Chapter 4 - The Room Behind the Portrait
Gideon Hale lived alone in a stone mansion overlooking the river.
He had built Hale Development from a local construction company into an international business empire. He had also spent most of Rowan’s childhood treating emotion as a weakness that could be corrected through silence.
When Rowan arrived with Detective Sloan, Gideon was waiting in the library.
At seventy-one, he still wore a suit before breakfast.
“You brought the police into my home,” he said.
“Mara is missing.”
“I know.”
“My children were found locked inside Calder Street.”
Gideon’s expression changed for less than a second.
“What?”
“You didn’t know?”
“Do not insult me.”
“Then help us.”
Detective Sloan stepped forward.
“We have reason to believe Mrs. Hale left information in the sealed room belonging to your late wife.”
Gideon’s eyes moved toward Rowan.
“You told them?”
“Mara left a note.”
“Where?”
“In the house where Micah and Elsie were abandoned.”
Gideon walked to the window.
“I warned Mara to leave the past alone.”
“What past?”
“The one that buried your mother.”
Rowan felt the room become smaller.
“My mother died in an accident.”
“That is what you were told.”
Detective Sloan remained silent, allowing the tension to build.
Gideon turned back.
“Eleanor discovered irregular transfers from the Hale Family Trust. She believed someone inside the company was using charitable accounts to purchase property under false names.”
“Atlas House,” Detective Sloan said.
Gideon’s face hardened.
“How do you know that name?”
“It appeared on a payment made to the woman arrested at Calder Street.”
Rowan stared at his father.
“You knew about Atlas House?”
“I believed it had been shut down thirty years ago.”
“And you said nothing?”
“I protected you.”
“You lied to me.”
“Sometimes they are the same thing.”
Gideon opened a cabinet and removed an old brass key.
They climbed the central staircase to the west wing, where a portrait of Eleanor Hale hung beneath a dust-covered light.
The painting showed a young woman with Rowan’s gray eyes.
Gideon inserted the key into a narrow door beside the portrait.
His hand trembled.
The bedroom beyond had remained untouched for decades.
A blue dress lay across a chair. A silver hairbrush rested on the vanity. On the bedside table stood a framed photograph of Eleanor holding six-year-old Rowan.
Mara had entered recently.
A thin layer of dust covered everything except the floor beside the wardrobe.
Rowan opened it.
Behind the dresses was a steel compartment built into the wall.
Its door stood open.
The compartment was empty.
Detective Sloan examined the lock.
“No damage. Whoever opened it had the combination.”
“Only Eleanor knew it,” Gideon said.
“Mara could have discovered it.”
“No.”
Rowan saw something beneath the bed.
A white envelope.
His name was written across the front.
Inside was a letter from Mara.
Rowan,
If you are reading this, the records are no longer here. I moved them because someone searched the room before me. I do not know who I can trust.
Atlas House is active again.
The person controlling it has access to your company, your travel schedule, and the children’s school information.
Do not believe the obvious suspect.
Find the blue suitcase.
Ask Micah about the moon.
Mara
Detective Sloan read over Rowan’s shoulder.
Gideon sat heavily on the edge of the bed.
“Eleanor used a blue suitcase.”
“Where is it?” Rowan asked.
“It disappeared the night she died.”
Detective Sloan walked to the framed photograph.
Behind Eleanor and young Rowan stood a mirror.
A man appeared in the reflection.
Only part of his face was visible, but around his neck hung a silver key engraved with a lantern.
The same key Celia had worn.
Detective Sloan photographed the image.
“Who is he?”
May you like
Gideon stared at the reflection.
“That,” he said, “is the man I watched die thirty years ago.”
