Chapter 7 - The Empty Hotel Room
My father was gone.
Police reached the hotel within eight minutes, but his room was empty. His coat, wallet, and phone remained inside. The hallway camera showed him opening the door for a woman at 3:52 p.m.
Claire.
They spoke briefly.
Then he followed her toward the elevator.
“He went willingly,” Detective Hall said.
“That doesn’t mean he was safe.”
The elevator camera had malfunctioned. The parking-lot footage showed Claire’s stolen sedan leaving through a rear exit.
My mother arrived at the hotel twenty minutes later.
No one had called her.
She stepped through the lobby wearing dark glasses and a cashmere coat, followed by Vanessa.
“You led Claire to him,” I said.
Mom removed her glasses.
“I came to help.”
“How did you know where we were?”
“Caroline told me.”
Our attorney later denied it.
Vanessa folded her arms.
“Can we stop blaming Mom for five minutes and focus on Dad?”
Emily stared at her.
“Your mother sent us messages from Claire only after she tried to abduct Lily.”
“Allegedly.”
Aaron stepped between them before I could.
“She came to my door.”
Vanessa looked away.
I realized she was frightened, but fear did not excuse what she had become.
“Did Claire contact you?” I asked.
“No.”
“You’re lying.”
“Prove it.”
I pulled up the forensic report Samuel had sent while we were driving. Three Maribel payments had gone to a consulting business owned by Vanessa.
Two hundred seventy thousand dollars.
I held out the phone.
“Explain this.”
Her face changed.
Mom grabbed my wrist.
“Not here.”
I pulled away.
“Did you know?”
“Daniel, your father is missing.”
“And Vanessa received stolen money.”
“It wasn’t stolen,” Vanessa snapped. “Mom said it was part of my trust.”
“What trust?”
“The money Thomas left me.”
The hotel lobby became silent.
“You knew he was your father?” I asked.
Vanessa looked at Mom.
“When I was nineteen.”
“And Dad?”
“Robert is my father,” she said quickly. “Thomas was biology.”
“Then why take secret payments?”
“Because Mom said Thomas intended to provide for me.”
“Thomas died before you knew the truth.”
“He created documents.”
“Where are they?”
She had no answer.
Mom stepped closer.
“We are wasting time.”
“No,” Emily said. “You are losing control of the story.”
My mother looked at her with open hatred.
“Stay out of this.”
Emily touched her bruised cheek.
“You lost the right to tell me what to do.”
For once, my mother had no immediate response.
Detective Hall separated us and questioned Vanessa privately. Under pressure, she admitted Claire had contacted her two months earlier. Claire believed Vanessa had inherited money that belonged equally to both of Thomas’s daughters.
Vanessa claimed she refused to meet her.
Phone records proved otherwise.
They had met four times.
“What did she want?” I demanded when Vanessa emerged.
“The case.”
“The waterproof case?”
“She believed Mom had it.”
“Does she?”
Vanessa looked toward our mother.
Mom’s expression remained unreadable.
“Margaret,” Detective Hall said, “do you possess evidence from Thomas Vale’s boat?”
“No.”
“Have you ever possessed it?”
“No.”
“Did you search for it?”
She hesitated.
That was enough.
A call came through the detective’s radio.
Police had found Claire’s stolen car near the abandoned boathouse.
There was blood on the passenger seat.
We drove to Lake Anna while Emily remained with Lily under police protection. I did not want to leave them, but I could not sit safely in a house while my father might be dying.
The boathouse leaned over black winter water. Wind moved through broken boards. Police lights flashed against bare trees.
My father’s shoe lay near the dock.
Then an officer shouted from inside.
We found Dad tied to a chair beneath a hanging work lamp. Blood ran from a cut near his temple, but he was conscious.
Claire stood behind him with a flare gun pressed against his neck.
In her other hand was a small waterproof case.
“Stop!” Detective Hall called.
Claire’s eyes found mine.
She was thin, pale, and shaking.
“Your family killed my father.”
“Put the gun down.”
“Your mother watched him drown.”
“My father didn’t kill Thomas.”
“He covered it up.”
Dad’s voice was weak.
“I thought Margaret was protecting herself.”
Claire pressed the flare gun harder.
“And that makes it acceptable?”
“No,” he said. “It makes me a coward.”
The honesty surprised her.
Her grip loosened.
Behind us, the door opened.
My mother stepped inside.
No one had noticed her follow the police convoy.
Claire lifted the gun toward her.
“You.”
Margaret stopped.
“You want the truth?” my mother said. “Your father wasn’t murdered.”
“Liar!”
“He tried to kill me.”
Claire raised the waterproof case.
“Then explain this.”
She opened it.
Inside was a video camera sealed in plastic.
May you like
Thomas had recorded the meeting.
And the battery indicator still glowed.
