Chapter 8 - THE WOMAN BEHIND NORTHSTAR
By noon, every major news outlet was outside Redwood Gardens.
Ethan turned the television off.
Margaret did not need to watch strangers speculate about her life.
Samuel Dean was taken to a secure hospital.
Federal agents guarded the floor.
His daughter arrived twenty minutes later.
Their reunion was kept private.
For two years, she had mourned a man who had been deliberately hidden from her.
Samuel had survived because his assets became more valuable under living guardianship than through probate.
He had been kept medicated.
Isolated.
Legally invisible.
When Samuel could finally speak clearly, Agent Beck recorded everything.
“Eleanor Vale visited me twice.”
“When?”
“After Vincent took control.”
“What did she want?”
“My signature.”
“On what?”
“Sale documents.”
“For your company?”
“Yes.”
Samuel had owned a regional manufacturing firm.
After he was declared incompetent, Northstar acquired controlling interest for less than half its market value.
Samuel resisted.
So they made him disappear.
“What did Eleanor say?”
Samuel looked at the camera.
“She said families become careless when they inherit power.”
“She said all you have to do is wait until the children trust the wrong people.”
Agent Beck asked the most important question.
“Where is Eleanor now?”
Samuel shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
Vanessa did.
After hours in custody, she finally agreed to cooperate fully.
Not because she became remorseful.
Because she learned Redwood Gardens had burned.
Vincent had tried to erase evidence while she sat in a cell.
That told her exactly how disposable she was.
Agent Beck placed a photograph in front of her.
Eleanor Vale.
Seventy-one years old.
Silver hair.
Perfect posture.
Vanessa nodded.
“That’s her.”
“When did you last see her?”
“Six months ago.”
“Where?”
“A hotel in Boston.”
“What did she say?”
Vanessa looked toward the glass wall of the interview room.
“She asked whether Ethan trusted me.”
“What did you say?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
Vanessa’s voice became quiet.
“She said good.”
“She told me trust was the most valuable asset his family owned.”
Agent Beck studied her.
“Did she order Margaret’s death?”
Vanessa flinched.
“No.”
“Did she imply it?”
Vanessa stared at the table.
“She said Margaret would not need to remain a problem for long.”
Agent Beck wrote something.
“And Ethan?”
Vanessa hesitated.
“Eleanor didn’t want him hurt.”
“Why?”
“She wanted him alive long enough to watch the company leave his family.”
Agent Beck looked up.
“That’s personal.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Vanessa shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
Back at the Blackwood house, Ethan found Margaret standing beside an old locked cabinet in his father’s study.
She had insisted Claire help her downstairs.
“Mom, you should rest.”
“I’ve rested for eight years.”
She opened the cabinet.
Inside were photographs from Blackwood Holdings’ first decade.
Charles Blackwood.
Young.
Ambitious.
Standing beside a woman Ethan recognized.
Eleanor Vale.
Another photograph showed them cutting a ribbon outside the company’s first warehouse.
“They look close,” Ethan said.
“They were.”
“How close?”
Margaret looked at him.
“Closer than business partners.”
Ethan stared.
“Dad and Eleanor?”
“Before he met me.”
Margaret sat.
“She believed they would build everything together.”
“Then Charles discovered she had been moving money.”
“He reported her.”
“She lost her position.”
“Her reputation.”
“Almost everything.”
Ethan looked at the photograph again.
“So this is revenge over a relationship?”
“No.”
“Over humiliation.”
Margaret’s voice softened.
“Eleanor could forgive being left.”
“She could not forgive being exposed.”
Ethan’s phone rang.
Agent Beck.
“We intercepted Vincent.”
Ethan stood.
“You arrested him?”
“Not yet.”
“Why?”
“He called Eleanor.”
Ethan’s grip tightened.
“We’re tracing the call.”
“Can you locate her?”
“We think so.”
A pause.
“Ethan, stay inside the house.”
“Why?”
“Vincent told her the Blackwood evidence survived.”
Ethan looked toward his mother.
“What did Eleanor say?”
Agent Beck hesitated.
“She said she would handle it herself.”
The security system suddenly chimed.
A vehicle had entered the Blackwood property.
Ethan looked toward the monitor.
A black sedan rolled through the gate.
The driver lowered the window.
An elderly silver-haired woman looked directly into the camera.
Margaret stood.
“No.”
Ethan recognized her immediately.
May you like
Eleanor Vale had just driven straight into the house she had spent decades trying to destroy.
And she had come alone.
