night Thomas died.
Margaret stood beside the wrecked vehicle.
Flames rose from the engine.
Thomas lay on the ground, injured but alive.
Elaine’s voice came from behind the camera.
“Margaret, help him.”
Thomas reached toward my wife.
She stood over him.
Then another man stepped into view.
Robert Vance.
He looked directly at the camera.
“Turn that off,” he said.
The image dropped toward the ground.
But the audio continued.
Thomas coughed.
Margaret said, “He threatened my son.”
Robert answered, “Then let him disappear.”
A car door opened.
Footsteps moved.
Thomas cried out.
Then Margaret said something that none of us expected.
“Arthur can never know the body is not his.”
The tape ended.
Everyone looked at me.
Not his.
The body was not Thomas’s.
May you like
But those words could have meant something else.
Something far worse.
