Chapter 7 - Julia Knew My Name
Richard Whitmore answered Ethan’s call on the seventh ring.
“Where are you?” Ethan asked.
“Home.”
“Stay there.”
“Why?”
“Because Julia left a video about Daniel Bennett.”
Silence.
Richard did not ask who Daniel Bennett was.
That told me more than any confession could have.
We drove to the Whitmore estate under police escort.
Lily slept against my shoulder in the back seat, one hand still clutching the torn sheet of butterfly stickers.
Richard met us in a study lined with books and old family photographs.
He was seventy-two, silver-haired, and thinner than his television appearances.
His eyes landed on me and stayed there.
“You’re Daniel’s daughter.”
“You knew him.”
“Yes.”
“Did you know he was innocent?”
Richard looked at Ethan.
“Dad,” Ethan said, “answer her.”
Richard walked to a cabinet and poured water, not whiskey. His hand shook badly enough that the glass clicked against the bottle.
“Daniel brought me evidence of unauthorized transfers.”
“Graham’s transfers?”
“Some.”
“What does that mean?”
Richard set down the bottle.
“The company was in worse condition than the market knew. I moved reserve money between restricted accounts to cover margin calls. It was illegal.”
Ethan stepped back as if struck.
“You did what?”
“I kept thousands of people employed.”
“By framing Daniel?” I said.
Richard’s eyes snapped to mine. “I did not frame him.”
“You let it happen.”
His jaw worked.
“Graham found out what I had done. When Daniel accused him, Graham threatened to expose both of us unless I stayed quiet.”
“So you fired my father.”
“The board fired him.”
“You signed it.”
Richard did not deny that.
I heard Mom crying in my head the night Dad died. My brother asking why police were at the door.
“Did you have him followed?”
Richard’s shoulders dropped half an inch.
Ethan saw it.
“Dad.”
Richard looked toward the window.
“Daniel had copied files. I ordered corporate security to recover company property.”
“You had him followed.”
“Yes.”
“The night he died?”
Richard’s mouth tightened.
“He called me from his car.”
My nails dug into my palms.
“What did he say?”
Richard stared at the floor.
“He said Graham was behind him.”
No one moved.
Then Ethan’s phone vibrated.
Detective Ruiz, one of the officers searching for Rachel, had sent a photograph from an old highway case file.
My father’s wrecked car.
The caption beneath it read:
BRAKE LINE DAMAGE NOTED — FOLLOW-UP REQUIRED.
Another page showed the same report after review.
The brake-line note had been removed.
Signed by Deputy Investigator Thomas Sloan.
Eric Sloan’s father.
Richard sat down hard.
Ethan looked at him. “You told Sloan to fix the report?”
Richard shook his head.
“No.”
“Then who did?”
Richard looked at me, and fear finally broke through his composure.
May you like
“Graham.”
