Chapter 3 - Behind Claire’s WallNate waited until the house settled after midnight.
If a company was failing, buy the debt.
If a competitor became dangerous, buy the competitor.
If information was missing, hire someone intelligent enough to find it.
But at two in the morning inside his own laundry room, Nate discovered there was one thing money could not purchase.
Certainty about whom he could trust.
“Name,” he said.
Anna shook her head.
“I can’t.”
His temper snapped.
“You tell me my sister was murdered, threaten me with my son’s death, then refuse to tell me who did it?”
“I didn’t threaten you.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I’m trying to keep Henry alive.”
“Then give me the name.”
Anna looked toward the door again.
“They monitor the house.”
Nate almost laughed.
“This is my house.”
“No,” she whispered. “It hasn’t been your house for a long time.”
That silenced him.
Anna explained quickly.
Five years earlier, after Claire’s death, she had discovered payments made from an Ashford family trust to a shell corporation called Bellweather Consulting.
The payments began three months before Claire died.
Anna had only noticed because Claire had been secretly investigating something herself.
“What?”
“I don’t know everything.”
“You were her best friend.”
“And she was terrified.”
Anna said Claire had found evidence someone was moving enormous amounts of money through Ashford Foundation charities.
Not thousands.
Millions.
When Claire threatened to expose it, the boating accident happened.
Anna had been supposed to join Claire that evening.
At the last minute, Claire sent her a message.
Stay home. I think somebody followed me.
The next morning Claire was dead.
Three days later Anna found the Bellweather records.
“And then?”
“Someone broke into my apartment.”
Nate remembered.
Police had called it vandalism.
“They left photographs of my parents sleeping,” Anna continued. “Photographs of my younger brother outside school.”
“So you ran.”
“I tried.”
Her voice cracked.
“I drove toward Philadelphia. A truck forced me off the road near the quarry. I survived because the car went through brush instead of over the cliff.”
The vehicle discovered later had not been hers.
Someone had staged her death.
“Why?”
“Because dead witnesses don’t get searched for.”
Nate stared at her.
Anna spent the next five years moving between cities under false names.
Six months ago, she learned Bellweather Consulting had become active again.
Around the same time Nate left for Europe.
Then she saw something worse.
A photograph of Henry.
“I came here.”
“As a maid?”
“They needed temporary staff.”
“Who is they?”
“Your mother hired me through an agency.”
Nate’s jaw tightened.
Anna grabbed his wrist.
“Don’t make assumptions. That’s exactly what they want.”
“Then tell me the truth.”
“I’m trying.”
A noise sounded outside.
Both froze.
Footsteps.
Anna immediately pushed Nate toward the service cupboard.
“You need to go.”
“I’m not hiding in a closet in my own—”
The doorknob turned.
Nate stepped behind a tall shelving unit just as the door opened.
Eleanor entered.
Anna lowered her head.
“Mrs. Ashford.”
“What are you doing awake?”
“The west guest linens arrived late.”
“At two in the morning?”
“I wanted them finished before breakfast.”
Silence.
Nate could hear his own breathing.
Then Eleanor said something strange.
“Did Nathaniel speak to you today?”
Anna hesitated.
“No, ma’am.”
“He seemed distracted by you.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You needn’t apologize.”
Another pause.
“But understand something, Elena.”
“Yes?”
“My son has been under tremendous strain.”
Nate’s fingers tightened around the shelving.
“He occasionally believes he recognizes people who aren’t there.”
Anna said nothing.
“If he approaches you,” Eleanor continued, “come directly to me.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And do not be alone with Henry.”
Nate’s blood went cold.
Anna answered softly.
“I understand.”
Eleanor left.
Neither moved for twenty seconds.
Then Nate stepped out.
“What the hell was that?”
Anna whispered, “Now you understand why you cannot confront anyone.”
“My mother just described me as unstable.”
“She has been preparing that story for months.”
“How do you know?”
“Because your staff talks.”
According to Anna, Eleanor had told several employees Nate had suffered “stress episodes” in Europe.
Vanessa had quietly asked household security to report any unusual behavior.
Nate had never experienced anything resembling a breakdown.
“They’re building a record,” Anna said.
“For what?”
“I don’t know.”
Nate did.
Control of Ashford Holdings passed to a designated trustee if the chairman became mentally incapacitated.
That trustee was Eleanor.
But the arrangement would only last until Henry turned twenty-one.
Henry was Nate’s legal successor.
Unless Henry was gone.
Nate felt sick.
“Henry is leverage.”
Anna nodded.
“Or an obstacle.”
The next morning, Nate joined his family for breakfast as though nothing had changed.
Vanessa talked about a charity gala.
Eleanor complained about estate taxes.
Henry pushed blueberries around his plate.
Nate watched everybody.
His wife.
His mother.
His son.
The staff.
Anna entered carrying coffee.
She never looked at him.
Then Henry knocked over his orange juice.
Vanessa sighed.
“Henry.”
“Sorry.”
Anna moved quickly to wipe it.
As she leaned down, Henry whispered something.
Nate barely heard.
“Did you find my box?”
Anna’s hand stopped.
Vanessa looked up.
“What box?”
Henry went pale.
“No box.”
Nate watched Anna recover instantly.
“He means his building blocks.”
Vanessa studied her.
Henry kicked Nate gently beneath the table.
Later, when Nate walked him to the garden, he crouched beside him.
“What box?”
Henry bit his lip.
“Grandma says I shouldn’t make stories.”
“I’m not Grandma.”
Henry stared toward the manor.
Then whispered, “Aunt Claire’s box.”
Nate’s heart stopped.
“Where did you hear that name?”
Henry reached into his pocket.
He removed a tiny brass key.
“Lady in the wall gave it to me.”
Nate stared at him.
“What lady?”
“The crying lady.”
A four-year-old could misunderstand many things.
But Henry’s next words were perfectly clear.
“She said Aunt Claire hid something before she died.”
Nate took the key.
“Where is the box?”
Henry pointed toward the old east wing.
May you like
The section of Ashford Manor that had been locked since Claire’s funeral.
And standing in one of the second-floor windows, watching them from behind the curtains, was Eleanor.
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