Chapter 3 - NOAH'S SECRET
I sat on the floor in front of Noah.
“Who else did Rebecca hurt?”
Noah was coloring a picture.
He stopped.
“Grandma Margaret.”
My blood froze.
Margaret had been dead for five years.
“What do you mean?”
Noah looked at Emily.
She immediately came into the room.
“What did he say?”
“Noah said Rebecca hurt Grandma Margaret.”
Emily's face went pale.
“Noah, honey, what did you see?”
“Mommy showed me.”
She knelt.
“Where?”
“In the box.”
“What box?”
“The closet box.”
Emily looked at me.
We went upstairs.
Margaret's old belongings were still stored in the attic.
I had never been able to throw them away.
Her clothes.
Photographs.
Letters.
A small wooden jewelry box.
Noah pointed.
“That one.”
I opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
Margaret.
Me.
And Rebecca.
I stared.
“Why is Rebecca in this?”
Emily looked shocked.
“Dad…”
I turned the photograph over.
There was a date.
Six years ago.
A year before Margaret died.
And underneath:
Rebecca — financial consultation.
I remembered Rebecca telling me she had never met Margaret.
She had lied.
We searched the box.
Inside was a letter from Margaret.
I recognized her handwriting.
Daniel, if anything happens to me, please don't trust anyone who suddenly becomes interested in our finances.
My hands trembled.
The letter was dated three months before her death.
There was another page.
Someone has been accessing our accounts.
I sat down.
Margaret had suspected something.
Then I remembered the week before she died.
She had been frightened.
I had thought she was worried about her heart.
Maybe she had known.
Maybe she had discovered them.
Rebecca and Thomas.
But why had Rebecca waited five years?
Emily found an old envelope.
Inside was a bank receipt.
A payment had been made to Rebecca.
Five thousand dollars.
Five years ago.
The sender was Thomas.
I stared at the receipt.
Then something clicked.
Rebecca hadn't entered my life two years ago.
She had been watching me for years.
We contacted an old private investigator.
His name was Harold Pierce.
He had investigated Margaret's death at the time, but the case had been closed.
Harold agreed to meet us.
When he saw the photograph of Rebecca, he became quiet.
“You know her?”
“I know of her.”
“What does that mean?”
Harold pulled out an old file.
“Your wife's death was ruled natural.”
“I know.”
“But I never believed it.”
My heart stopped.
“Why?”
“Because three days before Margaret died, she told me someone had been following her.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“She asked me not to.”
“Why?”
“She was afraid you'd be targeted too.”
Harold opened another folder.
“There was a second person.”
“Who?”
He showed me a photograph.
Thomas.
I stared.
“Margaret believed Thomas was stealing from the company.”
“Was he?”
“Yes.”
Harold showed me transaction records.
Millions had been diverted through shell corporations.
The same corporations now connected to Rebecca.
Then Harold said:
“There was one more thing.”
“What?”
“Margaret wasn't supposed to die that night.”
I looked at him.
“What do you mean?”
“She had arranged to meet someone the next morning.”
“Who?”
Harold hesitated.
“Rebecca.”
I couldn't breathe.
Rebecca had met Margaret before her death.
Maybe that was the beginning.
Maybe everything had started there.
Then Harold handed me a final photograph.
It showed Margaret leaving a restaurant.
Rebecca was behind her.
A man stood near the entrance.
I recognized him.
Thomas.
But there was another photograph.
The man was following Margaret.
I didn't recognize him.
Harold did.
“That man worked for a private security firm.”
“Which one?”
“Blackstone Protective.”
I searched the company.
Its owner was Daniel Cross.
And Daniel Cross was the same man Rebecca had been meeting in the photograph Emily had shown me.
I called him.
He answered.
“Mr. Whitman.”
“How do you know my name?”
A pause.
“Because your wife hired us.”
“Which wife?”
Silence.
Then he said:
“Margaret.”
My heart stopped.
“She hired you to protect her.”
“Yes.”
“Then why did she die?”
Cross lowered his voice.
“Because our protection failed.”
“How?”
“She trusted the wrong person.”
“Who?”
Cross hesitated.
Then said:
“Rebecca.”
The call ended.
I sat in silence.
Rebecca hadn't entered my life by accident.
She had entered it because Margaret had uncovered something.
And now I needed to know exactly what my first wife had discovered.
But before I could investigate further, Harold received a call.
He listened.
Then looked at me.
“Daniel…”
“What?”
“Rebecca knows we're investigating.”
“How?”
Harold handed me his phone.
A message appeared.
Tell Daniel to stop digging, or the little boy gets hurt.
My blood ran cold.
Noah was asleep upstairs.
I ran.
May you like
His bedroom window was open.
And his bed was empty.
