Chapter 4 - The Brass Key
Police questioned everyone for two hours.
Elaine was furious.
Marcus was nervous.
Nora was confused.
Harold remained calm.
At six-thirty that evening, Detective Lena Vasquez entered the boardroom.
She was in her forties, sharp-eyed, direct.
“The archive manager is alive.”
Nora exhaled.
“Was he attacked?”
“It appears he was struck from behind.”
Elaine crossed her arms.
“Then perhaps you should be looking for the attacker instead of wasting our time.”
Vasquez studied her.
“We are.”
“Good.”
“Which is why we’re here.”
Elaine’s face tightened.
The detective placed a photograph on the table.
Security footage showed a person in maintenance clothing entering the archive corridor.
The face was obscured by a cap.
Marcus leaned closer.
“That could be anyone.”
“Yes.”
Vasquez placed another image beside it.
A black sedan.
Elaine stopped breathing for a fraction of a second.
Nora noticed.
Vasquez did too.
“Recognize the car?”
“No.”
Marcus said, “Looks like yours.”
Elaine shot him a look.
“It’s a Mercedes. Thousands exist.”
Vasquez nodded.
“Your Mercedes has plate registration EBN-419.”
She turned the photograph.
The plate was visible.
EBN-419.
Marcus stared at his mother.
Elaine laughed once.
“Someone borrowed my car.”
“Who?”
“My driver.”
“Your driver is in Florida.”
Elaine’s expression flickered.
Vasquez closed the file.
“We’ll continue this conversation later.”
After police allowed them to leave, Harold asked Nora to remain.
Alan left first.
Then Marcus.
Elaine paused at the door.
She looked at Nora with undisguised hatred.
“You have no idea what you’ve stepped into.”
Nora responded quietly.
“Neither do you.”
Elaine’s expression changed.
Then she left.
Harold waited until they were alone.
“Do you still have the key?”
Nora removed it.
He nodded.
“Good.”
“What does it open?”
“A deposit box.”
“Where?”
“Not a bank.”
Harold drove her to Eleanor’s house.
The police had already finished searching it after the death because nothing appeared suspicious.
The kitchen still looked exactly as Nora remembered.
Eleanor’s mug beside the sink.
A grocery list clipped to the refrigerator.
Apples.
Milk.
Tea.
Birthday card for Nora.
Nora stared at the last line.
Her birthday was four months away.
Her eyes filled.
Harold gave her time.
Eventually he walked toward Eleanor’s bedroom.
He moved a bookcase.
Behind it was a narrow panel.
Nora stared.
“You’re kidding.”
“Your grandmother enjoyed secrets more than was healthy.”
Inside the wall was a steel door.
The brass key fit.
Nora turned it.
Behind the door was not money.
It was a small room.
Shelves.
Boxes.
Photographs.
Files.
A desk.
An old computer.
Nora stepped inside.
“Grandma built this?”
“After your mother died.”
Nora turned.
“What does my mother have to do with this?”
Harold looked tired.
“Almost everything.”
He showed her a series of labeled boxes.
RACHEL.
ELAINE.
MARCUS.
CROSS.
MERCER.
NOVEMBER 17.
Nora froze.
“Cross.”
“Yes.”
“My father’s last name.”
“Yes.”
She pulled the box down.
Harold stopped her.
“Before you open that, understand something.”
“What?”
“Eleanor spent decades trying to determine whether your mother’s death was truly an accident.”
Nora stared at him.
The floor seemed to tilt.
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying she never believed the official story.”
Nora gripped the shelf.
“Why didn’t she tell me?”
“Because she had suspicions, not proof.”
“My whole life?”
“She wanted you to have one.”
Nora turned away.
Anger hit first.
Then grief.
Then the sick realization that Eleanor had carried this alone.
Harold touched the desk.
“Your grandmother believed the trust and the circumstances surrounding Rachel’s death were connected.”
“How?”
“That is what she was still trying to prove.”
Nora opened the RACHEL box.
Inside were newspaper clippings.
Police reports.
Photographs.
Insurance documents.
A yellow envelope.
She opened it.
Inside was a photograph of her mother standing beside a man.
Tall.
Dark-haired.
Smiling.
Holding baby Nora.
Nora’s hands began shaking.
“Is this him?”
Harold nodded.
“Daniel Cross.”
“My father.”
“Yes.”
“Where is he?”
Harold hesitated.
“We don’t know.”
“What do you mean?”
“He disappeared seven days before Rachel died.”
Nora looked back at the photograph.
“You said he abandoned us.”
“I said nothing.”
“Elaine did.”
Harold’s silence gave the answer.
Nora examined the photograph again.
On the back, Rachel had written:
Daniel, Nora, me.
The only three things that matter.
Below it was another sentence.
If anything happens, Mother knows where to look.
Nora looked up.
“Where?”
Harold pointed toward the shelf.
A space was empty.
A small white label remained.
FILE 17.
Nora’s stomach turned.
“The stolen file.”
“Yes.”
“What was inside?”
Harold shook his head.
“Eleanor never told me.”
“You were her attorney.”
“She compartmentalized everything involving Rachel.”
Nora walked to the desk.
There was a locked drawer.
The brass key did not fit.
She searched.
Nothing.
Then she noticed the framed picture of Eleanor and Rachel on the desk.
Behind it, taped to the frame, was a tiny silver key.
Nora opened the drawer.
Inside was one envelope.
Her name was written across the front.
NORA.
She opened it.
The first line changed her life.
If File 17 is missing, Elaine knows you have begun looking.
Nora read it twice.
May you like
Then continued.
Do not trust Alan Mercer.
