Chapter 8 - Richard Whitmore
The police took Richard’s statement before he could change his mind.
I stood in the hallway with Ethan and watched through the study glass as his father admitted ordering surveillance on mine.
“You can leave,” Ethan said quietly.
I looked at him. “Why would I?”
“Because this stopped being a job interview hours ago.”
“It stopped being a job interview the moment your company tried to erase my father.”
His phone buzzed.
Rachel had been found.
Alive.
We reached the hospital twenty-six minutes later.
Rachel had a fractured wrist, bruising along her throat, and stitches over one eyebrow.
Lily climbed into the bed so carefully it hurt to watch.
Rachel wrapped her good arm around her and cried without making a sound.
When she finally looked at Ethan, she said, “Julia was right.”
“About what?”
“They came for the key.”
Ethan pulled a chair closer. “Who?”
Rachel’s eyes shifted toward me.
“Graham’s people. But Graham isn’t the whole thing.”
My stomach tightened.
“Julia said the same.”
Rachel asked for water. Her hand shook around the cup.
“Julia found payments after Daniel’s death that continued for years. Same shell entities. Same lawyers. Different beneficiaries.”
“Who was receiving them?”
“Security. Judges. Regulators. Anyone who could make a problem disappear.”
Ethan leaned forward. “Did Graham kill Julia?”
Rachel stared at him for several seconds.
“No.”
He flinched.
“Then who?”
The door opened.
Richard stood there with a detective behind him.
Rachel’s face changed immediately.
She looked at Ethan.
“Ask your father.”
Richard stopped in the doorway.
“Rachel.”
“Don’t say my name.”
Ethan stood. “Dad?”
Richard lifted both hands. “I did not kill Julia.”
Rachel’s laugh came out broken. “No. You just made sure the person who did knew where she would be.”
Richard’s face drained.
I watched Ethan absorb the sentence.
“What schedule?” he asked.
Rachel looked at him.
“Julia’s travel schedule. The night she died, somebody sent her route and departure time from Richard’s private office.”
Richard shook his head. “That office was locked.”
“Two people had access.”
“Me and my assistant.”
Rachel nodded.
“Who was your assistant?” I asked.
Richard’s eyes closed.
“Elaine Mercer.”
Graham’s younger sister.
Ethan pulled out his phone. “Where is she now?”
Richard didn’t answer.
A hospital alert sounded in the hallway.
Not medical. Security.
Ethan turned toward Lily’s chair.
It was empty.
The bathroom door stood open.
Rachel ripped the blanket away from herself. “Lily?”
I ran into the hall.
No pink jacket.
No unicorn backpack.
Just a purple butterfly sticker pressed onto the seat of the chair.
Under it, in black marker:
May you like
BRING CLARA.
